High Maintenance Hottie

Have you ever stopped to consider how others might see you? Of course you have because you know as well as I do that we are talking about all those labels we try so hard to get rid of. If we step to the side for just a moment, or we change the wording a bit, we might actually be able to laugh at our labels, instead of cry. It’s the whole, “I’m not fat, I’m fluffy,” attitude.

I had never really thought of myself as high maintenance until recently. I’ve always tried to remain independent, not wanting to put upon others and wear out my welcome, so to speak. But, when one has a chronic illness, sometimes she needs help. So I had to drop the façade of independence, in favor of a more congenial, less stubborn reliance on the help of others.

As a disclaimer, despite our grandson’s proclamation that I am always in a good mood, I most certainly am not. I just work really hard to not let others see me, as I go off the deep end, but my poor, dear, sweet husband gets the brunt of it every time.

I have wicked migraines that come on strong and fast and slur my speech and steal my words. I can be in normal conversation one moment, and then the next, I’m a babbling idiot. These meltdowns also come with an emotional flavor. After one incident, I cried and begged Ken to forgive my two-year-old behavior. He said, “Two? More like eight, because you know better.”

One evening during a whopper of a migraine, I insisted on arguing about my jeans and his shoes. I cannot tell you why we were arguing, essentially about the proverbial apples and oranges. I haven’t a clue because it didn’t make sense even as I tried desperately to argue my ridiculous point that night.

It is during my migraines, when I become belligerent like a child, that I am most high maintenance.

When my pain and fatigue shake me to the core, this is also when I am most high maintenance.

When I whine and cry because I am too tired to think straight and I interpret Ken’s gentle coaxing as aggressive pushing, this again is when I am most high maintenance.

He is such a gentle, giving soul, and yet he quickly gives me the evil eye if I am overstepping. It is then that I pray, very loudly, “Lord, please help me to be patient. I know I can be pushy. Please teach me to be satisfied with what I have, Lord. Please let Ken know how much I appreciate him getting me a third glass of water. Lord, I know I am so needy, please forgive me. And thank you for putting Ken in my life. Amen.”

Then he softens, knowing that if I didn’t really need help, I would not ask. Besides, he has opportunities for revenge (oh, you sadistic puppy, you), and he pokes fun at my faux pas (all in good fun, nothing sadistic here). He gets to take a cold, wet washcloth to my fiery body, to extinguish my hot flashes. After all, I do seem to be of that certain age, when women can be overheard saying, “I’m still hot. But now it comes in flashes.”

Moral of today’s story: Laughing at ourselves can be good medicine.

Peace,

Jenni

You’ve Got Some Nerve

Hey you all!

I know you probably thought I was on the verge of falling off the edge of the earth again because it has been a few days after a nice run, but trust me, I’m still here, and I still ache to share all our good adventures (and even some mishaps) with you all; however, I have had one heck of a time with pain this past week. Last night I could seriously have drawn the paths my nerves follow down my arms and legs because the nerve pain was fiery and coursing through most of my body like lightning dancing across a minefield. If I could remember my A&P from college well enough, I could even have named most of the nerves.

And if that wasn’t bad enough, just when I thought I had gotten rid of last week’s migraine, I was hit by this week’s awesome, more spectacular version. Migraine 4.0, which included the new meltdown programming, so that within minutes, I could become petty, childish, and argumentative without warning.

But enough of that. Through it all, God continues to hold my hand as he blesses us again and yet again, share with me through others His grace and wisdom, and comfort me in my darkest, most anxiety riddled moments, as my fear that my pain will never end tries to rob me of my hope. He is one awesome God.

Our grandson asked me the other day how it is that I am always (his word) in a good mood. He knows of my pain. He does his best to comfort this elder of his in his sometimes awkward teenage ways. He repeatedly tells me I am too young to be his grandmother and he sometimes prefers to call me Jen. I know in his heart he knows I am his grandmother even if not by blood, and I know the depth of his love because I have been there since he was born. So it does not bother me if he calls me Jen in public and Grammy Jen in our private moments. These are the moments that bring me joy. This joy I carry always, a gift from God, and it allows me to choose to be in a good mood. I choose my attitude every morning like I choose a matching pair of socks. I could be bitter and angry about my chronic pain, my constant exhaustion, my past hurts, but I choose to follow my joy and I choose to share it through having a good mood. I choose not to take anyone else down just because I am full of pain and misery. It is all about choice. And I choose a good mood especially so that I do not hurt the ones I love.

May God bless you in your afflictions, as He has for me, a lowly sinner.

Love,

Jenni

 

The sculptures, by the way, we found in Winters, California. As you can see, they are for sale. Quite spectacular in person, and life size. Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoy what I have to offer.

Heavenly Joy

There are times in our lives when nothing seems to go right. There are also times when it seems nothing can go wrong. We have all had both kinds of days. When we are in the former, our psyche, our very soul, seems to get beaten down by all the pressures, stresses, and negatives of life.

Then there are those days when all goes joyously far beyond our wildest  dreams and expectations. These are the days we all crave. We get a sort of high. Our smiles become contagious, and we cannot help but be good to one another, just for the shear pleasure of seeing another person smile.

I crave these days just as much as the next person, but with my illness, I oftentimes must work the process in reverse. My days don’t often go beyond my wildest dreams (though sometimes they do), yet I can still feel that rush, that soul healing joy I desperately crave, by first giving and smiling and loving on others.

This is one of the secrets to my joy. Listen closely, now. It lightens the burden on my soul when I give freely of my worldly, oftentimes cherished, belongings.

Have I lost you? Let me elaborate. My physical being is a mess. I have Lyme disease, fibromyalgia, chronic fatigue, adrenal fatigue, arthritis, migraines, blah, blah, blah. The list goes on and on, unfortunately. Needless to say, I am in constant pain, and this state of constant pain puts a damper on my naturally good mood.

But the Lord is good. He has shown me how to find bits of joy amongst my pain, interspersed with my tears.

Best of all, He has shown me how to get a booster shot when I need it, to energize and heal my soul. It is as simple as giving. Donating. Even tithing (and now I hear a bunch of non-church-goers going, “ugh”). It does my soul good, knowing that something I am able to give can do so much good in someone else’s life.

Ken took a load of building supplies to the Habitat Restore Store this morning.

My heart swelled, and so did his.

Ken took an equally large load to the Salvation Army thrift store.

His smile threatened to push his ears clean off his face, as his mood soared. And mine did, too.

Even with two truckloads gone, we still had a lot to make decisions on. Then I remembered freecycle. It is a yahoo group here in the Portland area. I imagine there might be more chapters around the country. It is worth checking out. We gave away some large ticket items that we simply could not sell. Ken said he would haul them to the appropriate places for donation, but I was feeling so good, soul-wise, at this point that I suggested we list them on freecycle. Within an hour, the first large item was gone, the second is pending pickup tomorrow, and the third, well I’m waiting to hear back as to when she wants to pick it up.

My joy is overwhelming today, even though my body is riddled with pain and my stress level is through the roof.

My stress is so high because we have only a few days left here in Portland before we hit the road, and we have a ton of work to do still. Having access to this “heavenly joy” will allow me to keep on, minute by minute, keeping faith that God will get us over this hurdle. It will allow me to do what little I can to help, with a smile on my face, instead of tears and heartache for all that I cannot physically do.

I wish you this level of joy. I pray that you have instances in your life where the “pay it forward” system of living and giving will touch your heart and your soul with an over abundance of joy and gratitude.

I had a season of being on the receiving end more often than not over the past year or two, and the receiving also blossomed into wondrous joy, as I realized that others did care and did want to help this tired old soul. They lifted me up with a box of apples, boxes of pears, green beans, a car for our use for three months without charge, a hug and friendship when I needed it most, a bouquet of flowers from a neighbor for “no reason,” many homemade meals delivered hot and ready to eat, and so many other large and small blessings.

I am grateful for all the blessings we have received. And I am grateful for every one of you.

Jenni

PRIORITIZE

If you only had twenty eight days until "hit-the-road" day, and you knew that at least half those days would be stolen by pain, how would you prioritize your time?

I have a house to go through, making decisions on what to keep, take, store, sell, or donate. Ah, but the good thing is, if we leave stuff behind, the boys (son Trevor and his best bud William) will say, “Score!” They will be taking over the lease on the duplex.

I have friends to say goodbye to, at least for a year, though we will still have email (though sporadic at times) and the good ole tellie.

I have financial and medical/medication issues to magically make "transportable."

I have a neighbor who wants me to finish up our cooking lessons before I jet out of here. She still needs my secrets on lemon meringue pie, yeast dough, and pad Thai.

I have two boys I worry about. I pray we have raised them well enough, Ken and I with Trevor, and William’s parents, that is. I know they are both 21 and I had a kid on the hip by that age, but they are boys and I worry. I pray I’ve imparted enough of my hard knocks wisdom (ha ha) to them to keep them out of trouble, to keep them in their jobs and in this duplex. They do listen. I will give them that. I will miss them dearly when we go. I cannot seem to convince them to move south with us. But I think mama is having trouble cutting the apron strings.

I have my doctor, finally, wanting to send me to a pain specialist, finally. Did I say finally? Only in order to see a pain specialist, I have to be physically available in one area for months, until we find resolve. Finally, he makes this decision, but I only have 28 days left in Portland, and we won’t make it to New Mexico until October.

Winter was not kind to me. Winters never are. I joked often that the week wasn’t complete until I had fallen. Then it was fallen twice in a week. Then it was daily falls. It isn’t funny any longer. I now walk fulltime with a cane.

I’ve added another diagnosis to my list, and we are contemplating yet another, if we can figure it out. Yipee. But if we do figure it out, maybe we could finally get a handle on why my pain has gotten so out of control this past year. It has been far worse than in a long time.

My father passed away on the first of Spring. With the passing of my father, it has been like a major chapter in my life closing. Emotionally painful, yes, and yet there is a release. Maybe this is why God kept us here in Portland for so very long. That and all the surgeries my guys went through. Ken three and Trevor two in the span of two years. It has been a very tough three years we’ve spent in a duplex only slated for one year.

When God closes a door, He opens a window. For a breath of fresh air? A change of scenery? Or to at least have an opportunity to empty the chamber pot. Excuse the humor being a bit crass. It has been a very tough few years, frankly. And a very tough day, to boot.

We will be leaving Portland, Oregon, on June 30, 2013, whether we are ready or not.

Ken has been feverishly remodeling the Raven to accommodate my needs and so that we have the most economical use of space possible. After travelling some over the past few summers, we really found out what would work best for us.

I am sorry I have not been around lately. As I mentioned, winter was very hard on me. The pain and the migraines were too much. I’m trying to find the quality in a life so full of pain, but it is difficult. Life goes on, even with the pain, and so we must get on the road. We must get on the road, especially if we plan on wintering down south this year.

It may be a month before I write again, but I will be back. Thank you for hanging in there. Thank you for all your prayers. I know there must be many souls out there praying for me, because I experience God’s miracles every day. Even in this life so full of pain. I am so grateful for all of you.

Our first destination is actually only about 50 miles away from home, but what a sendoff—spending the Fourth of July at the rodeo in St. Paul! Next will be Neskowin, to say goodbye to some friends. And then we travel in a generally southerly direction until we reach Mexico (at which time we will bounce off the border and stay put in New Mexico or Arizona for the winter).

The St. Paul Rodeo in St. Paul, Oregon, July 2-6, 2013.

See you then!

When It Rains

It pours.

Sometimes life can become a bit overwhelming. Stressors can pile up without older ones being cleared away first. When these stressors build up in a chronically ill person, or even a well person for that matter, the immune system becomes compromised. In my case, having chronic Lyme, all my stressors have caused a bit of a relapse, with more migraines and pain, plus more fatigue.

My main goal this month is to reduce my stress level; however, December has never been what one might call an optimum month for my mental health status. Long story short, I do not like this Season of Joy, as it has been called.

My best friend reminded me last night that all these things I am stressing and worrying about, I can do nothing about them.  I am still taking on everyone else’s problems despite my efforts not to do just that. Besides, those I might be able to change, the desired result is a long way off. In short, stop worrying. Let go.

If I would actually like to have a Season of Joy this year and have less stress weighing on me, then I need to seek that which I desire.

Add more joy. Daily.

And take each problem as it comes, examine it as to whether it is worth my time and energy, seek solutions if within my power, then let it go.

I can look at the entire storm raging around me, angry winds stripping the trees and rain pouring down.

Or I can look at a single droplet of rain, a single moment in time.

I can choose how I see things.

I can choose whether I react or respond.

This last raindrop picture is untouched except for cropping. I like to think it is God sending me a smiley face.

Have a joyous day. And thank you to all who have been praying for us.

Early Morning Walk

I went for a walk yesterday morning, searching for a bit of peace, a place where my pain might not be able to find me. At least for a time. I’ve had a bad exacerbation lately and I am not doing well at all. I’ve had a migraine for three days’ running, again, plus the unrelenting body pain.

I left the Raven about 5:30 that morning, with the fog still boxing us in and the air still a bit crisp and damp. I walked with my big camera hanging around my neck and my cane in my left hand, just in case, up into the woodsy area behind the RV park. I kept climbing and climbing, hoping to reach the top, hoping to feel the rays of the morning sun on my face. Hoping for clarity in all the issues bogging me down right now.

I never did reach the top. I never did find solace from my pain. Or answers to my issues.

Will I ever be free of this pain? I pray and pray. But I cannot outrun it and no one can suffer it for me.

What I did find on my walk were some beautiful plants and birds. These are the things that keep me going from one moment to the next, God’s beauty. A special thank you goes out to a very good friend who reminded me tonight of all the beauty that surrounds me even when I am in pain. Thank you. You can always make me smile.

So until God takes away my pain, it will be one day at a time. Just one more day at a time.

My Guys, Gotta Love ‘em

My son had his surgery last Thursday. It was a long and tedious day, which, of course, he slept through. When my best friend came to pick Trevor and I up, she noticed that his bed was a “Big Wheel.” Little boys just cannot get away from their toys, even when they grow up.

I wasn’t as lucky to get to sleep through all the stress and worry of why his surgery was taking twice as long as scheduled (so much extra damage) or why his surgeon didn’t immediately come talk to me after the surgery was over. Trevor was in recovery almost an hour before his surgeon finally came to speak to me because he had been immediately called away to the emergency department to consult on another patient. I understood once it was explained to me, but it did nothing to relieve my overwhelming anxiety beforehand.

Trevor is now home and faring well. He has a high pain threshold, which he probably gets from me. If my hubby is any indication how most men handle pain, then Trevor is a rare bird, indeed. Ken doesn’t do well at all with pain, but I can’t fault him for that. We all have different set points and tolerances. I don’t like pain, either, but I have learned to deal with it.

The pain I most abhor is migraine pain. And yesterday was a migraine day.

But my guys came through for me in spades.

Trevor’s best friend, William, whom I also count among “my guys,” has been here since the day after Trevor’s surgery. He has been a huge help, stepping in where Trevor cannot right now by helping me mop the floors after the plumber was here. (We had our plumbing back up—again.) And he has also helped out with dishes and laundry and garbage. What a guy! He’s also great at providing comic relief, in trying to get me to laugh despite my migraine.

Despite his back and hip being messed up lately (plus still recovering from shoulder surgery, himself), Ken has been doing his best to help out as well. In fact, for last night’s dinner, he pulled homemade paella out of thin air! It was amazing, much better than my homemade soup the day before, though my guys are so good they wouldn’t admit my soup wasn’t that great even if threatened with torture.

The best thing my guys did for me, however, was to play cards all afternoon and evening, with the television off, so that I could rest. Silence in the house makes for such a nicer me the day after a bad migraine. I just love my guys, all three.

And a special thank you to my best friend, who has unwittingly become my hospital chauffer lately. I don’t know what I would do without you. I love you!

I Haven’t Got Time For The Pain

All those crazy nights when I cried myself to sleep
Now melodrama never makes me weep anymore
'Cause I haven't got time for the pain
I haven't got room for the pain
I haven't the need for the pain
Not since I've known you
You showed me how, how to leave myself behind
How to turn down the noise in my mind
Now I haven't got time for the pain
I haven't got room for the pain
I haven't the need for the pain
Not since I've known you
Suffering was the only thing that made me feel I was alive
Thought that's just how much it cost to survive in this world
'Til you showed me how, how to fill my heart with love
How to open up and drink in all that white love
Pouring down from the heaven
I haven't got time for the pain
I haven't got room for the pain
I haven't the need for the pain
Not since I've known you

Carly Simon

 

I really haven’t got time for all this pain. It needs to go away so I can get on with my life. It is exhausting, simply wears me out, body and soul.

Who needs it? Pain which warns of injury is one thing, but years and years of endless physical pain? I question why must I go through it? And the overwhelming mental anguish that the very real physical pain causes? There’s just not enough meditation in the world to deal with it. I can only say “ohm” so many times. And so far the medications I have tried don’t work, short of becoming hooked on narcotics and stoned the rest of my life.

There must be an answer out there somewhere. I just haven’t found it yet. Any suggestions?

Day Late, Dollar Short, Lucky In Love

Well, we finally managed to go shopping, and it was only a few days late. Migraines. Can’t live with them. Simply can’t function with them, most days. Yesterday I was feeling a little better so we went gangbusters—New Seasons Market for a fabulously large corned beef for Saturday’s dinner (I adore corned beef and cabbage); Salvation Army for those replacement coffee mugs; Goodwill for sheets (near new set of luxury sheets, dirt cheap); the Post Office; and, and, and. It was a busy day.

And then today, my migraine came back. I broke one of those replacement mugs. Is it any wonder? My nimble fingers just aren’t what they used to be. But that’s okay, because when we were at Goodwill yesterday we saw some brand new work boots that would be perfect for Trevor, only I didn’t want to buy them without him trying them on. So back to Goodwill we ventured, with Trevor in tow. He got the boots and I picked up yet another mug.

Even though I managed to get out today, it was a rather brutal day. My migraine and body pain were off the charts. Still, I managed to wander around Winco to finish the grocery shopping, my two men in tow again, after going to Goodwill. Oh, my was it brutal.

A little pity cuddle goes a long way, and it is a good thing my hubby is an angel in that department. When I lay my head on his shoulder and he strokes my hair and whispers prayers and apologies for all my pain, I cannot help but relax and start to feel better. At that moment, I know I am the luckiest girl in the world.

As a side note, maybe my migraine was partially caused by too many Scrabble games recently.

Please, say it isn’t so.☺

Two Words . . .

 

 

 

 

 

There were two words that, growing up, I learned never to let roll off my tongue, no matter how true I thought they might be.

I’m bored.

But there they are. And, yes, darn it, I am bored. I have just spent the last two weeks nursing a whopper of a migraine, plus achy joints and back, and now I am itching to do something more than bury my head under the covers. Two weeks lost. It is frustrating, this whole chronic illness gig I got going on here.

But I am bored. Silly. Bored silly. I just want to escape.

As I intimated earlier, those be deadly words. If Mom heard us say the “B” word, she would sentence us to chores, chores, and even more chores. Most of the time Mom left us alone, and we had our ways of getting away with things, like pretending we had worked all day long in the garden while she was at work. Obviously she should have been able to tell how much work we did by the amount of dirt we rubbed into our jeans, and not by the number of weeds yet to be pulled. Silly us for trying to get away with laziness on top of admitted boredom.

So, I guess my only recourse is to give myself a to-do list. After all there is plenty to do around here, and there are only 67 days left until May first, according to the counter.

Let’s see, there’s finishing the Roman shades, reorganizing the cabinets in the Raven, going through my wardrobe again, getting things ready for another yard sale and deciding on a date for it, and, and, and.

But for now, maybe something simple, then a shower, and then take Ken to his orthopedic appointment for his shoulder. I pray it is an easy fix, but I fear he will need major surgery for his torn tendon and arthritis. Pray for Ken today, please.

Oh, and since I am bored, I thought I would finally get around to the Multnomah Falls pics from last month. Enjoy! (Besides, these little day trips are what I really like to do when I am bored.)

Good Day

Good day doesn’t have to be a Friday

Doesn’t need to be your birthday

The next one then you won’t survive

Sing along hold my life

A good day is any day that you’re alive

Yes a good day is any day that you’re alive

Asked me mmmmm, you had to ask me

In the dreams you tell me

Tell them only you were tired

Sing along hold my life

A good day is any day that you’re alive

Yeah, a good day is any day that you’re alive

A bad day comes every once in a awhile your body says

Fourteen hundred shooting stars and (every time?)

A bad day comes every once in your body life

Goodbye

Hold my life one last time

A good day is any day that you’re alive

Yes a good day is any day that you’re alive

Yes a good day is any day that you’re alive

These are the days

Paul Westerberg, Good Day Lyrics

 

Any day I am alive is a good day, even the days when my head is splitting and my body is all but broken. Even the days when I can barely see our dreams any longer. Even the days when the bed is my only solace. Even these are good days. These past few weeks, with all their pain, these too have been good.

I wonder also whether our plans will work out, when Ken now has a torn tendon in his right shoulder. He cannot do all that needs to be done any more than I can. Will he need surgery? Will this cause him endless pain? Will he be able to drive the Raven? Will we be able to leave in May?

Keep the faith.

Keep the hope.

Believe in miracles.

Stay alive.

Mom’s Cinnamon Rolls, Redux

For the past several months, I have been craving my mother’s cinnamon rolls. This craving was made especially sharp because I cannot have the gluten or cinnamon; therefore I can no longer have my mom’s cinnamon rolls.

During the past Christmas season, I also missed my mom very  much.  She passed away in 2008. Maybe that is why I was really craving the cinnamon rolls. I wanted my mom. I wanted the warmth of her kitchen. I wanted the laughter we used to share as we made those cinnamon rolls or bread together. I wanted all those things I can never have again.

Life is funny that way sometimes. We always want what we cannot have. The grass is always greener on the other side of the fence.

But, alas, I cannot have the gluten. I know this but I do cheat sometimes. Those Voodoo doughnuts we can get here in Oregon cast their magic spell, and I fall on my knees, sick from eating just one. I am sick for a whole week after just one delectably gooey doughnut.

Cinnamon. I love cinnamon but it does not love me. My migraines are not worth its spicy goodness.

And finally, I cannot have my mom back. I can dream about her. I can remember her each time I make borscht or clam chowder. And I can cry when I cannot quite get her recipes right.

Even with all these obstacles facing me, I still longed for Mom’s cinnamon rolls. So, I did the one thing I could do: I found the next best thing. I found a gluten free cinnamon roll recipe here, and instead of sprinkling cinnamon on the filling, I sprinkled my newest spice friend, cardamom. It doesn’t quite have the bite that cinnamon does, with its slight bitterness, but I am growing to like it, and it tasted absolutely wonderful. They were so tasty, I forgot to take a picture first!

And the tray of actual cinnamon ones, well, you’ll see they are almost gone already.  They could not keep their hands off, even though I insisted that particular tray was for our gluten free neighbor. I did manage to save a few for her.

While savoring each bite, they took me back to my childhood kitchen at mom’s elbow, which is really what I was after in the first place.

This Too Shall Pass

I’ve been in this rut that past few days again. It isn’t depression, but it does keep me down. It is the blasted headaches and pain.  Again. Why must they be here again? I asked them politely to leave me alone. I guess the headaches are from spending too much time staring at a computer screen. But I have been trying so very hard to get my book finished that I have been in one of those writing frenzies—that is until the headaches took over again.

My writing frenzies can keep me up all night sometimes, pounding away at the keyboard. Or it can mean that I wake up in the morning with a pen in my hand. Yes, I do weird things in my sleep. Sleep walking. Sleep eating. Sleep writing.

My nights are oftentimes my most interesting times of the day, so to speak. I mean, what with all that sleep activity plus night terrors and nightmares and night sweats. Then there are CPAPs, mouth guards, wrist braces, and pillows supporting my knees and arms. And constantly readjusting my Sleep Number bed to find even two minutes of comfort. Sleep Number beds may be okay for “the average” person, but for a “major pain” like myself, well, I don’t think any bed can really give me all I need. Except there was that bed in Tahoe last spring . . .

Am I a mess or what?

But this too shall pass. God will ease my headaches, my pain. God will ease my symptoms of Lyme disease and early menopause. And God will even ease my nightmares.

And even though these things shall pass, I am very thankful for all of my life. I am thankful for my gift of writing. I am thankful for the intelligence God blessed me with, the sense of humor, the compassion and love in my heart. I am thankful for my husband, my children, my family, my friends. I am thankful for having enough in my life to always allow us to get by and never be desperately wanting or without. I am thankful for knowing the hard times with the good times, for how could I recognize the good without first knowing the bad? I am thankful there is a God to watch over me and care for me in my illness. I am thankful you are here, sharing my journey with me.

Bad Luck Opens New Doors For Weary Travellers

When God closes a door, He opens a window.
Or in this case, when happenstance or the bad economy force our favorite restaurant to close, we were forced to find a new chowder eatery. And find one we did. I don’t know why we have never eaten at the Sea Hag before. It has been on the Depot Bay waterfront for years, yet we have always sped past on our way to Newport, in search of the best chowder around, to be found only at the Whale’s Tale. Mo’s doesn’t hold a candle to what the Whale’s Tale used to make.
Sadly, we may never taste their chowder ever again.
Happily, though, we found the Sea Hag. I am always wary of trying chowder at new places, since I never know for sure whether they have spiked it with bacon, as many places do. If that bacon were to have nitrates, as most does, I would be rewarded with a doozy of a migraine. Do you serve aspirin with that chowder? Plus, now I have the whole gluten avoidance issue to deal with, and it is usually thickened with roux (made from flour and fat). So, unfortunately, we were not searching for chowder for me, but for my sweetie.
Besides, when I perused the menu, the bouillabaisse nearly  jumped off the page at me. It sounded so good, I decided I would take the plunge into eating soup with my fingers in public.
Talk about overcoming your fears. It took me a very long time to eat any seafood “finger food” other than deep fried prawns when in front of others. Isn’t it funny, all our worries and fears that involve what others may or may not think about us?
My first step toward seafood freedom was actually on our honeymoon, though I do not recommend indulging in all-you-can-eat crab right before boarding a plane to go home. A stomach full of Dungeness and a gut full of anxiety do not mix. Pepto, please carry me home.

This was a whole new issue, however, because it involved broth, not simply cracking dry crab legs. I actually had to fish them out of the stew before any cracking could take place. Doesn’t it look like there’s a crab trying to escape my bowl?
It was well worth every drip of broth that ran down my wrists. I have never tasted such a delightfully perfect bouillabaisse. If that guy across the room really wants to gawk at me while I tuck my napkin into my collar and lick that delectable broth from my fingertips, that’s his business. I don’t care anymore.
I was there for the good food and the only man I cared about was Ken, who was drooling as he eyed my bowl, wishing he had ordered the bouillabaisse instead of the oyster stew.
Sorry baby, this bowl’s all mine.

OH, CRABBY APPLES

Oh, crabby apples

We turned the refrigerator on

And it ain’t getting’ cold yet.

Trevor is rubbing his hands together

Thinking it’s my ice cream he will get.

You can’t take it with you

It’s already soft, just look.

I’ll eat the entire thing on the road

Nobody’s getting my Tillamook.

Oh, crabby apples.

What now? No tow lights for the Jeep?

I thought you had that fixed.

I guess we cannot leave in the morning

Until we get that problem nixed.

Oh, crabby apples.

Ugh. Another obstacle to our departing?

What do you mean the realtor is on her way?

The landlord could have given more notice.

How many more hassles can we add to this day?

Oh, crabby apples.

Get out of my face. Leave me alone.

Can’t you tell I have another migraine?

Yes, it is my obligatory weekly friend.

She thinks I am her bitch, but she is my bane.

Oh, crabby apples.

Finally, we are hitting the road.

I am so excited, I forgot to duck.

Bam, right into the corner of the TV

And unfortunately you know the word, f***

Oh, crabby apples.

Why can’t I get past this darned headache?

Why must I always bump my noggin?

It is a pain being a klutz and a clumsy dolt.

Maybe I should relax and quit hot-doggin’.

Oh, crabby apples.

We made it! We made it! But to where?

Spirit Mountain Casino, as a matter of fact.

A handful of cash and we are there, baby.

Granted my migraine is still fully intact.

Oh, crabby apples.

Crap. Crap. Crap. The crapper is broke.

Who would think you had to test the toilet

Before setting out on the first trip?

Gimme some water, I will make it flush, yet!

Oh, crabby apples.

Goodnight, baby. It has been fun.

Too bad the machines were tight.

They greedily took all our mad money.

But at least we should have a good night.

Goodnight.

Goodnight.

Goodness, good morning. Time for a walk.

Tinker is refusing to tinkle, but this you have to see.

Crab apples. Little red jewels on overgrown trees.

It’s an orchard gone wild. Just look at that tree!

Oh, crabby apples.

Those silly crab apples.

Today, I just cannot continue my pout.

Small and tart and unruly.

I can’t even remember what I was upset about.