A Penitent's Supper

After two days of virtuous eating and rigorous exercise, I have lost ONE of the offending FOUR pounds I gained as a result of Tuesday night's pig-out.

This has been my life since my fall from grace:

Nice salad, right? Lots of fiber, lots of veggies--broccoli, beets, tomatoes, cukes, corn, pea pods--what's not to like? Looks good enough to eat. So I did.

Happy tyranny of the beans! I'm pleased to report the little darlings just keep on coming:

Forty minutes of picking and thirty minutes of cleaning, blanching and ice-bath shocking yielded these good babies, ready for the freezer:

And here's to poblano pepper joy! Ten minutes under the broiler to blacken the skins, then steaming until cool enough to peel and take the seeds out:

I am eating well this summer. I am putting up provisions for the fall. I'm feeling mighty smug these days.

The Wages of Sin

It was the stress of the past few days, I'm sure.

After 7 weeks of almost-daily exercise, eating tiny amounts of only healthy, low-caloric, low-glycemic food, and losing 16 pounds of excess baggage (!), bringing me to within 1 pound of my last-December-wedding-weight, I fell off the wagon last night. In a really BIG way.

Let's just say that when I decide to binge-eat, I don't fool around, I go WHOLE HOG. I say "decide," but that's not entirely accurate. It's almost as if I was in a fugue state of "I know I shouldn't do this, but I can't stop myself." I noticed as I was bustling around in the kitchen, preparing my splurge-dinner, I was salivating like a starving dog.

My dinner: TWO Nathan's hot dogs with soft, fluffy buns, and all the trimmings--onions, sauerkraut, honey mustard and Dijon mustard, catsup, pickle relish. And a beer. And TWO lemon cupcakes with buttercream frosting with pearl sugar and crushed up lemon drops in the icing. It was a fabulous meal. I didn't feel guilty; I felt sated and swooning from the savory meat, the bitter alcohol and the 70-billion tons of refined sugar.

The result: I gained FOUR pounds on the scale this morning. How is that possible, gaining four pounds in 12 hours? Now I feel guilty. It's a good thing the guns are locked up.

So, back up on that wagon. And back down to the basement for some grunt-and-sweat time with my elliptical.

(Secret confession: It was almost worth it).

The calm after the storm

Today was remarkably uneventful, thank heavens! I got the van back down to the field, the Focus is running as if nothing ever happened to its electrical limbic brain (it was a faulty battery/starter relay AND a very dead battery combo that felled the beast), and life is back to normal. Whatever normal is.

Normal is: Dishes and laundry (it never ends), garbage that still needs to be taken to the dump (manana, amigos), and a sorely needed dog hair abatement program. It feels like I'm changing out vacuum bags at the rate of one per day. Not that I vacuum everyday, so there, I'm exaggerating once again.

Bill calls every morning (it's evening to him), as he's been in port for the last few days. He is due to get relieved the next time they make port. His replacement wasn't quite ready to come back yet, and he's not due off until mid-August. But he's a short-timer now. Only about two or three weeks more.

I still haven't made a decision on what car to buy to replace the van. I test drove a Chevy HHR and a Dodge Caliber yesterday. The HHR stands for "Hillbilly Hot Rod," according to the salesman. Somehow, I think he was joking? A very quiet, solid car with some pep, lots of room in the back, but it just didn't fit me. There were some major blindspots, I think due to the bulbous styling and the flat windshield. It made me nervous. The Caliber was cheap and rattly, not very fun to drive. Still looking.

I was out at the pond at sunset tonight, watching the bats eat mosquitoes. I love that! Echo was busy bothering a little box turtle, who was just trying to make his way to the water. A big blue heron was eyeing us warily, as he fished from the dock.

Ah! Back to normal!

Well, THAT little drama is DONE!

Leonard from Hardesty's Auto is my new best friend!

After trying everything I could think of this morning, I called him and he came with his big "roll-back" truck.

I prepared ahead of time by getting the Focus pointed downhill, strapping myself in, and coasting in neutral down the long, steep driveway. No power brakes, no power steering, just me creeping s-l-o-w-l-y down, both legs shaking on the pedal and my hand on the emergency brake. Whew. Down to the dam where it was flat and he could get his truck in.

He winched it up on the bed, and drove it away. Four hours later, he drove it up to the house and honked the horn. I wrote him a check while leaning on the hood of my car, thanking him profusely for saving my transportation bacon.

Now, can we get back to real life? Oh wait. This IS real life. Can we get back to uneventful life, where machines do what they are supposed to do, without the intervention of money, expertise (someone else's) and worrisome frustration?

The New Plan

Bill called from Japan, and we talked about cars. I would rather talk about other things, but the situation with the cars rules my life right now. He tells me that Ford starters are notorious for needing a fully-charged battery to turn over, and perhaps our 7-year old battery is less than optimum.

So my plan this morning is to pull the fuse box and check that first. If all the fuses are good, I'll sidle the van up to the Focus and see if I can jump-start it using the power of the running van engine. This will effectively "test" the Focus battery. If it doesn't start, then it really is something other than the battery. Or, it's the battery AND something else (these things usually come in twos and threes in my experience).

If nothing works to start the Focus, then I will check the van's fluids, air up the tires, and go over to Morristown to complete my test-driving of new cars--the manual transmission Vibe (I want to compare it to the automatic), the Hyundai Elantra Touring "Wagon," and the Dodge Caliber. Let's hope the van has a few more miles in her for her big finale.

Vehicle Update

First, the good news: The van is running again!

Now, the whole tortuous woe-is-me tale of exhaustion, frustration and heat-stroke:

The rain finally settled down to a steady drizzle, I got dressed and girded myself for auto mechanics. I started by removing the Focus battery. Sounds simple, right? It involved countless trips to find the correct tools, followed by more trips in to search again for the right socket, a vertical ratchet (because there was no room to turn a right-angled one), a pair of pliers, finally wrestling the cables off the terminals and lifting the heavy beast up and out of there without dropping it. I did the same thing in reverse, moving the van battery into the Focus. Didn't fit. Cables wouldn't reach. Scrap that plan.

I levered the van battery back out of the Focus, and hooked the Focus battery up to the charger. The charger said it was fully charged. Rats. I went back outside, put the Focus battery back in again, and hooked it up again. With a nod to the car-gods, I turned it on to start. At least this time there were no alarming, flashing electronic displays--just a click and a whirr. Not the battery. Maybe the solenoid? This time I was able to get the car out of Park and into Neutral, rolled it back and around, so maybe sometime in the future, it could be jump-started, if needed.

Next, the van. I rigged up an airport luggage wheely cart with a piece of 2 x 6 lumber, placed the van battery on it and bungie-corded it in. I put Echo's collar on and let her out, while I wheeled my package s-l-o-w-l-y down the concrete driveway, bumped and dragged it across the gravel, all the way down across the wooden bridge and to the van.

I unloaded the battery, popped the hood, and hoisted the monster into the tray, avoiding the swarm of hornets that apparently built a nest inside the engine compartment. Hooked it up, another nod to the sky, and vrooom! It started!

Echo hopped in and we bounced out of the field and up the driveway to the house.

Now at least I have one working vehicle. I have a diagnostic problem with the Focus, but as soon as I get my game-face back on again, there are some things I can try to pinpoint the offending car part.

Or not. I cleaned out the van in anticipation of trading it in this week for my Obama-money, just in case.

Is it time for a nap yet?

Stranded

Some days, it just doesn't pay to get out of bed in the morning.

I was all full of energy yesterday. I emptied all the trash containers in the house, loaded up the back of the red Focus with 3 weeks worth of stinky garbage, recyclables, cardboard and construction trash. My plan was to go to the dump, then go test-drive a Dodge Caliber and pick up a rack of ribs for a special supper on the way home.

I turned the key on "Old Faithful" and was rewarded with absolute silence. "Oh for crying out loud," I thought, "now what?"

Do you think that cars know when they are about to be replaced?

I rummaged around Bill's workspace and found the battery charger. I hooked it up to the battery, and unloaded all the garbage back out of the car, so it wouldn't smell up the interior on such a hot day. Then I went upstairs and stood steaming under the ceiling fan for awhile.

Four hours later, the car still wasn't showing any ambition to start. I now had clicking electronics, flashing dashboard lights and buzzing dinger-bells, but no ignition.

Oh well. I'd just walk down to the van and bring that up to the house. Deal with the Focus later. But when I got down to the field, the van's battery was dead too. Perfect.

I opened the hood, removed the battery and began the long, hot trudge up to the house, lugging the eleventy-billion pound albatross with me. It took about an hour. There was much cursing and wiping of sweat.

I put the charger on the van battery in the basement. Then I went and took a nap under the fan. The whole day was shot, and I was done.

This morning, the plan was to take the charged van battery and hook it up to the Focus. If it started, then I'd drive the Focus to the auto parts store (leaving it running) and have them test the "dead" Focus battery to see if it was completely dead, or if it just needed more charging. Then when I got back, I'd park the Focus next to the van, shut it off and remove the van battery, re-install that in the van, re-install the Focus battery in the Focus, then jump-start the Focus with the van! Drive the Focus up to the house, walk back down to the van and drive that up to the house too.

But the whole plan is on hold anyway, because it's raining to beat the band out there. And I'm still sitting here in my jammies, waiting for the rain to stop.

Oh. And if the van battery wouldn't start the Focus? Then there's something else wrong besides just a dead battery. Alternator? Starter? Fuse? Wiring? This car stuff makes my head hurt. Gnash. Grumble. Grrrrr.

I'm thinking about just going back to bed.

Echo Goes SWIMMING?

My girl-dog Echo does not like water. She hates the rain, walks around to avoid even the shallowest puddles, suffers through inevitable baths when she begins to stink, and never, ever, swims.

When we moved to Tennessee, she became more of a "country-dog" instead of a "small-town dog." She began to get a just a little more relaxed about water. She would occasionally tramp through the mud-flats of the pond and come home with muddy feet. She would periodically get wet crossing through the creek to investigate something her nose told her was on the other side.

Yesterday, while I was busily picking blackberries (and trying to extricate myself from the brambles snagging my shirt and pants), I heard a scuttle and small splash--followed by the giant SPLASH! of my dog leaping into the pond after whatever creature went in first.

As I whirled around, Echo was frantically paddling in the murky water, headed for the shore. Apparently, her limbic brain reacted before she thought about it rationally, (or as rationally as a dog can think), and suddenly, she was in the water before it registered that she really didn't want to be there.

She was a mess. Mud up to her flanks, dirty water pouring from her belly-fur, and pond scum all over her face! She stood on the bank, shaking herself, muddy water flying everywhere. It was definitely time to go home.

When we got up to the house, I immediately filled the tub. Echo slinked into the bathroom without any coaxing from me, and climbed into the bath by herself. I honestly think she was chagrinned at her own foolishness.

After much sudsing and rinsing, I brushed about a pound of hair off the dog:

She spent the rest of the day huddled damply on the couch, looking disgusted with herself.

Emergent Eggplants, Problem Peppers, Ripening Tomatoes

The gardening goddess has smiled upon me again. I have little baby eggplants! While trying to keep all the pots hydrated out there, I suddenly realized that I am going to have a wagon-load of these babies!

The eggplant flowers are breathtaking in their purple-and-yellow, multi-petalled majesty--no wonder all the bees want to pollinate these pretties:

I'm also delighted to see the baby poblanos finally coming on:

The other peppers are suffering from some sort of leaf-crinkling malady, and my next project is to re-pot them with fresh soil and a shot of fertilizer:

And deep in the foliage, there's a tomato turning pink!

Yes!

On the Mend

Things are looking a little cheerier this morning. My swelling continues to abate, and there's just a little residual itching and scratching and ballooning going on. I continue to take the blimp-out steroids, and I've gained back the 10 pounds I worked a month to take off. Sheesh. But the good news is that I no longer look like Elephantitis-Woman, and my hand doesn't feel like it's going to burst any minute. Progress.

I woke up this morning to a faint, odd smell in the house. Not a pleasant smell, kind of a combination of wet dog, sour milk, garbage hanging around too long, old tennis shoes and forgotten gym clothes, and maybe something going bad in the fridge too. Time to saddle up the buckets and mop, and swamp out the place. Sprinkle baking soda on the carpet, scrub down the surfaces, clean the sink drains and Febreeze the furniture. I've been slothful too long.

And because it has been raining every night, it's time to go down to the pond and pick the interminable blackberries again. Their profligate production guilts me. All that free food, just sitting down there, waiting for an energetic person to collect the bounty. I guess that's going to have to be me.

Venting

The Claw continued to worsen yesterday morning, so I packed myself off to my doctor's office. They wouldn't see me. They wanted nothing to do with my baseball bat of an arm and grotesquely-swollen hand, and they sent me to the ER, just so they wouldn't have to have me hanging around the waiting room, grossing everyone else out.

I knew no good could come of this. But I was in pain, and I went. After filling out the form with my left-hand (making the whole thing look like a second-grader's failing attempt at printing legibly), I was escorted to a treatment room, seen by a doctor promptly, and given an IV of steroids. (There goes the weight-loss progress, sigh...)

Then they wheeled in the ultrasound machine. "Wait a minute, I don't need that!" I sputtered. Once again, I was being the uncooperative patient. The nurse ran to get the doctor, who came in and lectured me that, because I had a history of breast cancer, and because I was on tamoxifen, and because I could have a clot in my arm, that would break off and lodge in my lung, causing heart failure, or travel to my brain, causing a stroke--well, against my better judgment, he scared me. He went out of his way to scare me. And I caved.

I should have said: "Okay, if you're right and I have a clot, I'll pay for my ultrasound and double it to pay for someone else who doesn't have insurance--and if I'm right and it's just an insect bite, the ultrasound is free!"

I should have said: "Would you order this test if I had no insurance and you knew the hospital would have to eat the cost of it?"

Instead I meekly said, "Fine. Whatever."

I hate it when I get this way. And he did scare me. I hate that too. And I'm really going to hate it when I get the bill.

Because, it was just as I said--a bite, with my over-reactive immune system. Hundreds of co-pay dollars later, no clot.

Grrrrrrr...

This morning, the steroids they infused me with and the continuing Medrol Pack of Pills are slowly reducing the swelling. I can bend my fingers. I can type. My arm and hand are only 3 times normal size instead of 5 or 6 times.

Next time, I'm sitting in that doctor's office until hell freezes over, and I'll tell them exactly what meds I need, so they don't have to hurt their brains figuring it out for themselves.

Peaches & Pears & Apples, Oh My!

I finally remembered to take my camera with me on our foray down to the pond last evening. I was dismayed to find that one of my two peaches had fallen off the tree.

After retrieving it (and brushing the ants off on the grass), I decided that nature had determined that they were ripe, so I picked the remaining peach too.

Then, I was shocked to see that I DO have a few apples on the too-aggressively pruned tree:

And, because I promised photos of the prolific pears, here they are:

I had one of the peaches for breakfast this morning, and it was delicious!

And, just because no joy comes without a little pain and suffering on the side for balance, I discovered that something bit me in the night. Yes, I used insect repellent when I went for a walk, but this happened while I was sleeping. Do I have to wear bug juice to bed now too?

For your sympathy, I present "The Claw:"

Pillsbury Dough-Boy Hand. Hamburger Helper Oven Mitt. It itches like the Dickens (now there's an interesting expression, where did that come from?), and is ballooning ever larger as I type. So I also had 2 Benadryl with my peach. I should be tottling back to bed for my diphenhydramine nap any minute now...

Kingsport Day

I'm off to Kingsport this morning, for my monthly commutation with Mr. Acupuncture. Life without pain is such a wonderful thing! I continue to be amazed and grateful for the pain relief these monthly appointments give, with the added benefit of abating the hot flashes and providing a general sense of well being. The skeptic in me is humbled.

I am also going to brave the Land of Car Salesmen today, as I have an appointment to test-drive a VW wagon. I have had Volkswagens in the past, Beetles and Dashers, and have liked them. With Obama giving away $ for clunkers, and the little red Focus getting up there in mileage, it seems like a good time to trade in the van, collect the cash and replace the family "tripster."

I like compact wagons. Very few manufacturers make them anymore. I don't like SUVs, "Crossovers," or sedans. Once again, I am out of step with what the free market has decided is the vehicle of choice. If Ford continued to make the Focus in a wagon body-style, I would buy another in a heartbeat. But they don't. Old Red is the second Focus we've owned, and it's been reliable and economical to operate.

But now I have to change; find something to replace my old friend. Subaru? VW? Something weird from Chevy called an HHR? The process of schlepping around, gearing up to say "no, no, no" to salespeople--the whole idea makes me tired and edgy.

But it must be done, so off I go...

Berries, Taters, Corn & Other Agricultural Marvels

I've got crops!

I am SO glad I took a bucket with me on our walk down to the pond yesterday! I had a sneaking suspicion that the big rainy day may have spurred the blackberries to plump out and ripen up, and I was right! I came home with several stickers that needed to be removed with tweezers, red-stained fingers and about 2 quarts of berries!

What a difference from last year's dried up tiny blackberries! I am amazed at what our over-abundance of rain has done. This year's berries are big and juicy, and they're just getting started. The chore of picking them will have to be added to my daily routine from now on.

On our way down, Echo and I also spied germinating corn:

I still find it amazing that one can put a seed in the ground and consistently get results. I mean I know it's supposed to work that way, it's evolutionarily designed to be that way, but I'm always over-abundantly thrilled when I see those shoots poking up through the soil.

For instance, here's what happens when potatoes get forgotten in the kitchen and start getting all soft and sprouty. Instead of throwing them out, I went outside and stuck them in the ground. Three months later, a handful of new, free potatoes appear! Amazing!

The tomatillos are starting to form. I love their little Chinese Lantern-type shapes:

The tomatoes are fruiting:

Anaheim chiles are starting to produce:

And bell peppers too:

I am such a dope about stuff like this. To me, gardening (or just gathering, in the case of the blackberries) is all magic and delight. Even with the stickers.

And wait until you see the PEARS!

To be continued...

Hermit Time

No, the blacksnake did not return to swallow me whole. I did not fall down the stairs, break an ankle on a trail, or perish from heatstroke. I've just been holed up, being solitary.

The tyranny of the blog is that if I don't feel like writing (or there's simply nothing to write home about), people start calling, worrying that I've fallen down and can't get up. Or something similarly dire.

The truth is that the summer days just melt into each other. I get up and do my little routines--coffee, computer, then the huff-and-puff on the elliptical, rewarded with a shower and brunch. Then it's time for dog-walking, weeding, watering the thirsty container garden, knitting while watching a few NCIS episodes, household chores (dishes & laundry--it never ends), then reading, followed by an hour-long nap on the couch. When I awake, it's time to start thinking about dinner, and while it's cooking, I usually go out again with the dog and work on digging up the raised bed, getting ready to plant another crop of something.

But today it's raining, so my routine is a little disrupted. Echo got her Frontline this morning, so she's racked out, not feeling like going anywhere. I'm gleefully contemplating the corn I planted this week, hoping that it will sprout after this precipitation.

Consumer news: I tried the new OFF! clip-on insect repellent device. Don't waste your money. I suffered through another rash of bites, all in the name of research. Also, I'm not so thrilled with the idea that I'm inhaling a chemical fog, which doesn't seem any less toxic than applying it to my skin. And the point is moot--the darn thing doesn't work at keeping the bugs at bay.

Family news: Mom is off galavanting with the cousins on the Russian River in California. Alex is now officially a homeowner--the last time we spoke, someone was power-sanding the hardwood floors in the background, and he had just come in from weed-wacking his lawn (he doesn't have a mower, so this will have to do for the time being). Juli has a new job at an upscale Kimpton hotel called The Monaco.

Wildlife news: I found another snakeskin in the other lettuce tub. Do these things come in threes? Bunnies abound. A big buck tried to commit suicide in front of my car in my own driveway a few days ago. There is something in the woods that makes a strange distress call at sunset, that I haven't figured out yet.

You see? I told you there wasn't anything momentous going on...