Feast Followed by Famine

Inspirational song: Million Reasons (Lady Gaga)

I feel like I ought to dredge up a modicum of guilt. I'm not going to. It was a recovery day again, and I took it seriously. I've had a big several weeks, making myself do things almost every single day, despite feeling like it was all on borrowed energy. Randomly throughout the month, I'd let stress get me, and I'd suddenly be hit with the sensation that my blood had been replaced with Icy Hot. (You've all felt that, right? It's not just me?) I haven't been sleeping much, and there was that night this past weekend when I didn't sleep at all, not even as dawn crept in through my windows. I'm entirely baffled by how I have managed to move and talk each day. On my in-between days, I did as little of that as possible. And today, after my concert guests drove away, I got busy about recovering. I stayed in my jammies. I skipped breakfast, and then I skipped lunch. I managed to doze a little bit on the couch, which was heavenly. I thinned out the unwanted stuff clogging my DVR. I watched Lady Gaga do Carpool Karaoke and was deeply impressed. I think I'm finally rested enough to do stuff. And now it's almost 10pm. Great timing, Annie.

Work managed to find me. I'm okay with that. I haven't given it enough attention while I've been spending more time feeling run down than up and at 'em. I'm even glad to see things picking up again on that front. If there was anything feeding me guilt, it was that I wasn't being aggressive in finding new clients. I've also been staring at my mail-in ballot that came last week. There are less than two weeks until the worst election in history is over, and once I mail that thing in, I can be done with it until the returns are announced in November. I brought the voter guides down to study all of the ballot issues and candidates for local and state offices. I haven't opened them yet.

I've gotten some photos from Mr X. He sent me pictures from the Grand Canyon of the same view, or close to it anyway, as my favorite painting. Thirty-plus years ago, my stepfather painted a gnarled, dead tree, with Vishnu Temple in the background. Today I got several pictures of the same geological feature, from different angles, in different lights. I asked for permission to share them, since I never took a single photo of my own today. (Although I did clear out some of the junk clogging my One Drive, so that I can keep adding more snaps for this space when I do get active again.) Wouldn't some of these be pretty printed out and hung up on the wall around my painting that I've had since the same month I met Mr X?

I Swear I Haven't Changed

Inspirational song: The New Kings - I. Fuck Everyone and Run (Marillion)

I'm definitely blogging late tonight. I had a spiritual experience. I saw gods. My own personal rock gods, that is. I have been a loyal, die-hard, rabid Marillion fan since 1985. I credited their album from that year with saving my life (a story for another day), and I have never wavered in my support of them. In 1988, their original singer left and they found a new guy. That new guy (who refers to himself as "h") has been with them ever since, and even though there are still old timer fans who could never accept the change, most of us grew and adapted and loved the band for who they are now, not who they were in our childhood/young adulthood.

My old friend from Oklahoma procured tickets for us when they first came available on a fans' presale, a block of seats in the fifth row, center section. The show did not sell out (more's the pity) and there was an empty seat directly in front of me. I had an unimpeded view of John Wesley for the opening act (the fourth time I've seen him over the last 25 years), and I was able to see every mischievous, passionate expression on Steve Hogarth's face as he delivered yet another stellar performance. None of our kids had been with us to see the band before, and my friends and I got to bring the next generation of fans in for their first shows. The kids were blown away.

The band had expressly asked us not to take pictures during the show, and it was honestly a struggle for me. But I decided I would honor their request and leave my camera in my purse. I wanted to be truly present in the moment, and it made the night that much more special for me. I was so close, I made eye contact with h multiple times, and gave him my full attention. When they played the one song they brought out from the days of the former singer, h sat on the stage five yards from my face. One of my companions went ahead and took his picture then, and I had her send it to me. Feel free to imagine me at that moment, locking eyes with a man I've loved and lusted after since I was a young woman.

The band have long considered themselves "uncool as fuck." (For a while, I think they had t-shirts that said that.) They have been unrestrained by the need to fit into the pop charts or to bow to the whims of record label executives. Marillion were among the very first to discover the power of crowdfunding when their label wouldn't support a tour in 1997/98, and we fans took it upon ourselves to pay for it. Back then, such a thing was unheard of. Now they find themselves mature enough to say exactly what's on their minds, and it's some heavy stuff. The new album has no pop single anywhere on it. It's a powerful statement against the oligarchy that owns our world and considers itself too big to fail, and it rails against the fear that fetters so many people. The crowd sang along as h led us: "We've decided to risk/ melting our guns/ in a show of strength/ in a show of strength..." The notion of purposefully living an open, fearless, welcoming life as a willing antidote to fear and isolationism is powerful. It has always taken even hardcore fans several listens to the new albums before we really dig deep enough into them to take them to heart. I have just begun to hit that point on F.E.a.R, and it is moving me in ways I desperately needed right about now.

At the end of the night, I lingered in the lobby to get a picture with Wes, and to thank him for bringing me to tears by playing the one song of his that could have done it to me. It was "13 Days," and he said that it was a true story. I told him why it made me cry, and he gave me a big hug. Every time I have spoken to him, I have come away thinking he was such a good man. I knew I'd rave about Marillion tonight, but if you enjoy brilliant guitar rock, look up John Wesley too. You'll be glad you did.

Rock and Roll

Inspirational song: Brand New Lover (Dead or Alive)

2016 has struck again. I tried not to get too wrapped up in the first few celebrity deaths this year, even though they were heartbreakers. It's hard to keep ignoring it as they just pile on week after week. Today's loss to the musical world wasn't the biggest. He wasn't even one of my favorites. I enjoyed grooving to Dead or Alive's music in my non-dancer sort of way, but I never pinned my hopes and dreams on that band. But to see that Pete Burns died at the very young age of 57 made me feel mortal in an uncomfortable way. I am mostly okay with the idea that I might have been wrong last year when I boasted that my mid 40s represented middle age in that I felt I was only halfway done, and had every intention of hitting 90. Now that I've gotten all the diagnoses that I have to date, with more on the way, I'm figuring 70 might be overly ambitious, and 60 could qualify as beating the odds. But when I heard about the singer who died today, I decided 57 felt like leaving with unfinished business. I'm a good patient now. I take all my medications, and I go to the doctor when things don't seem right (which is a relative assessment, considering how much lupus actually hurts on a daily basis). I'll do my best to stick around until my business is concluded here, but it might not be entirely up to me.

I took another giant step or two towards the goal of turning my forever house into the home it needs to be. I cleared out a few more bits of construction debris, and made sure that my guest spaces were ready to receive actual guests. It was just in time to have those very real guests show up. I'm trying to remember whether non-family or non-renter guests have stayed here before. I can't remember anyone outside the family who came in for just a couple nights. (No offense to someone if I have just blanked on their visit.) Today I have old friends who have come to attend a concert with me, and I managed to get the house to where I feel proud to have company in my space, not embarrassed by the last several piles of papers and junk (which, to be fair, are dwindling). My friends know the struggles I've had, and would understand if I hadn't gotten this far. But I've long felt like cleaning up for company is a sign of respect, something I didn't fully get when I was younger and first running my own household. And I have nothing but love and respect for these friends. We've known each other for 16 years, through a love of the same band. We share a devotion to the band Marillion, and have traveled to see them around the country on multiple occasions. I first met one of these friends at a Fish show in Atlanta (Fish being the original lead singer of Marillion from the 1980s). Our families got to know each other well at gatherings in Oklahoma City and Omaha, and our circle of friends all flew in to see the band in its current lineup in Boulder twelve years ago. By this point, these friends really are family. We even have been playing in the same fantasy football league together for more than a decade. We used to call our big gatherings "Garden Parties," and I have been dreaming of hosting one in Colorado for the last ten years, just as soon as I could move back here and settle into a house. I am officially putting the whole crew on notice that a Rocky Mountain Garden Party is going to happen, and soon. Life is short and friends are precious. RMGP2017 will happen, folks.

My daughter is starting to dream a little more seriously about home ownership. She has been crammed in the tiny condo we bought for her to live in while she was in college, and she and her crew have outgrown it. Today I took her on her very first showing. The house itself might be a bit above her price range, and we won't know for certain where her budget will land until she meets with the mortgage lender I steered her to. It's a big house, large enough for her best friend to rent rooms from her and share living expenses. She thought it was very cool, with its mix of quirky, vintage 1960s charm and updated bits and pieces. (It even has the exact same sea foam green sink and tub that I have.) But the best part is that it is about four blocks away from her mommy's house. It would be one more way to make my own house feel like a forever home, to have family in the extended neighborhood. It might just be a dream at this point, but it's a nice dream to have. Family within walking distance would rock.

Autumn Reflection

Inspirational song: Here Comes (INXS)

I tried to recenter myself this afternoon. I've been on a bit of a roller coaster, and I needed to find my routine again. I hadn't been to walk around the fairgrounds lake in weeks, and in the golden hour, I dragged myself over there to make a couple laps and take a few shots. In the short weeks since I was there last, the park has changed from vivid high autumn to the crisp, gentle browns of the late season. It was still just as beautiful, but in a quieter way. It smelled great too. There was a pervasive perfume of decaying leaves, and as I lapped the lake, I caught the scent of an open fire (probably on the farm across the street). After several days in a row of not feeling up to leaving the house, it was enough to remind me that it's worth getting outside whenever I can.

I found a new essay about spoon theory this evening. I shared it on my personal Facebook page. It made the point that there are actually activities that don't cost spoons, but build them. You just have to find things that give you pleasure and purpose. In the example, it was one spoonie offering to read and respond to email correspondence for another spoonie. When she was doing it as a favor to help someone she loved, it wasn't an energy-draining chore, it was a restorative joy. Reading that led to one of those epiphanies that just leave you feeling stupid afterwards. How did I not think about this? I have so many anxieties about so many simple life hurdles. When people I care about face similar obstacles, all of my fears vanish, and I jump in to help handle them. The same activities would cost me double spoons for my own sake, but they energize me when I'm helping others.

Tonight I didn't have someone depending on me, and my spoons ran out quickly. I told myself I'd go around the lake three times, and I'd be totally fine and back on track with my exercise. For the first one and a half circles, I was still convinced of that. Just past halfway on the second lap, my energy fell off of a cliff. I fought it at first, and thought I could still go around once more. By the time I was a hundred yards from my car, I'd admitted that the fight was lost. It was all I could do to fall forward one foot after another to get across the parking lot. I had to sit in my car for five minutes surfing Facebook just to recover enough to drive two miles to home, and once there, I sat in the garage doing the same thing before I could manage to open the car door and stagger inside. It's a harsh reminder that even with all the work I'm doing to manage my disease, it is still the one in the driver's seat. Armed with the knowledge I've gained in the last year, and the ability to look at my record over the last thirty years with a critical eye, I may be able to form a plan to pace myself and not get in over my head. It's going to take a lot of practice and patience, though.

A Little Light Invention (ATK #14?)

Inspirational song: Desperadoes Under the Eaves (Warren Zevon)

Wasn't it part of the legend of Thomas Edison that he slept only a couple hours each night? He bragged that he never slept more than four hours a night, or something like that. I stopped being impressed with intentional sleep deprivation when I became a mother, and I discovered that napping when the kids napped was the best thing I could have done for myself. I was thrilled when my primary care doctor reiterated several times over that she wants me to sleep six or seven hours at night, and two or three hours each afternoon for a nap. But here's the problem: I can't do it. For months, I've had increasingly worse trouble sleeping, to the point that I did not sleep even for a minute at all last night. I tried. I turned out the lights and lay in the dark, wishing sleep would come. Then I gave up and read a little on my phone. Then I turned a light back on and read an actual paper book. Then light off again, but texting all night to people who were awake by necessity, not choice or at the behest of a rebellious body. At around six am, I tried to prop myself up on my elbows before rolling over in bed, and strained my shoulder picking up the extra thirty-five pounds of white-bellied felines pinning me down. I took a painkiller, and hoped that would knock me out. Not even close. Eventually I gave up and started cleaning house in anticipation of my dinner guest, and I've been awake ever since. My eyes feel like hot balls of lead. My focus is non-existent. But I can't even guess whether I will be able to sleep for real when I try in a little bit.

I promised that I'd come up with a new recipe today, for my friend who came over for dinner and to see my house for the first time. In my sleep-deprived state, my ability to invent a radically new dish was somewhat less impressive than the chronically sleepy scientists at Edison's laboratory. I mostly just tweaked the flavors of things I've made before. Tonight's grain free comfort food was braised chicken smothered with apple chutney (gee, inspired by my Cyclhops dinner on my birthday?) and mashed cauliflower with three cheeses. I used orange cauliflower, boiled and drained it, mashed it, and then added cream cheese, shredded Parmesan, and shredded cheddar. Easy-peasy. The chicken was browned in butter, braised in chicken stock for almost an hour (covered), and then the meat removed from the pan while I reduced the sauce. I put a little Amaretto in it for sweetness as I reduced and caramelized it. I added the chutney I'd prepared earlier, with onion and celery softened in butter, to which I added apples, raisins, a couple fresh sage leaves, a sprinkle of cinnamon and nutmeg, and the juice of one lemon, all cooked covered until soft. That's it. It tasted fantastic, and was ridiculously easy. Is it worth writing this out with measurements and directions in the cookbook I'm wanting to put together? It seemed so easy to me that I obviously could do it half asleep. But maybe people who are just learning how to make things without wheat flour could use a friendly nudge to find out how simple it is to make something that tastes way fancier than it is.

I almost fell asleep listening to the football game on the radio, but that isn't a surprise. It was one of those "defensive stand" sort of days. The game caller suggested it was as much fun as watching paint dry. By the fourth quarter, my team was clinging to a 7-3 lead they'd had since early in the second quarter, and I just couldn't remain enthused anymore. My face rested on my fist, and I leaned heavily on the arm of my chair, "just resting" my eyes. And then there was a late game interception that locked in our win, and I sat bolt upright again. I've been going ever since. Now that my house is quiet again, and the kitchen is cleaned after dinner, there's no reason for me not to go crash. It's likely that I'll fall asleep as I crawl onto the mattress. But what if I don't? Is it worth having something to guarantee a good night's sleep next to the bed, or will that jinx me into needing it because I can't sleep? Either way, it's time to find out. Staying up two whole days without a break is no fun. I don't ever want to do this again. Not even if it were to make me as successful an entrepreneur as Edison. It's lights out time for me.

Food for Thought

Inspirational song: Our House (Crosby Stills & Nash)

My daughter called me yesterday. She said she had a request for me. She knows how seriously I have been taking the massive change in the way I eat. My diet has nothing to do with vanity or fads. I went grain free to save my life. It wasn't a cure for my autoimmune disease. I wish it was, but I faced facts long ago that there is no actual "cure." What it did was make it possible for me to have the strongest base possible from which to live a quality life with autoimmune disease(s). My daughter also knows that if food doesn't taste good, I won't eat it. I would rather eat small amounts of fantastic foods than large quantities of mediocre feed. We know there must be other people out there in the same situation that I'm in. At least thirteen times in this blog, I've given descriptions of recipes I've either created or altered for my own needs. I have several unique dishes in my repertoire that I've held back. I've often said that my mango chicken recipe would be my money maker, and I was saving it for something special. Now daughter #1 says it's time (to paraphrase a more vulgar saying) to cook or get off the pot. She wants me to put together a cookbook for digital release, and together we narrowed its scope to grain free comfort food recipes that can be made with ingredients easily obtained in most grocery stores. I'm not going for the people who are cooking paleo because it's trendy. If I write this, I'm going to go for my people, the ones who can't always afford to spend a fortune on the specialty ingredients they have to drive all over town to find. Yes, my grain free flours are a little more expensive, and at least one still has to be ordered online. (Seriously, I have been looking for cassava flour in grocery stores for years, with no joy.) But most of what I cook with is found everywhere.

She asked me to have at least five recipes ready to go by the end of the weekend. This is a pretty big request. I don't cook with specific measurements. Most of the time, I don't use any sort of measuring spoons or cups at all. I use a knife and a spoon, and I keep adding until the proportions look right. I don't always use the same herbs and spices. I season everything by running spice jars under my nose and imagine eating the dish with or without each flavor. For most of the Annie's Test Kitchen posts in the blog, I tried to quantify what I used to make each dish. But I'll let you in on a little secret, they were really guesses. I'm going to have to do a lot of cooking this weekend. The good news is, thanks to a successful experiment I had last week, part of my weekend will involve pie. I think I finally perfected crust. All I have to do now is repeat it.

One of my girlfriends suggested we do something fun tomorrow. My immediate suggestion was that we have dinner over here. If I'm going to need to work up recipes, what better way than cooking for a friend for the first time ever? There's an extra layer of complexity here also. She's a woman roughly my own age, and she finally got braces that she has needed for years to alleviate pain. So she needs foods that won't require excessive chewing, or end up threaded through the new wires in her mouth. I was planning on chicken, and now I need to think of something yummy to do with it to make it soft and possibly shredded. Oh, and no peppers, she says. Okay, new recipe coming in five...four...three...

Mine Now

Inspirational song: Over at the Frankenstein Place (Rocky Horror Picture Show)

Step by step, inch by inch, I'm reclaiming my space. I needed some extra hands to make a big difference in the basement, and I got the assistance today. We turned my guest room back into an actual guest room, oddly enough, just in time to have guests next week! It was only three quarters finished when I had a renter move into it. I couldn't finish decorating it while it technically wasn't mine to control. But tonight it's freshened up, dusted, and straightened. Over the next few days or weeks I can turn my attention to the walls that are still bare. I used to put up an "ancestor wall" in all of my houses at each assignment around the country, and this room is the right place to put one. I think it's time to sort through my family photographs, to see what's appropriate to put up this time around. Before, I had to pick and choose, because I just had one or two walls to use, while other family members inhabited all the "spare" rooms. Now I can dig out all of them and spread them out all over the place, starting here.

I'd like to believe that I can get this house completely moved into by the end of this year. It's gone on longer than most people take to get into their places, but this has been an exceptional time for me. I have finally learned not to overtax myself, rushing to complete any project, especially one with such a long deadline. I'm planning on being in this house for the rest of my life. It's important for me that it feels like a home, because it's the last one I ever plan to have. I was very glad to have assistance reclaiming it this afternoon. We made great strides putting back to rights, and it feels much more like my own again. It was worth expending extra energy to flip it back to space I recognize.

To cap off the evening, we checked out the new remake of Rocky Horror on television. There are a few sacred works of art that are dangerous to reinvent. This could have turned out poorly. I am pleased to say our first reaction was quite positive. The casting was generally good, the costumes and sets were fantastic, and the interpretation of the songs came off pretty well. There were a few that I had a hard time hearing in their updated versions, but that might just have been me being too tied to the originals. In an odd synchronicity, a friend who forgot this remake was airing tonight asked me to go with her to see the original next week. I might go, if I have the energy. I might even dress up, but I can't decide whether to go old school or new. I have a week to decide.