I'm ADHD and...Squirrel!

I can relate to this little sideways goat. 

I was recently diagnosed with Adult ADHD. What does it feel like? See that little goat with his head turned sideways? My thoughts have raced around at a frantic pace since I was a kid, making me feel as if I was viewing everything at a slight tilt. No neat little rows of easily accessible information for me. It's been like having the messiest filing cabinet in the world in my mind, with everything simply shoved inside in random order.

Over the years I learned tricks to help me function. I made lists at work like a mad woman, and carried a notebook with me everywhere. If I didn't write it down, it was lost forever. When I needed to remember to do something, I often left an item out so I could see it as a reminder. Getting up during boring meetings and trainings wasn't appropriate business protocol, but taking the cap off of a pen over and over and over and over was OK. So was slipping my shoes off and on, off and on, off and on under the table where no one could see. And the Internet with its online banking and automatic payments became my best friend ever. I no longer had to remember to pay any of my bills. 

I have my new husband to thank for helping me seek the help I've needed for so long. I wish I had been diagnosed so much sooner, but I've never been the typical bouncing-off-the-walls ADHD person that most people envision. I'm a daydreamer, unfocused, forgetful, fidgety, a little impulsive, hard to have a conversation with, can't follow directions, leave things partially done, and until recently was fairly good at masking and minimizing my symptoms so they didn't add up to something being "wrong" with me.

What I've come to realize is that there is nothing wrong with me, I'm just wired differently. My brain needs to be stimulated so I don't have all those symptoms that add up to ADHD. I started taking Concerta a couple of days ago and I can already feel a difference. I feel calmer, able to access information in my head easier and more quickly.

Of course, this is just the beginning of my journey. I still need to learn tools to help me live a more normal life. We'll have to figure out the right dosage of medication and I'll have to stay committed to taking it daily. But I'm looking forward to these things. I'm looking forward to never again feeling like I'm looking at the world sideways like that little goat. 

Book a Flight for Me...Anywhere

I need a vacation. Not a load up in my car and drive across the mountains to see my family or fiancé kind. No, I need a real vacation. The kind where I get to fly someplace I've never been, stay in a hotel, order room service, sleep late, follow no schedule, visit a spa, take fun photos, relax like I haven't in years, and pretend I don't actually work for a living. I need a real vacation. Did I mention that?

It doesn't have to be anyplace super fancy or amazingly cool. And I don't want to go alone, I want my fiancé with me. I simply need a break from the routine of life, preferably someplace pretty. I need to recharge my soul; the little red warning light is flashing. It's been 12 years since my last real vacation.

Today the temptation to pull up Travelocity, pick a random city, and book a hotel/flight/car package for two was almost overwhelming. They make it so easy. Sadly, all my vacation time has been consumed or promised to others. I have none left for my spontaneous flight of fancy. Just knowing this makes me tired, and makes me realize how much I need a real vacation (I'm also too responsible to leave on a whim).

And I know I'm not alone.

In two days I've talked to two people who have shared my lack of vacation relaxation. They told their tales of out-of-town family who believe that every free day off should be spent traveling to and visiting with them. The three of us wondered, who is more selfish? Is it us for wanting to reclaim the time we've worked so hard to earn and use it as we please? Or is it them for expecting us to drive or fly to different states for a family visit every time we take a few days off?

I don't know the answer, and today I don't care. Today, I just want a real vacation.

Bring On The New Year!

It's a new year, and I have a feeling it's going to be a good one! 

A Better Motto

Today is a holiday, it's snowing outside, my kitten is laying on my lap purring, I'm still in my pajamas, and I'm tired from not sleeping well last night. Don't all of those sound like great excuses to stay home snuggled under a warm blanket? I think so too, but alas, I can't. I've made a commitment to workout today.

One of the easiest commitments to break is the one I make to myself to workout. I've done it often. So this time, in order to keep my word to myself, I'm also telling someone else and making a definitive plan. I've created a workout calendar so I'll know what I'm supposed to do each day and can mark off the days I've accomplished my goal. I'm adding my workouts to my electronic calendar that syncs with every device I own. Now it will be an official appointment with myself, instead of just a vague idea of something I mean to do. I've told Steven my plan, so now I'm accountable to someone other than myself. I also have a friend at work who is going to help me by pushing me beyond what I believe are my physical limits.

We all have good intentions when it comes to working out or losing weight. We think we can do it on our own and often without a clear plan, but it takes more than just good intentions and hope that we can make it to the end. We have to know how we're going to get there, and we have to have people who can help us along the way.

S.E.L.F.    R.E.S.P.E.C.T.

It's fairly simple. Set goals. Exercise. Love yourself. Focus on fitness. Rest and relax. Eat right. Smile. Portray positive. Enjoy life. Care for others. Tell yourself you can do this.

I can follow those guidelines, and I've started by setting my workout goals and making them concrete, for the first time in my life. I have a plan.

The Art of Lunch

I've become fascinated with bento boxes. If you're not familiar with them, I highly recommend you do a Google search and check out a few images. Some are fantastical art that only resemble food when you look closely.

What I like most about bento boxes is that they seem like little lunchtime gifts. Most aren't elaborate art, they're simply lovely food divided into small containers in a lunchbox. Simple enough isn't it? But how many of us take the time to package our lunch so it's a wonderful treat when the clock strikes noon? I don't. I throw things into baggies with one hand as I use the other to pour water into the cup that goes with me everywhere. Then I dash out the door to work. When lunchtime rolls around, I eat at my desk and hope people have the decency to leave me alone for at least 30 minutes while I wolf down whatever happened to land in the lunch bag that never keeps anything cold or warm enough.

No longer. Bento boxes have made me realize lunch isn't just about satisfying the gnawing little hunger in my stomach I keep trying to ignore. It's about taking a break, breathing deeply, relaxing, enjoying what I'm eating, reading a book, writing a story, talking to a friend, listening to music. Perhaps one of the things that's keeping me from truly being satisfied at lunchtime is that I'm not stopping to actually participate in the art of taking a lunch.

So I purchased my own version of a bento box, and today I filled it with my favorite yogurt, apple slices, carrots, cucumbers, spinach, tuna salad, veggie chips, pita bread, and string cheese. I brought a placemat, real silverware, and a cloth napkin with me to complete the experience. It's the same lunch and snacks I had yesterday, but it was so much better today. Music played as I relaxed and enjoyed my meal, which was arranged nicely in burgundy bowls. I didn't think about photographing it until I was finished, but this is the lunchbox I'm using, purchased at Amazon.

Today's experience proved to me that it's worth taking a few minutes each night before I go to bed to make my lunch so I can have an enjoyable meal every day at work. If I'm more satisfied with my meal and less stressed overall, I'll be less likely to want to have an unplanned snack later in the day.

Thank you, little bento boxes!

Monday, Monday

I may be a little nuts, but I decided to make Monday my official weigh-in day. Whether the results are good or bad, I'll share them once a week, and hopefully we'll all watch the pounds lost add up on the MyFitnessPal badge to the left. 

I'd love to know how all of you are doing too. If you've lost, share and let's celebrate together. If you've gained, let us know and maybe we can encourage you to keep trying. Your day doesn't have to be Monday, but it should be the same day every week.

And the grand total lost for week one is...

My Private Paradise

The city where I live built a wonderful little park for me. The winding walking trail begins across the street from my front door and progresses down a small hill. Tall trees stand guard as the trail leads to several small grassy areas with shorter trees, planters, boulders, and flowers. Soon they will fill my private paradise with new plants, trees, art, and a small foot bridge.

As I walk through the little park, I'm greeted by various birds. During the spring, summer, and fall, a trio of doves were always there to greet me and make my day brighter. Today a gaggle of geese looked at me briefly, then went about their business. When the weather is warmer, butterflies float across my path, and grasshoppers bound joyously in the distance. It's a place of peace. It's a place where I'm usually alone and can think.

The view from below.

Of course the city didn't build it just for me, but because I'm usually the only person walking through the park on any given day, it often feels as if they designed it with me in mind. Occasionally I'll cross paths with a wayward family riding bikes or out for an evening stroll, but usually it's all mine. I never thought I'd have my own park.

We all need special places that feel as if they're all ours. These little oases give us comfort and help us recharge our batteries so we can deal with the world in a civilized manner. They help those of us who are creative reconnect with our muses. My place is a park across the street. For others, it might be a busy coffee shop or a room in their home.

Now you know mine. I hope you have yours as well.

Beware of Saws

Family. We don't choose them, and those we're related to typically don't have a say in our choice of spouse when we say "I do." We end up with this interesting blend of personalities, walking thinly drawn lines to keep the peace or finding soulmates in our in-laws. When it works, it makes one feel secure and loved. When it doesn't, it can be devastating.

Family connections are important. We need each other, in good times and bad. The history we have with one another is unique and helps make us who we are. There are very few justifiable reasons why we should turn our backs on family. Unless someone does something unforgivably egregious, you should always find a way to make amends, and never let an outside person be the catalyst for the breakdown of communication with someone you love.

I recently witnessed a wife actively seek to separate her husband from his brother. There is nothing that can justify her actions. The brother has done nothing to her or her husband. Yet this woman spent months trying to not only break up the brothers, but also break up the relationship the brother has with his girlfriend. To drive the final nail in the familial coffin, she had her husband tell his mom that they would no longer spend holidays with her because of the brother. The woman is pure evil.

My hope is that this woman's husband will eventually realize what is really happening and speak to his brother. They need to come together and he needs to know the truth of what his wife has done. The brothers need to become family again.

None of us know how much time we have left with those we love. We don't know how much time we have to make up with those we're estranged from. If there is someone in your past you've cut out, I encourage you to examine what happened and ask yourself if the offense was really worth severing ties. If not, be brave and take the first step to mending your relationship. Don't let too much time go by. Family is important. We need each other.

Dork of the Day (or The Ding That Wasn't)

When things happen to my condo or car, I like to take care of the problem as soon as possible so I don't have to worry about it. That's why when a rock hit my windshield, putting a nice sized ding in it, I immediately called a company to fill it in before it could become a full-fledged crack. I had used this company before and they'd always done an outstanding job. This day they provided the same outstanding service.

My appointment window was between 9:00 and 12:00; they were coming to me, so I wasn't going to lose any work time, just a lot of money to fix the rock ding. Around 10:00ish, a nice lady arrived to repair my windshield. But when I went outside to meet her, she said she couldn't see a current chip, just one that had already been repaired. Huh? I could clearly see it. Was she blind? Did they send me a newbie who hadn't been trained properly? No worries. I'd help her out. I opened my car door, slid behind the wheel, and pointed to the big rock ding.

"Ah!" she said as I joined her outside, "I see the problem."

And with that, she used her thumb to scrape away my "ding." Turns out my ding was...a bug. After apologizing to her profusely and being reassured that I wouldn't be charged for the bug diagnosis, she assured me I wasn't the first to call about a "rock/bug ding." That didn't keep me from feeling like the Dork of the Day, but it was nice to know I wasn't the only one.

We all have our dorky moments. They keep life interesting and sometimes provide a few laughs. So here's to me and my Dork of the Day moment!

The Daisy Trail

It feels like forever since I've posted something new. These days, I do several things a bit slower than I used to, thanks to my unexpected side trip to the hospital a month ago. It's temporary. I'm working my way back to normal bit-by-bit. But nothing prepared me for the horror I would feel while doing something that used to be a breeze: walking a mile.

My doctor told me I should take it easy and never go fast enough to begin breathing heavily. No problem. I've walked that trail a hundred times. For a few days I went out, did my walk, and was proud of myself for making it up the little hill and back down again. OK, so it's really just a slight incline. It took longer than it used to and I had to keep slowing down because I became winded easily (thanks a lot, blood clots), but I did it. Then I realized just how slow I was going. Turtle slow. Worse than old lady slow. Toddler just learning to walk slow.

There I was, enjoying the beautiful day, saying hello to those going the opposite direction, when it happened. I was passed by two small women who were at least in their 70s. They had their cute little outfits on, complete with matching caps, and there I was in my baggy jeans (because I've lost weight) and giant straw hat (hey, it was sunny and I'm very fair). I had just been smoked by Miss Daisy and her friend on the walking trail. Fine. It was a sad moment. I stopped to mourn and catch my breath.

So on I trudged, trying to convince myself that they were superhuman and I'm really not that slow. The reality is that I am right now. That's OK. If I keep doing what I'm supposed to, someday I'll be back to normal or better, and when I am, I'll leave them in the dust as I pass and be proud of how much I've progressed.

What Does It Feel Like?

I consulted my trusted blog advisor, Steven, about what I should write for this post, and at first said I didn't want to divulge too much about what's been happening in my personal life lately. I've since changed my mind. I think what's happened to me this past week is important, and I need to write about it, just in case it might save the life of someone else.

Last Monday was a typical day; however, I noticed a little soreness in the upper part of my back. As the day went on, the pain grew worse and I decided I had pulled something. The pain spread across my back and into my chest, and I noticed it was getting harder to breathe. By the end of the day, I couldn't take in deep breaths because of the pain. 

I was supposed to Skype-cook with Steven that night, but knew he had a cluster headache (trust me, they're terrible), so I at least had a reprieve until he felt better later. We talked and decided ibuprofen and an hour of rest might help us both. An hour later I felt slightly better, and we cooked our meals together via Skype (same recipe at the same time with our laptops in the kitchen). Total prep, cook, and talk time was somewhere around 2 hours, maybe a little less. Once dinner was ready, we logged off and ate on our own. I was beginning to hurt again, but only had one ibuprofen left, so I decided a heating pad might help. It did. To the point that I fell asleep in a comfy chair with my laptop, phone, and TV remote all in my lap. I woke and decided I should have gone to bed a couple of hours ago. 

It never occurred to me to take my heating pad with me, so I simply went through my usual routine and went to bed. Hours later I woke, unable to breathe. My back and chest hurt. My first thought, of course, was that this was something a hot bubble bath could cure. No. It did help relax me and ease the pain, but it was no magical cure. I remembered the heating pad, put it on the bed and turned it up to high. Ah yes, that was what I needed. By morning I would be a different person. Little did I know...

When morning came, the pain and painful breathing were still there, so I called my doctor to see if I could get an appointment to get a muscle relaxer. I got the doctor's nurse, and we went through a series of questions and I could tell where this was headed -- heart-related problems. Um, no. I did my best to convince him it was muscle, and he did his best to convince me to go to the emergency room. I have a phobia of hospitals, so, um, no. I was determined to talk him into the muscle theory. He was having none of it.

Go. To. The. Emergency. Room. 

I finally agreed, then called my mom, who came and got me. Right now, moms are the best thing ever invented! I called Steven and let him know what was happening, and to assure him nothing was going to stop me from boarding a plane on Saturday to see him. I also called work to let them know I'd be late because my doctor's nurse was insisting I waste time and money going to the emergency room.

My mom and I drove to the Valley Hospital and Medical Center in Spokane Valley, and once I told them the list of symptoms the phone nurse insisted I write down and give them, I was immediately escorted to an area to have an EKG, which was normal. Yay, because I told everyone within ear shot, several times, no matter what they found, they must fix it in time for me to board a plane to Texas on Saturday.

Next up? Drawing blood. Ha! No easy task where I'm concerned. My veins are difficult to find, so they have to take it out of my hand. What's worse than having blood drawn from your hand? Having an IV inserted into your wrist, again because they can't find veins. I was then whisked away to x-ray and brought back with results shortly to follow. No problems with the x-rays; however, the blood tests showed signs of elevated....something that means I could have blood clots or an extreme inflammation somewhere. Next step? Whisked off to have a CT scan.

I've never had a CT scan and apparently having an IV in my wrist required the consultation of three people before they could proceed. I also made sure I informed them that they were to find nothing because I had to be on a plane to Texas on Saturday (this was my theme for the day). They finally decided the dye or whatever could be injected into my wrist and did so. Once the scan was over, I was again whisked back to my little room where my mom was dutifully waiting. A short time later, the nicest doctor in the world (seriously) came in and asked if I wanted good or bad news first. Hit me with the bad. "You're not getting on a plane to Texas on Saturday." That was all I heard and I began sobbing.

Again, moms are the best invention ever because she heard everything he said. Once he left and she calmed me down, I had to ask her what was wrong with me. I had blood clots in my lungs, better known as a pulmonary embolisms. I could have had a stroke or died on the plane.

They did an ultrasound to find the root of the clot, which turned out to be behind my left knee, then checked me into the hospital for five days of absolutely no rest and a massive amount of confusing information.

All this is to say that we all feel aches and pains, but some need to be taken seriously. If mine hadn't happened to affect my breathing, I probably would have popped ibuprofen for days thinking it would go away, then I would have boarded that plane on Saturday.

Don't ignore aches and pains that stick around for a while or have no real cause. Call your doctor immediately. Believe me, it's better to have some tests run and find out all is well than to die because you thought your pains were normal. I'm a healthy person. This was proven by the million other tests they ran on me. So it can happen to anyone. They believe my pulmonary embolisms were caused by a medication I was taking, but it could be genetic. We're hoping I'll only have to take blood thinners and go in for routine tests for six months. Fingers crossed.

To anyone who made it this far in this long post, I know you've heard it all somewhere before. If I can help save someone else by posting my story, then this whole blog thing has been worth it.

And I've Got... Nothing

And what did my wondering eyes see this week?

So a few people have asked me to update my blog and post something new and brilliant. Well, believe it or not, I've got nothing to say. Hey! No laughter from my friends and family! Stop it! Really, I just can't think of anything worthwhile.

Now things that are trivial and inconsequential, that I can do. But worthwhile, not this week. This week consisted of...

Chasing down my garbage can as the wind blew it away while watching a TV show...during the exact same scene. Three times. After rewinding three times, I finally heard the single line I'd been waiting to hear. By then it was anticlimactic.

I'm in my 40s and discovered it's still possible to get a pimple. Really? How is that fair?

Cut myself in the kitchen with my cool new knife, cut myself in the kitchen with my cool new knife, and then cut myself in the kitchen with my cool new knife.

Worked out, then immediately went grocery shopping while looking and smelling like a vagrant.

Passed up buying a piece of carrot cake because I was assured there would be homemade carrot cake at an office potluck. There wasn't.

Was quizzed by my doctor about the ins and outs of long distance Skyping with my boyfriend, how exactly we cook "together", when we met, what our moms thought when we Skyped with them, and more. An hour and a half later, I finally left to go to work. Oh yeah, and we also talked about my health.

Last night I accidentally made a chef salad big enough for eight, and I was alone. I ate enough for two.

This morning I woke up and realized I had all the ingredients to make a breakfast casserole I was craving. Woohoo, because I never have all the ingredients!

But other than that, I've got...nothing.

An Evening of Dumb Moves

How many dumb moves can one person make within a ten minute time period? Let's find out.

Dumb Move #1 - Opening my front door without first looking to see who was knocking after dark.

Dumb Move #2 - Assuming because I live in a small town, it's OK to open the door without looking to see who it is.

Dumb Move #3 - Standing with the door open as the innocent looking late teen/early 20's guy explains his program and need to ask me questions.

Dumb Move #4 - Answering his questions, which included telling him where exactly I work, what I do for a living, how long I've been there, etc. Oh and by the way, that there is no one else at home that he can talk to to ask these same questions.

Dawning realization that I'm making Dumb Moves...

Hmm. I just told this stranger I'm gone all day and that I might live alone. Time to cover myself, "Yeah, my boyfriend lives here too, but he's busy. He's freelances and works here out of the condo all day." (Um, no, that doesn't sound made up at all.) For all you potential stalkers, creepers, etc. out there, I have a big dog, a 6' 4" boyfriend, sleep with a gun under my pillow, and recently obtained my black belt in Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu. Test me.

It turned out the kid wanted to sell me magazines, and I'm assuming he's not planning on coming back to murder or rob me. Before any of you lecture me, my neighbor took care of that.

Lesson Learned - Always look to see who is knocking before answering the door after dark (or any time really), and never give out personal information to strangers, even in small town nowhere.

Live It Again Moments

It's a new year, dear readers, and rather than give you a list of resolutions I'll likely never keep, I thought it would be fun to take a stroll down memory lane and tell you the ten things I wish I could experience for the first time again. We all have those moments, those experiences, those feelings that were so amazing, they can only be felt that way once.  And so, after much thought, and in no particular order, here are my...

Top 10 Wish-I-Could-Live-It-Again Moments

• Staying up late, watching really bad, black and white, scary movies as a kid - The thrill of staying up past my bedtime on a Saturday night, struggling to keep my eyes open until the closing credits, and being scared by zombies was awesome.

• Taking a road trip alone in Texas at night - I felt like I had discovered the secret to losing all stress, and quite possibly have never been so relaxed as an adult.  My hair was a mess and I didn't care.  My car was iffy on making the trip and I didn't care.  My bank account was low and I didn't care.  I was young and just didn't care about much.

• The wonder of snow - White stuff fell from the sky and the first time I remember seeing real snow, I was mesmerized.  I felt as if I had stepped into an old movie, one in which people sang about their feelings and danced for no good reason. It was magical.

• Riding a bicycle - For the first time, I had wheels!  OK, so I didn't know how to stop the thing, other than running it into the garage door (after laughing at me, my family showed me how to use the breaks), but the freedom I experienced was great.  I could go places!

• Singing in front of a crowd - There is nothing so thrilling as singing in front of a group of people, but doing it for the first time, was electrifying. I made people smile simply by opening my mouth. That was a first. Usually opening my mouth did the opposite.

• Entering and winning my first writing contest - I never expected to place, let alone win; when I did, I was elated. No one outside my trusted circle, not even my family, had read my writing. The rush I felt is hard to explain.

• Buying my first vehicle on my own - The thrill of knowing exactly what I wanted, how much I was willing to pay, and negotiating a lower price than I thought I could was incredible. I left the dealership feeling like I could do anything.

• Getting my first library card - Having a card of my own, with my name on it felt like I had been given the key to the entire library. They may as well have engraved my name above the door because I felt like I owned the place. I could check out anything I wanted without asking my mom to do it for me.

• Owning my first computer - It was the future and I had to be part of it. My first had no hard drive, only 640K of memory, a 5.25" floppy drive, and didn't do much of anything, but I knew it was the beginning of an exciting love affair with technology. 

• Seeing Jaws for the first time - I saw it in a small town in Texas in an outdoor movie theater where we sat in lawn chairs, and I have never been so frightened of something that truly existed. It was awesome. Swimming in the river was never the same again. 

Going Solo at the Farmers Market

Tonight I stopped in to visit some friends, and it was brought to my attention that it's been two weeks since I last updated my blog. You have my apologies. I was temporarily sidetracked, but rest assured, it won't happen again. You, my dear readers, have my full blogging attention.

If you're a friend of mine on Facebook, you know I spent my morning at my local farmers market. These lovely sunflowers were my absolute favorite find. For weeks I had been looking forward to today's market because it was to be “The Pie Festival,” but in the days leading up to it, I haven't been feeling well (no worries, it's minor and I will live). Imagine how thrilled I was to wake up this morning feeling better than I had in days, and it was a bonus that the weather was near perfection. Looking out my bedroom window, I saw a gentle breeze stirring the leaves in the trees, so I slid the glass open and let the cool air flow over my face as I closed my eyes and savored the feeling of the warm sun. Yes, it was a good day to walk down to the market.

I've been there before with other people and have enjoyed myself immensely, but today was my first trip alone. It won't be the last. There really is something to be said for browsing through a farmers market solo. As I arrived they were beginning the first pie eating contest of the day. I would have stayed to watch the one man and several elderly women battle it out, but I was distracted by a display of lovely plants for only $5. Because I'm notorious for being the world's worst mother-figure ever to plants (they always die a slow, and I'm sure, painful death), I had an empty spot that needed to be filled outside my front door. Hmm, $5 seemed reasonable for a plant that would likely breathe its last within a month, if it was lucky. After quizzing the plant guy for what I'm sure seemed like an eternity to him, I settled on a hosta that I'm hoping will at least survive until winter. The plant guy was so optimistic about the plant's chances of survival, he pointed out there were actually two of them in the pot, and next spring I could move one to its own little pot, giving me two plant babies to try to maintain. Excellent!

My new found plant friends and I wandered along, soaking in the sights and smells, watching the people, and picking up the fresh fruits and vegetables to take in their amazing aromas. My next distraction was a booth that looked like a painting. Flowers. I adore flowers. If I could afford to fill my home and office with fresh flowers every day, I would. Note to any prospective suitors out there, flowers are one way to win my heart (just don't send me roses). I had seen this particular vendor before and knew exactly what I wanted (see the photo of my sunflowers), but they were missing. Disappointed, I decided to pick something else and began weighing my many options. Suddenly, I spotted them. There they were, in a lonely little bucket far behind the tables of flowers, near the vendor's travel trailer. My lovely sunflowers were waiting for me to find them. I'm sure the woman selling them must have thought I was a bit nutty because I was almost giddy when I asked if they were for sale and she confirmed they were. Fifty cents and two sunflowers later, I was once again meandering among the crowd, listening to the live band playing, and watching for my next conquest.

I stopped here and there, hearing stories from the vendors about their wares and telling them I was from Texas when they detected a slight accent and inquired about it (it tends to get stronger when I'm relaxed and engaging people in casual conversation). Then, I saw it; my final purchase destination. Tomorrow is a shared birthday for my mom and stepdad. I never know what to get him, but a pie is always a safe bet. Like a vision on the horizon, there it was, White Box Pies. After several minutes of debate, because choosing between huckleberry and apple is a major life decision, I made my purchase. It was only then that I realized I had only two hands to carry a plant, two sunflowers, a large pie, my keys, and a rather big purse. Because I'm determined and resourceful, I managed to make it home with all intact. Note to self: Next time take your little rolling cart to carry all your treasures.

If you've never been to a farmers market, you really must find one and go. You can't beat the fresh produce and local flavor. If you've been to one, but never alone, I highly recommend it. Going alone gives you time to truly browse the booths you're interested in, talk to vendors at leisure, and meet others shopping at the market. My little rolling cart and I will be making our way through my farmers market the next chance I get.  

A Lovely July 4

I’ve always wanted to live someplace where I could sit on my porch or in my yard and watch a huge fireworks display on Independence Day.  So it isn’t a big dream, but it’s been one of my small, wish list kind of things that has now come true.  Last night the town I live in put on a wonderful fireworks display over the lake near my condo, and surprise, it was visible from my balcony.  Hooray!  We watched all evening as a steady stream of cars and pedestrians made their way up the road toward the park where live music was playing (yes, we could hear it while sitting outside).  At one point we thought about walking to the park and sitting with everyone, but the homemade Swiss, bacon burgers and caramel apple pie we ate earlier made us a little lazy and the chairs on my balcony were oh so comfortable.

The show started right on time as I was chatting with a neighbor who was wandering the grounds below us.  She raced to a nearby knoll to see the amazing view, while we “oohed” and “aahed” from above her.  It was spectacular.  Can fireworks be anything else?  And next to the lovely display and spending time with my family, the best part for me was knowing that I wouldn’t have to fight traffic or drive for hours to get home.  Once the awesomeness was over, I stepped inside and poured myself another limeade.  This is how life should be all the time.

I tried to get photos, but this was my first time taking fireworks pics and I chose the wrong setting in all the excitement.  Since I was holding the camera off to one side and randomly clicking off shots so I could enjoy watching the display, this is the best I got.  I eventually realized most of my shots were of the dark sky because my hand had wandered upward, and so I gave up completely.  Why try to capture it in a photo when I could just sit back and enjoy the moment?

So that’s how I spent my July 4 evening.  I hope yours was just as wonderful.

Chicken Success Tastes So Good!

I have successfully cooked my first whole chicken using the Technique Chicken Roaster! Yahoo!

As you can see, it actually looks edible. It was moist, tender and the seasonings I picked were perfect (garlic, onion, Serendipity, Mrs. Dash). I did have a minor miscommunication with my oven at one point (we’re still getting to know one another), but we worked things out and the chicken was yummy.


I invited my very brave mom and stepdad over for dinner to try it out with me, and I’m happy to report that they not only survived the experience, but enjoyed it. As a side dish, I made a lovely pasta salad using my Fasta Pasta cooker (see previous post). This was also a first for me. For those who don’t know, cooking with success is a feat. I am so untalented in the kitchen, a few months ago I managed to slice my thumb open with a butter knife, requiring five stitches and sending me into shock as I drove myself to the emergency room. The thumb is still mostly numb, providing a wonderful reminder of what not to do with knives and frozen items.

So there you have it. My first successful whole chicken. Now that I know how easy it is and that I can do it, you can bet there will be more roasted chickens in my future.

Best Inventions Ever

Anyone who knows me well knows I love food, but I’m not the best cook.  I could use a few lessons… or a few hundred lessons.  The problem is that I have no confidence in the kitchen and some of it seems downright tedious.  I’ve been surrounded by wonderful cooks my entire life – my mom, grandmas, aunt, even my ex-husband.  They all knew how to serve love on a plate.  Me, not so much.  Oh, some of them tried to teach me, to no avail.  I psyched myself out and was content to just enjoy the fruits of their labor and help clean up the mess.


Lately though, I’ve found myself wanting to learn to cook actual grown up meals.  Fortunately, my mom has been cluing me in to items that make even incompetent, unconfident, hate to spend enormous amounts of time in the kitchen me able to make something I wouldn’t be completely embarrassed to serve.  They are, as I tell my friends, “the best inventions ever.”  I know several foodies.  If any of them are still reading this blog, they will probably laugh at this post.  Go ahead, I can take it.  I know I’m a baby in the kitchen and I’m celebrating my first steps.  It’s OK.

My favorite “best invention ever” is my rice cooker with a steamer in the top.  I absolutely love this amazing appliance.  I’ve never been able to cook rice properly and now I can not only do it with ease, but I can add fish, chicken, pork, and veggies in the steamer and create an entire meal by pressing one button.  Even I can’t mess that one up!  Alright, I’ll admit there was one time when I did way over season my salmon, but other than that, I’ve cooked many perfect meals with my best invention ever rice cooker.

My second “best invention ever” is my Fasta Pasta cooker.  I still haven’t decided if the two words are supposed to sound alike, and if so, are they supposed to be said with a Jersey accent or a slight British accent.  Give it a try and let me know.  Either way, I love this little rectangle container made of plastic.  It allows me to cook perfect pasta in my microwave.  I’ve made ravioli, penne, rotini, rigatoni, angel hair, egg noodles, shells, spaghetti, and macaroni all perfectly, without exception.  I adore pasta, so this was a perfect gift.  No more guessing if the pasta is done.  Measure it out, fill the container with water to the proper line, set the microwave to the correct time and work on other items while it cooks to perfection.  Take it out, pop the lid on (which has a handy, dandy strainer built in), drain the water, and there you have it; perfect pasta. 

Today I came home to find a new gift in my condo, left by my mom.  It’s a Technique Chicken Roaster, or as my mom calls it, a beer can chicken cooker.  At first glance it looks like a big, heavy duty chip and dip holder.  In fact, that’s what my brother in Texas thought his was until mom cleared it up for him.  It’s all one piece, has a cylinder in the center that holds liquid, and the rest is a big ring to catch the chicken grease I’m assuming.  I’ve never attempted cooking a whole chicken as an adult (there was an incident as a teen, but we won’t go there), so this is exciting and a little scary.  And hooray for me, Safeway has whole chickens on sale this week, so I’m going to buy two and try to cook one on Saturday.  I don’t know what liquid I’ll put in the center, I’ve been told I have lots of options.  So wish me luck as I try out the chicken roaster to see if it rates being added to my list of “best inventions ever.”  My mom hasn’t been wrong with anything yet, so I’m guessing this one will be a winner as well.

I'm Back!

It’s been almost a full year since I’ve posted anything. By now I’m sure everyone has given up on me and moved on with their lives. Sadly, I’ve realized the world truly does not revolve around me. Let me have a moment… OK. I can continue.

It’s been a busy year. I finally found a wonderful little condo with a lovely view of hills and trees (the photo below is my view). It’s exactly what I needed, and not a day goes by that I don’t gaze out in wonder or walk through my door and thank God for the blessing. Of course the condo has its quirks, but don’t we all. The fact is that it’s just the right size for me and has some of the top features I was looking for in a home. I’m happy.

If you read my post about kissing frogs last year, you’ll know my search was interesting. In fact, I drove two real estate agents to the brink. Thank you Mike Gleason for hanging in there with me! I know I was challenging. I made offers on three places. The first I backed out of when they countered; it just didn’t feel right. The second felt right, but… umm… well… the sellers used a loophole to renege on the deal they accepted. Bad deal, shame on them, ‘nuff said. The third was my condo. Of course there was much angst over whether or not to make offers on several other places before the cute condo, but that special feeling just wasn’t there.

With the new condo came a new town. I moved to the other side of the world, or so it has seemed at times. I’ve had to learn where familiar stores are in my new hood, changed where I attend church, and have been busy making new friends. I haven’t ditched my old friends and haunts, but living where I do has definitely expanded some horizons.

In addition to all of this, my new niece is now almost a year old and I also have a new nephew who arrived a month early in April. Sadly he’s in Texas, but I have plans to meet him in person someday soon. Yeah, the blog about that trip will be one to remember. More details about that later.

So life moves on, even if a blog doesn’t. Perhaps I’ll be a little more faithful to posting now that I have a view to inspire me to write and new lands to explore for cool photographs. Who knows where life will lead, but I will do my best to keep you updated.

Happy Birthday!

If you know me well and spend any amount of time with me May-July, you know that yesterday was my birthday. You will know this tidbit because I will begin talking about my birthday two months before it actually arrives. I love my birthday.

It isn’t that anything absolutely spectacular happens on my birthday, in fact, most birthdays are quite normal. Nor do I expect cards, gifts and flowers from everyone (although those are nice perks). So most people wonder, why would someone my age be so happy about turning over another year? Shouldn’t I have grown out of this by now? Why would I look forward to moving from one age bracket on forms to another that puts me firmly in middle age territory? Why would I want to admit that time is passing, whether I like it or not?

Usually people tell me their birthday is just another day or they dread the day because it just makes them feel older. My question to all you birthday haters and to everyone who chooses to simply ignore the day is this, why wouldn’t you love your birthday? It’s the day you entered the world and officially began your journey. It’s the day God specifically chose for you to begin transforming the world around you, merely with your presence. Isn’t that a good reason to celebrate the day?

As I’ve aged and life has thrown some fairly tough things at me, I’ve found that I’ve become more cynical and don’t trust as easily or quickly as I used to. I’ve lost my positive, “dive in without looking because it’s all going to work out” attitude and I’m often accused of being overly cautious. But one thing that hasn’t changed is that I know the day I was born is special. I know the day you were born is special. I know if you or I weren’t here, the world would be a much different place and we have no idea how far reaching the changes would be.

So the fact that I was born several years ago yesterday is a big deal. It’s worthy of taking the day off from work and giving myself the gift of time. It’s worthy of spending it with family and friends. It’s my day. Good or bad, God chose that day to bring me here to change things, even in small ways. I definitely think that’s reason to be happy, enjoy it and celebrate.