The Amazing Soup

I made an amazing soup tonight. It's completely lenten, dairy free, gluten free (sorry, not paleo this time)...and it was SOOOOO GOOD. And we had more than half a gallon of leftovers because I made a bit vat of it and it was very filling. Yum.

And then I put it in a jar and went to put it in the fridge...and slipped. And it fell on the floor, and crashed and spilled broken glass and hot soup all over my feet.

My feet are OK. Only three band-aids needed. The soup was hot but not scalding.

I am very sad about not having those leftovers, though.

Here's the recipe:

Chop: 5 or 6 stalks of celery, 1 large onion, and about a cup of carrots. Sautee these in the bottom of the pan with some coconut oil. Add a big dollop of minced garlic (as much as you like, I like a lot).

Peel and cube a 5 pound bag of potatoes. Peel and cube 2 turnips (or a couple extra potatoes). I added the turnips to add variety to the nutrition of the soup.

Add this to the pot, 1/2 T. salt, or to taste. Pepper and parsley as you see fit. Add water to cover the veggies but not too very much. Let boil until all the vegetables are tender.

Blend until smooth with immersion blender.

Add 1 can of coconut cream and 1 bag of Daiya cheddar style fake cheese. Allow to melt into the soup.

Serve.

This was a very nice creamy dairy free "cheesy" soup and I really really wish I could have another bowl right now. But that is not meant to be.

Mid Lent Update

Well, Lent is going along just fine here at our house. I've discovered that keeping the right balance (as in LOTS) of fruits and vegetables in my diet is making it possible for me to keep the fast for the most part (still the occasional egg or can of tuna). I'm very grateful for this and it is an answered prayer.

Another interesting answer to that prayer I prayed, the "God, help me to fast and help me not to eat so much food" prayer: I got pneumonia. I was really really sick for five days, running a very high fever off and on for five days before I finally made it to the doctor. I was surprised at the pneumonia diagnosis, but that's what it was. So they put me on the type of antibiotics that can kill the plague, or anthrax, gave me a nebulizer and some albuterol, some cough medication pills, and some mucinex, and sent me on my way.

All those things...I needed them. So that basically took a solid two weeks out of my life. I have nothing but gratitude to see that fever gone.

All the rest of my family's been sick, too. Their version of this scourge has "merely" been fever and bronchitis. But I have no doubt it is the same germs causing it all. Wes is sick now, he's the last one. And there's lots of work for him to do at work, so he can't just take it easy for two weeks.

But boy oh boy...while I was sick I ate nothing. For an entire week I had no appetite. First time ever in my life for that to happen. It was an enjoyable novelty.

So my stomach shrank a bit. I'm trying to KEEP IT THAT WAY. It seems an appropriate thing to embrace during this lenten season.

I still cough so hard that I feel like I'm going to black out. I've not been to Church in two weeks....too sick. I would disrupt everything with my hacking and coughing.

But being sick sure has made the time fly...Pascha is only a month away! Time will fly.

Today I was able to get the groceries that needed getting and I cooked some food (fruit salad, and clam chowder made with coconut milk). It's the small things that make me proud.

Pascha will be here soon.

Meatfare Sunday

Today was a good day. This morning we missed Sunday School. Although we knew about daylight saving Spring forward, and all that, our bodies just did not want to cooperate. But that is OK. We made it to Divine Liturgy and that's the most important thing.

Our family did not stay for the Meatfare potluck at coffee hour because Eric stayed home sick and because we have food issues. It's just easier to eat at home. Lunch was just sandwiches. Usually when we get to meatfare Sunday at our house, we are sort of down to the dregs, and so food was basic today: Turkey lunch meat sandwiches for lunch, Pasta with meat sauce for dinner. And Ice cream for dessert. Dairy free ice ceam that is not homemade is meh, but I pretended.

But this afternoon (I'm so thrilled) I actually had energy and I DID STUFF!!!! I did a bit of mending/alterations on a couple of skirts, and I went to Walmart to get some velcro and elastic and the like...and found some fabric on sale for two more skirts (and that will take care of my summer wardrobe needs).

And then Wes and I went to the Peddler's Mall, and found some treasures. I'm collecting pretty china plates to hang on my side of my bedroom (if I were rich and had a big house I'd wish for my own room. He snores, I toss and turn and good heavens, I want a pink shabby chic rose bedecked boudoir and he just doesn't go for that!)

Home again, dinner. Ice cream. A bit more sewing. It was a wonderful day.



And now, for me since I am already dairy free, the fasting begins. I pray that God gives me the strength to fast more and better and more sincerely than I have in years past...to really confront my passions. I pray for strength. And I will take it one day at a time. I don't expect to be perfect. Lord have mercy.

Pain.

This pain is a prison.
It hems me in.
My body is not free.
Pain is exhausting.
Pain robs me of sleep.
A deep ache in my bones.
Bruises inside my elbows.
Shooting niggles of nerve pain through my side, across my back.
Muscle aches in my shoulders.
Bone aches in my hands and arms.
Tingling in my toes.
Numbness on my feet, crawling up my legs.
Shooting pain in my shoulder that limits its range of motion.

And I’m tired.

Pain feels like a cage.
Am I a canary with clipped wings?
Have I even forgotten how to sing?
Do I have a voice?
Can I still think?

My mind is numb, dealing with pain.
I have thoughts and then I lose them.
But most of the time, I am too dull to think of very much at all.
My body does not work.

But my heart does.
Inside my heart, there is light.
Inside my heart is freedom.
Inside my heart there is joy.

Christ is there.

Heaven is there.
All the Saints are there.
And even when I am too tired from pain to think, or to work...I can still BE.
I can BE and I can LOVE and I can PRAY.

O Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.

Here We Go Again

Start with the usual pre-lenten post about anticipation: Menu planning. Recipes. Stack of spiritual books I almost never end up reading. Cutting back on electronic media

Whip up some froth about piety and saintliness.

Add in one's own very sinful human reality. Blend with a half cup of daily grind.

Mix thoroughly.

Allow to simmer for two months.

Lent.

My First Pedicure

I’m such a clod. No, really, I am. A friend invited me to go get a pedicure together, and I thought that would be a good idea. It was lots of fun. But I felt sort of like an elephant in a china shop...or was the a bull? It doesn’t matter.

The first thing I did wrong, is that I wore normal shoes and socks. My friend came out wearing flip flops, which is a logical thing to wear when one is going to get a pedi. It just never occurred to me. I figured they had magical toenail polish drying wands or something.

So, we get to the salon, which was lovely, and in a rather arty part of town, in a refurbished victorian house. Lovely atmosphere. The chairs were big and decently comfortable, with a foot tub attached to the base. It was all very nice. So I picked a color and a foot lotion, and the lady led me to a chair and I rolled up my pants, took off my shoes and socks (of the brown sweaty variety) and sat down. The water was blissfully hot and felt great everywhere except that one spot where I accidentally cut my foot open the other day when I set up the ironing board-with it’s metal base/sharp edge on my foot and made it bleed. The part that was still healing burned like the dickens. But ah, I am great at ignoring pain, so I went into bliss mode and decided to enjoy myself.

A nice Asian lady sat down and started working on my feet. Perhaps she did not speak English. The young man working on my friend’s feet did, though, and we all chatted. My lady had a pinched look on her face. Although I had shaved the fur off my toes before going, my toenails took her twice as long to trim, shape and repair as the attention required for my friend’s toenails. I didn’t really look when the brought out the sharp cuticle trimming instruments. Oh no, can’t look at that!

Then there was the massage, gel. Oh dear goodness, they are gonna massage all the way up to my KNEES???? Ordinarily, for a person with experience this would not be so bad...but me, never having done this before....well, I shaved half way up to my knees. Oh dear oh dear oh dear!

The pinchy look turned into a grim pinchy look. Oh dear. She kept working, though.

So eventually all the scrubbing and buffing and massaging and polishing comes to an end. I get presented with a pair of disposable flip flops (thank goodness!) and she paints my toenails. Lovely coral pink.

Then it’s time to move over to the drying station. I climb down. I pick up my purse and the bottom of my purse smears across my left big toe. Oh dear oh dear oh dear! I sheepishly tell the lady what I did...and stick my foot back on the base of the chair and she re-paints that toenail. Trust ME to botch a professional nail painting job. So I got my purse, my jacket, my shoes...and head over to the drying stand. A minute later, here comes the nice young man that did my friend’s feet...with my ugly sweaty brown socks that had fallen out of my shoes.

Oh dear oh dear oh dear!

“Oh, sorry about that. Thanks.” I don’t look him in the eye. I stuff them into my purse as fast as I can.

Needless to say, I left a big tip.

I’ve alway joked about needing a farrier instead of a pedicure. The reason is, that one of the symptoms of low thyroid is really thick and cracking skin on your feet. There’s a medical reason for the horror. This morning I woke up and found a spot on my feet that cracked during the night. This happens from time to time. So now I have cute toenails and a giant bandage on the side of my foot.

I think I need to do this again someday, though. I could get addicted. And next time, I won’t be such a clod. I promise.

Nothing to Say

I have absolutely nothing to say, but I am going to say this nothing anyway. The decaf coffee is dripping into the pot this morning, and there are almond flour muffins in the oven. It is Thursday. The world outside my window is gray and wet, except oddly enough, there is a fine layer of snow on both our cars. Nowhere else, just the cars. I have a theory about the ground warming up and about cold metal boxes. We’ll go with that, why don’t we?

The cats are wrestling in the hallway, feeling fat and sassy after their morning meal. They look healthy and fine and all things good about cats. They are extremely good looking cats, but we’ve noted to ourselves that although ordinary and cat-ike, they do not seem to be the most intelligent cats we’ve ever met. But that’s OK. We did not hire them for their brains.

People are starting to wake up. I just heard the bathroom door open, and some freshly washed person has emerged. An alarm clock is going off, predicting the arrival upstairs of one very groggy and grumpy teenage boy.

For my own self, I’d honestly rather be knitting right now, than writing, but I do have some writing related dreams and since I can’t quite seem to get my head wrapped completely around the creation of characters and a plot for a story, this faint effort at a blog post will have to do.

Life is small and ordinary, isn’t it? So many of us live like heroes and we don’t even know it. Many of us love when it is difficult to love, we communicate when we would rather withdraw, we work when we are in pain, and we push ourselves beyond the comfortable. But because life is so small and ordinary we don’t even see this about ourselves, do we?

And now everyone is awake, and the room is too noisy. I have no more thoughts. Nothing else to say.