... canned 6 more quarts of tomatoes.
... bought parsley when I meant to buy cilantro, and therefore got halfway through making salsa.
... dyed my hair flaming orange, just 'cause.
... found Samosa sleeping in the fruit bowl.
... gave a little lesson in vegetarian cooking to a lovely young lady who is new to the non-flesh way o' life.
... slept about two hours.
... found myself really looking forward to the end of summer (and the end of mosquitos).
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
Keep your fingers crossed...
...I'm requesting to be transferred to a new position at my hospital. It is the Holy Grail of nursing positions. Two days/week floating on the floors, doing things like admitting new patients, helping out the other nurses with random tasks, but not actually taking a patient assignment of my own, from 11am-11:30pm... plus one day/week taking an assignment on telemetry from 7am-7:30pm. I wants it, oh do I wants it!!
The HR department called me today to offer me full-time work... they wanted me to do three 8-hour shifts plus one 12-hour shift/week on nights. I declined. My commute to work is long, and ultimately I don't want to give up the flexibility that comes with working three shifts/week unless it's for the perfect job. And to be quite honest... anything on night shift is automatically imperfect. I'm tired of nights. I'll keep doing it as long as I have to, but I can't tell you how much I miss sunlight, sleeping with my Honeybunch, and being able to relax with him over a glass of homemade wine when he comes home from work in the evenings.
Plus, everything is just more difficult at night. We only have one physician on staff in the whole hospital at night. Our patient loads are enormous. It's more difficult to get a hold of the supplies and help you need, should something be amiss. There are fewer opportunities to teach, to get to know your patients. They either don't want anything to do with you because they're sleeping, or they want everything from you all night because they're demented and frightened.
So I'll put in for this position, and hope that they'll overlook my relative inexperience and choose to focus on the fact that I have awesome people skills that are being wasted during the nighttime hours.
In other news, I'm hauling in loads of hot peppers from the garden... more sahuaros than I know what to do with. Looks like I'd better get the dehydrator running again...
The HR department called me today to offer me full-time work... they wanted me to do three 8-hour shifts plus one 12-hour shift/week on nights. I declined. My commute to work is long, and ultimately I don't want to give up the flexibility that comes with working three shifts/week unless it's for the perfect job. And to be quite honest... anything on night shift is automatically imperfect. I'm tired of nights. I'll keep doing it as long as I have to, but I can't tell you how much I miss sunlight, sleeping with my Honeybunch, and being able to relax with him over a glass of homemade wine when he comes home from work in the evenings.
Plus, everything is just more difficult at night. We only have one physician on staff in the whole hospital at night. Our patient loads are enormous. It's more difficult to get a hold of the supplies and help you need, should something be amiss. There are fewer opportunities to teach, to get to know your patients. They either don't want anything to do with you because they're sleeping, or they want everything from you all night because they're demented and frightened.
So I'll put in for this position, and hope that they'll overlook my relative inexperience and choose to focus on the fact that I have awesome people skills that are being wasted during the nighttime hours.
In other news, I'm hauling in loads of hot peppers from the garden... more sahuaros than I know what to do with. Looks like I'd better get the dehydrator running again...
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
And so it ends...
... our tomato plants are officially dead.
Their withered brown stalks are dropping unripe fruit, and I have to give in and pull them out this week. Sigh. The heat and lack of rain this summer really killed 'em good. One of the many lessons I've learned from this year's garden: use a soaker hose in the tomato plot.
Their withered brown stalks are dropping unripe fruit, and I have to give in and pull them out this week. Sigh. The heat and lack of rain this summer really killed 'em good. One of the many lessons I've learned from this year's garden: use a soaker hose in the tomato plot.
Saturday, August 14, 2010
Thursday, August 12, 2010
A change in perspective: winter.
I'm finding myself to feel differently about the seasons as I become more in tune with the natural cycle of the year. I find my attitude changed most notably in regards to winter. As I lay here in bed trying to stay cool with three fans blowing air around in our little Cave, I think about the sense of dread I've always felt as the summer ends... Fall moves in, but never stays long enough... and the bitterness of winter creeps up on the heels of October and kills all joy and light. Winter has always meant death to me.
Now, as the heavy harvest work of climbing fig trees and canning tomatoes peaks, I find myself looking ahead to winter with a sort of prepared anticipation. I know that come February I'll be itching to have my hands in black soil again, with the sun beating down upon my back and the chickens panting in the shade of the fig tree. But right now, I can see myself beginning to view the months of cold and dark as a time of rest.
What will I do on my days off when there are no weeds to pull? How will I fill the hours when our meals do not require the filling of a compost bucket with peels, cores and seeds? Yes, I admit that as I spend these afternoons sweating in my kitchen and putting pounds of prepped fruits and vegetables in the freezer/canner/dehydrator, I find myself looking forward to the time when I pull out these stores, throw them in a slow cooker and call it dinner.
I do not consider myself a lazy woman, but I do enjoy my hours of leisure, and the idea of having more of them is almost worth having fewer hours of sunlight.
Now, as the heavy harvest work of climbing fig trees and canning tomatoes peaks, I find myself looking ahead to winter with a sort of prepared anticipation. I know that come February I'll be itching to have my hands in black soil again, with the sun beating down upon my back and the chickens panting in the shade of the fig tree. But right now, I can see myself beginning to view the months of cold and dark as a time of rest.
What will I do on my days off when there are no weeds to pull? How will I fill the hours when our meals do not require the filling of a compost bucket with peels, cores and seeds? Yes, I admit that as I spend these afternoons sweating in my kitchen and putting pounds of prepped fruits and vegetables in the freezer/canner/dehydrator, I find myself looking forward to the time when I pull out these stores, throw them in a slow cooker and call it dinner.
I do not consider myself a lazy woman, but I do enjoy my hours of leisure, and the idea of having more of them is almost worth having fewer hours of sunlight.
Sunday, August 08, 2010
Chip.
I deal with illness all the time, with dying, with coronary arteries and clots and S-T segment changes showing the suffocating death of those precious cells of heart muscle. I observe, analyze, and act based on protocol and instinct, keeping calm above the clamor of it all, knowing that seconds are critical and that life hangs in the balance. And then I go home, pour myself a glass of milk, feed the chickens, laugh with my Honeybunch, and play with my cats. Life goes on for me, largely unchanged, after some person's body wages the battle of its lifetime against the inevitable.
And then it comes home. It's an altogether different experience when those little waveform changes on the telemetry strip usher a friend of your found-family into their next life.
He was a kind man, generous with his affection, treating us like long-lost niece and nephew, planning a piece of stained glass as a wedding gift, lending me books on conservative political ideology, ever reading, ever learning. He'll be remembered, and his characteristic limp will missed when we gather around the bonfire to share stories, music and wine. We raised our glasses of whiskey in your honor this morning, friend.
And then it comes home. It's an altogether different experience when those little waveform changes on the telemetry strip usher a friend of your found-family into their next life.
He was a kind man, generous with his affection, treating us like long-lost niece and nephew, planning a piece of stained glass as a wedding gift, lending me books on conservative political ideology, ever reading, ever learning. He'll be remembered, and his characteristic limp will missed when we gather around the bonfire to share stories, music and wine. We raised our glasses of whiskey in your honor this morning, friend.
Saturday, August 07, 2010
Friday Peach Party
I have a long weekend off from work, and yesterday I brought home a giant box of local peaches from the farm down the way. They were super sweet, dead ripe and filled my car with a heavenly fragrance on the way home. Knowing that they'd be mush in a matter of a day or two, I set about the hot, sticky work of preserving them.
By the end of the night, I was miserably hot and tired, and not wanting to see another peach ever again. That's a problem, because even after all of that, there's still this left in the bottom of the box that was once overflowing with peaches:
However, by the time I woke up this morning, my loathing for the fruit had passed. When it came time to devour my breakfast of french toast (made from homemade oatmeal bread, our girls' eggs, and local raw milk), spread with the bit of extra peach butter that wouldn't fit in the jars, I concluded that it had been indeed worth the heat, time, and effort. Meals like that make me feel almost like I should be able to walk outside afterwards, hitch up my horse and go riding through the wooded acres of the farm we'll own someday...
The fig tree is pushing out colanders full of ripe fruit on a daily basis. We're picking every day and freezing them whole to make jam and wine with at a later date. It's unbelievable how delicious these are... and how I ever got by without a tree in the yard.
Our little rooster, Mr. Ethel, will be going to a new home today. I was lucky enough to find a lady in need of a rooster to protect her little flock of bantam hens. I'm very sad to see him go. He's really a sweetheart, and a beautiful creature to boot. I have loved watching him court the ladies... and watching him submit to Popcorn... even though she's half his size, she's still the top chicken in the flock and he runs from her if she charges at him!
Apparently preying mantids also grow up fast... this dude was hanging out on the lemongrass yesterday evening... I'm thinking he was once of the little nymphs that hatched in the garden earlier this Spring, all growed up and purdy...
First, I packed four quarts of halved peaches in light syrup to be saved for snacking during snowstorms. Nomnomnom! (Ignore the date stamp on these photos, it is incorrect).
Then, I decided to make peach butter with a touch of vanilla and cinnamon... completely naive to the fact that it would take more than 6 hours of cooking down on the stove to go from 20 cups of this:
...to 14 cups of this:
By the end of the night, I was miserably hot and tired, and not wanting to see another peach ever again. That's a problem, because even after all of that, there's still this left in the bottom of the box that was once overflowing with peaches:
The fig tree is pushing out colanders full of ripe fruit on a daily basis. We're picking every day and freezing them whole to make jam and wine with at a later date. It's unbelievable how delicious these are... and how I ever got by without a tree in the yard.
I know that at least a few of our younger girls will miss him, despite his very sudden and rude sexual advances. Here he is with Lady Jane:
And in other chicken news, one of the young ladies has begun laying! Beautiful little creamy light brown eggs. They grow up too fast...
Sunday, August 01, 2010
Incidentally Vegan Pumpkin Lammas Muffins
Today is Lammas, the Harvest Day. I hadn't even thought about it until I saw a friend post on Facebook about it, but upon reflection I discovered that we were accidentally celebrating it all day long. Yesterday I filled the vases in our home with sunflowers and Russian sage. We started our morning with a breakfast of fresh blackberries, eggs from our girls, and freshly baked bread. We were greeted by the amateur crowing of our flock's little rooster. And this evening, I welcomed in the harvest season with our first pumpkin creation of the year. I suppose these things happen when your eating in synchrony with the seasons.
Treeman lives in a small town outside of Baltimore. It's a quirky place, full of neat little shops and cafes and boutiques. Whenever we would visit him at his old farmhouse just outside of town, we'd go to a little place called Sarah and Desmond's for breakfast the next morning. We'd get big mugs of strong coffee, veggie fritattas, and a Vegan Pumpkin Muffins. The Vegan Pumpkin Muffin deserves capital letters. It was truly the BEST muffin I have ever had in my life. Words do not do it justice. Unfortunately, Sarah and Desmond's closed down, and since we have been Vegan Pumpkin Muffin-less and in despair. Until today!
Today, I fussed over the first pumpkin of the year from the farmer's market. A little thing, yielding about 1.5 cups of mashed flesh after I'd chopped, skin and roasted it in the oven. But the sight and smell of that lovely orange flesh, with its slippery seeds and warty exterior, made my heart skip a beat or two. Fall is on its way.
I debated whether to make a soup, or a curry, or roast it with potatoes and rosemary. But then I remembered the Vegan Pumpkin Muffin, and wondered if it would be improper to try to replicate such divinity in my very earthly kitchen. I did a little research online, comparing existing recipes for pumpkin muffins (all of which called for pumpkin out of a can, which I found both amusing and sad). Finally, I threw the stuff together in a bowl, filled the last of my muffin tin papers, and waited anxiously for the verdict.
It took all of my self control to pack up a few of the mini muffins for one of our neighbors. Really. It hurt. These are vegan, but only incidentally so. If you lack vegetable oil, I'm sure melted butter would be positively decadent in these. Next time I'll experiment with replacing some of the sugar with honey... if you beat me to it, be sure to reduce the oven temperature by a few degrees to avoid over browning.
Incidentally Vegan Pumpkin Lammas Muffins ala Marlenah but Inspired by Sarah and Desmond's and Adapted from Various Recipes Found Across the Interwebs
1 cup all-purpose flour
½ cup whole wheat flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 tsp cinnamon
1/2 tsp cardamom
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 cup mashed fresh pumpkin
1/3 cup vegetable oil
2 large eggs
1 1/4 cups sugar
A few tablespoons of cinnamon sugar
A few tablespoons of roasted pumpkin seeds for sprinkling on top
Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Mix the pumpkin, oil, eggs and sugar together in a bowl until smooth. Sift the dry ingredients together, then whisk into pumpkin mixture until well blended, but don't over beat! Spoon into prepared muffin tins, sprinkle with pumpkin seeds and cinnamon sugar, and bake until puffy and golden on top, and a toothpick inserted in the center of each comes out clean. Try to resist eating every last one in a single sitting. Do your best.
Treeman lives in a small town outside of Baltimore. It's a quirky place, full of neat little shops and cafes and boutiques. Whenever we would visit him at his old farmhouse just outside of town, we'd go to a little place called Sarah and Desmond's for breakfast the next morning. We'd get big mugs of strong coffee, veggie fritattas, and a Vegan Pumpkin Muffins. The Vegan Pumpkin Muffin deserves capital letters. It was truly the BEST muffin I have ever had in my life. Words do not do it justice. Unfortunately, Sarah and Desmond's closed down, and since we have been Vegan Pumpkin Muffin-less and in despair. Until today!
Today, I fussed over the first pumpkin of the year from the farmer's market. A little thing, yielding about 1.5 cups of mashed flesh after I'd chopped, skin and roasted it in the oven. But the sight and smell of that lovely orange flesh, with its slippery seeds and warty exterior, made my heart skip a beat or two. Fall is on its way.
I debated whether to make a soup, or a curry, or roast it with potatoes and rosemary. But then I remembered the Vegan Pumpkin Muffin, and wondered if it would be improper to try to replicate such divinity in my very earthly kitchen. I did a little research online, comparing existing recipes for pumpkin muffins (all of which called for pumpkin out of a can, which I found both amusing and sad). Finally, I threw the stuff together in a bowl, filled the last of my muffin tin papers, and waited anxiously for the verdict.
It took all of my self control to pack up a few of the mini muffins for one of our neighbors. Really. It hurt. These are vegan, but only incidentally so. If you lack vegetable oil, I'm sure melted butter would be positively decadent in these. Next time I'll experiment with replacing some of the sugar with honey... if you beat me to it, be sure to reduce the oven temperature by a few degrees to avoid over browning.
Incidentally Vegan Pumpkin Lammas Muffins ala Marlenah but Inspired by Sarah and Desmond's and Adapted from Various Recipes Found Across the Interwebs
1 cup all-purpose flour
½ cup whole wheat flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
1/2 tsp cinnamon
1/2 tsp cardamom
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 cup mashed fresh pumpkin
1/3 cup vegetable oil
2 large eggs
1 1/4 cups sugar
A few tablespoons of cinnamon sugar
A few tablespoons of roasted pumpkin seeds for sprinkling on top
Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Mix the pumpkin, oil, eggs and sugar together in a bowl until smooth. Sift the dry ingredients together, then whisk into pumpkin mixture until well blended, but don't over beat! Spoon into prepared muffin tins, sprinkle with pumpkin seeds and cinnamon sugar, and bake until puffy and golden on top, and a toothpick inserted in the center of each comes out clean. Try to resist eating every last one in a single sitting. Do your best.
4am
... and I am awake.
My sleep schedule is all screwed up.
I was awake at 8am yesterday, making breakfast and getting ready to hit the farmer's market up for some berries and greens.
Then I canned tomatoes.
All. Day. Long.
We now have a total of 16 quarts of tomatoes canned in their own juice. My kitchen must have been 5000 degrees. I decided that if I was gonna heat it up, I might as well bake a loaf of sourdough and roast the first pumpkin of the year while I was at it. Yup, that was one hot kitchen.
By the time I finished up in there, it was dark outside, and the heat had sapped the life out of me. I needed water, and I needed sleep. Just a little nap, before we head out to the party....
I awoke past midnight, and the party was pretty much 6 feet under by then, and my Honeybunch hardly stirred when I turned on the laptop and started perusing the many blogs I follow and haven't had time to read lately.
I ordered "Made from Scratch" by Jenna at Cold Antler Farm http://coldantlerfarm.blogspot.com/. This woman inspires me on a daily basis, and I can't wait to read her book. I can't tell you how many times I spend an evening in my apron and think, "Jenna would say that I am 'a very exciting young person' right now".
The figs are starting to come in now. We picked a handful or two for breakfast yesterday, and the tree is LOADED with green fruit. Honeybunch and I are determined to make a serious amount of fig jam this year, as well as another 5 gallons at least of fig wine. On Friday night, we enjoyed the last existing bottle of the fig wine we'd made at the end of August two years ago, when we were living separately and spent two weeks housesitting for Good Neighbors.
It was our first experiment in living together, in sharing a kitchen, after only 4 months or so of (blissful) dating. We baked incredible fig bread, made loads of fig jam, and brewed three gallons of fig wine that matured to a beautiful finish recently. We dined together in that kitchen for every meal, and found that the two weeks we had together "playing house" ended too quickly. Upon returning from vacation, Good Neighbor asked how living together had gone... and I told him, "I want to marry that boy." Our friends toasted our engagement with glasses of that fig wine on Friday night, and everything felt as though it had come full circle.
I quit my second job last week. Upon realizing that my orientation period would be requiring me to work double shifts (going straight from a night shift at the hospital into a day shift at the rehab) on a weekly basis, I decided that I'd like to keep my brain somewhat in tact and that I have enough going on at the one job right now to keep me quite busy and stressed out as it is. Plus, I have the opportunity to pick up some 12-hour shifts at the hospital this month, and I'd like to see how I manage that schedule. Ultimately, I'd love to work the holy grail that is three 12's in a row... so now is the time to start weaseling my way into that position if I can.
Our rooster has started crowing. I need to get to work on finding him a new home where roosters can be roosters without having the police called on them. He thinks that one of the Barred Rock pullets is just about the sexiest thing he's ever seen, and she's taken to roosting in the fig tree at night to get away from him. Sigh. It's fun having a rooster in the flock, especially since he's a really sweet and beautiful one, and his pubescent antics do make me laugh... but we're not on a farm (yet), and we have to be pragmatic about these things. I'll miss him though.
My sleep schedule is all screwed up.
I was awake at 8am yesterday, making breakfast and getting ready to hit the farmer's market up for some berries and greens.
Then I canned tomatoes.
All. Day. Long.
We now have a total of 16 quarts of tomatoes canned in their own juice. My kitchen must have been 5000 degrees. I decided that if I was gonna heat it up, I might as well bake a loaf of sourdough and roast the first pumpkin of the year while I was at it. Yup, that was one hot kitchen.
By the time I finished up in there, it was dark outside, and the heat had sapped the life out of me. I needed water, and I needed sleep. Just a little nap, before we head out to the party....
I awoke past midnight, and the party was pretty much 6 feet under by then, and my Honeybunch hardly stirred when I turned on the laptop and started perusing the many blogs I follow and haven't had time to read lately.
I ordered "Made from Scratch" by Jenna at Cold Antler Farm http://coldantlerfarm.blogspot.com/. This woman inspires me on a daily basis, and I can't wait to read her book. I can't tell you how many times I spend an evening in my apron and think, "Jenna would say that I am 'a very exciting young person' right now".
The figs are starting to come in now. We picked a handful or two for breakfast yesterday, and the tree is LOADED with green fruit. Honeybunch and I are determined to make a serious amount of fig jam this year, as well as another 5 gallons at least of fig wine. On Friday night, we enjoyed the last existing bottle of the fig wine we'd made at the end of August two years ago, when we were living separately and spent two weeks housesitting for Good Neighbors.
It was our first experiment in living together, in sharing a kitchen, after only 4 months or so of (blissful) dating. We baked incredible fig bread, made loads of fig jam, and brewed three gallons of fig wine that matured to a beautiful finish recently. We dined together in that kitchen for every meal, and found that the two weeks we had together "playing house" ended too quickly. Upon returning from vacation, Good Neighbor asked how living together had gone... and I told him, "I want to marry that boy." Our friends toasted our engagement with glasses of that fig wine on Friday night, and everything felt as though it had come full circle.
I quit my second job last week. Upon realizing that my orientation period would be requiring me to work double shifts (going straight from a night shift at the hospital into a day shift at the rehab) on a weekly basis, I decided that I'd like to keep my brain somewhat in tact and that I have enough going on at the one job right now to keep me quite busy and stressed out as it is. Plus, I have the opportunity to pick up some 12-hour shifts at the hospital this month, and I'd like to see how I manage that schedule. Ultimately, I'd love to work the holy grail that is three 12's in a row... so now is the time to start weaseling my way into that position if I can.
Our rooster has started crowing. I need to get to work on finding him a new home where roosters can be roosters without having the police called on them. He thinks that one of the Barred Rock pullets is just about the sexiest thing he's ever seen, and she's taken to roosting in the fig tree at night to get away from him. Sigh. It's fun having a rooster in the flock, especially since he's a really sweet and beautiful one, and his pubescent antics do make me laugh... but we're not on a farm (yet), and we have to be pragmatic about these things. I'll miss him though.
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Grey eyes.
When I first met her, I thought, "I hope I look like her at that age".
She was in her eighties, sitting up in her bed, peering at me with bright grey eyes.
She wore a barette in her stylishly cut chin length hair.
She smiled gently, her unlined hands folded neatly in her lap.
She'd come in with a "change in mental status". When I received report that night, I laughed out loud as the story unfolded about her trying to hit her husband with a cane at their assisted living facility. As I looked at the pleasant, pretty older lady sitting before me, I wondered to myself whether perhaps he deserved it.
Upon examination, I found her to be confused as to where she was, but largely appropriate in her answers to my questions. She was pleasant, with an easy laugh and a sharp wit. She was startled by my cold hands as I felt for her pulse and kindly rubbed my hands in hers to "warm them up". An hour later, she was asleep, and I saw the faintest of smiles play on her lips as she dreamt.
Six hours later, a disheveled, half-dressed woman emerged from her room, blood dripping from her arm, carrying her bed alarm, crying out for her husband. I rushed over to her, donning gloves as I ran, and pulled her gown around her shoulders as I clamped a hand over the bloody mess where she had torn through her IV tubing. She looked at my like I'd killed her cat. "Get me a telephone, I will not be held prisoner here!" she spat at me. After 15 minutes of back-and-forth, I managed to calm her down enough to pull out her mutilated IV and tape some gauze over the site.
I placed a call to her husband as she demanded she speak with him. She made him tell her his mother's name, as she didn't believe it was actually him on the phone. Then, she stood at the nurse's station, staring at the elevators down the hall, refusing to return to her room until her husband arrived. I waited with her, all other tasks delegated to coworkers, as she would let no one else near her. She spoke with me, about the weather, and about the upcoming holiday picnic planned at their retirement community... but she was guarded, and eyed me with suspicion as I asked questions as innocent as, "what dish are you planning to prepare?"
When her husband arrived, he walked her back into her room, and I sat with them for a good while. She sat on the bed, with her arms crossed, bright grey eyes shooting daggers at her husband of sixty-odd years whenever he divulged a bit of information to me. He explained to me that over the past year she'd only had minor forgetfulness, such as putting water on the stove for coffee, then forgetting to make the coffee at all. "Nothing like this, not in all the years we've been married," he said, the concern and love he felt for her obvious in his voice.
Over the next week, we both watched this bright, beautiful woman die.
In a matter of a day, she was moaning like an injured animal. Her eyes were dull, and looked inward... seeing nothing of the world around her. She was edematous, the extra fluid leaking from her skin and soaking the bedding. Her hair was tangled, the barrette long gone now. A nurse's aide had to sit with her 24 hours/day to keep her from pulling at her IV, her heart monitor, her gown. No amount of morphine, Ativan, Haldol, or hydromorphone assuaged the pain, anxiety, and fear. When the drugs failed, I put the business of the night out of my mind and went back to basics. I combed her hair. I turned off the television and placed my hands on her back, focusing all of the soothing, healing energy I could find within myself, letting it flow into her.
Her breathing relaxed. Her moaning ceased. She slept, perhaps for 10 minutes. Then, a noise. Somewhere on the unit, someone dropped something. And so the moaning and writhing resumed. I sighed, looked at the clock, and knew that I had a time critical cardiac drug to give to another person who needed me.
I left the room, and when I left the hospital that day, I thought about her. I thought about her husband, who'd known and loved her for over 60 years, and who woke up a week ago to find that his lover and best friend was a different person. I thought about the mystery of it... all of her tests were normal, no signs of a stroke or heart attack... but her mind had deteriorated over a matter of days, her body simply giving out as her kidneys, liver and heart failed suddenly and quickly.
This woman was elegant. She was tall, and self-posessed. She'd lived a life that I'm sure was full of stories, full of humor and adventure. I had the honor of seeing a glimpse of that, the very first night we'd met. I learned the next week that ultimately, her family decided to make her a hospice patient, and she was sent to another unit of the hospital. I silently prayed, to no one in particular, that she would die soon, that the cruel indignity of her descent would end quickly. I prayed that the nurses on that floor would keep her hair tidy, and wash her neatly manicured hands.
She haunts me still, and my eyes sting each time I think of her calling out for her husband on her last lucid night of life.
She was in her eighties, sitting up in her bed, peering at me with bright grey eyes.
She wore a barette in her stylishly cut chin length hair.
She smiled gently, her unlined hands folded neatly in her lap.
She'd come in with a "change in mental status". When I received report that night, I laughed out loud as the story unfolded about her trying to hit her husband with a cane at their assisted living facility. As I looked at the pleasant, pretty older lady sitting before me, I wondered to myself whether perhaps he deserved it.
Upon examination, I found her to be confused as to where she was, but largely appropriate in her answers to my questions. She was pleasant, with an easy laugh and a sharp wit. She was startled by my cold hands as I felt for her pulse and kindly rubbed my hands in hers to "warm them up". An hour later, she was asleep, and I saw the faintest of smiles play on her lips as she dreamt.
Six hours later, a disheveled, half-dressed woman emerged from her room, blood dripping from her arm, carrying her bed alarm, crying out for her husband. I rushed over to her, donning gloves as I ran, and pulled her gown around her shoulders as I clamped a hand over the bloody mess where she had torn through her IV tubing. She looked at my like I'd killed her cat. "Get me a telephone, I will not be held prisoner here!" she spat at me. After 15 minutes of back-and-forth, I managed to calm her down enough to pull out her mutilated IV and tape some gauze over the site.
I placed a call to her husband as she demanded she speak with him. She made him tell her his mother's name, as she didn't believe it was actually him on the phone. Then, she stood at the nurse's station, staring at the elevators down the hall, refusing to return to her room until her husband arrived. I waited with her, all other tasks delegated to coworkers, as she would let no one else near her. She spoke with me, about the weather, and about the upcoming holiday picnic planned at their retirement community... but she was guarded, and eyed me with suspicion as I asked questions as innocent as, "what dish are you planning to prepare?"
When her husband arrived, he walked her back into her room, and I sat with them for a good while. She sat on the bed, with her arms crossed, bright grey eyes shooting daggers at her husband of sixty-odd years whenever he divulged a bit of information to me. He explained to me that over the past year she'd only had minor forgetfulness, such as putting water on the stove for coffee, then forgetting to make the coffee at all. "Nothing like this, not in all the years we've been married," he said, the concern and love he felt for her obvious in his voice.
Over the next week, we both watched this bright, beautiful woman die.
In a matter of a day, she was moaning like an injured animal. Her eyes were dull, and looked inward... seeing nothing of the world around her. She was edematous, the extra fluid leaking from her skin and soaking the bedding. Her hair was tangled, the barrette long gone now. A nurse's aide had to sit with her 24 hours/day to keep her from pulling at her IV, her heart monitor, her gown. No amount of morphine, Ativan, Haldol, or hydromorphone assuaged the pain, anxiety, and fear. When the drugs failed, I put the business of the night out of my mind and went back to basics. I combed her hair. I turned off the television and placed my hands on her back, focusing all of the soothing, healing energy I could find within myself, letting it flow into her.
Her breathing relaxed. Her moaning ceased. She slept, perhaps for 10 minutes. Then, a noise. Somewhere on the unit, someone dropped something. And so the moaning and writhing resumed. I sighed, looked at the clock, and knew that I had a time critical cardiac drug to give to another person who needed me.
I left the room, and when I left the hospital that day, I thought about her. I thought about her husband, who'd known and loved her for over 60 years, and who woke up a week ago to find that his lover and best friend was a different person. I thought about the mystery of it... all of her tests were normal, no signs of a stroke or heart attack... but her mind had deteriorated over a matter of days, her body simply giving out as her kidneys, liver and heart failed suddenly and quickly.
This woman was elegant. She was tall, and self-posessed. She'd lived a life that I'm sure was full of stories, full of humor and adventure. I had the honor of seeing a glimpse of that, the very first night we'd met. I learned the next week that ultimately, her family decided to make her a hospice patient, and she was sent to another unit of the hospital. I silently prayed, to no one in particular, that she would die soon, that the cruel indignity of her descent would end quickly. I prayed that the nurses on that floor would keep her hair tidy, and wash her neatly manicured hands.
She haunts me still, and my eyes sting each time I think of her calling out for her husband on her last lucid night of life.
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Summertime thunder
It's storming outside right now, which makes me very happy for several reasons. Thunderstorms are exciting, invigorating, and give me an excuse to sit still for a few moments to watch the show. They mean that I don't have to be eaten alive by mosquitos this evening while watering the tomatoes and peppers. Plus, the rain makes the chickens look soggy, pathetic and comical (although they don't seem to mind too much).
While camping out in North Carolina last weekend, it was like living in the rainforest. Every day the weather shifted multiple times between brilliant hot sunshine and violent torrential rainstorms with thunder that echoed and bounced off of the mountains in a deafening roar. It was gorgeous, despite the car getting stuck in the mud and the tent taking three days to dry out once we got home. It was during one of those storms that Honeybunch asked me to marry him and I (of course) said yes.
We're both so excited. Everyone in our lives is thrilled. And we're determined to throw an awesome party while keeping it simple and down to earth. There will be circus arts at our wedding, but the wedding itself will NOT be a circus! This is going to be easy, and fun... much the way our blessed relationship has been all along. I am really enjoying calling him my "fiancé", especially with a soupy French accent. And, because everyone asks, no, there is no ring, and that's the way we like it. My humble opinion is that diamonds are largely unethical and overrated, and I am a simple, practical girl. My honeybunch knows me. We're planning on exchanging simple white gold bands at the ceremony, and getting tattooed wedding bands as well (I do NOT wear rings to work).
On the homefront, tomatoes are out in full force. The Black Sea Man tomatoes have been amazing... tasty, prolific, and good keepers for a few days off the vine. The Nebraska Weddings have been less prolific and suffering more from the multiple heat waves, though we plucked a couple of them this week. The yellow pear tomatoes are putting out little golden jewels that fill my apron on a nearly daily basis, and we're having to get creative about how we use them... in omelettes, pasta salads, dressed with oil, vinegar, basil and mozzarella... We're canning today, mostly tomatoes from the farm down the road from us. Our own tomatoes get eaten up fresh pretty darn quickly. I've never canned tomatoes before, so it's a bit of a learning process... but I have to say that I enjoy the satisfaction of slipping the skin off of the blanched tomato in one smooth motion.
The sweet and hot peppers are growing, we're harvested a few hot but can't remember which types we planted where. The Salad Blue potato plants are dying off, so digging em up and seeing what kind of harvest we've gotten is on the To-Do list once the rain passes. I'm not entirely convinced that we'll have many spuds under those layers of straw... it was an experiment with perhaps too many variables... but we'll see.
We've discovered that one of the Rhode Island Red "hens" is actually a rooster. I'd suspected this for weeks, as they've matured and this particular bird got very, very big and developed a large, upright comb and shiny green tail feathers. Then, "she" began trying to mount "her" sisters. That was a red flag. And this morning, Good Neighbor heard "her" distinctly attempt to crow twice. Oi vey. We are not permitted to have roosters in our area. Technically, this one belongs to Good Neighbor... so (though I forget it sometimes) it's not up to me what fate he meets. I'm hoping Good Neighbor will let us find him another home... he's beautiful, and not aggressive towards us at all... but there's a possibility that there may need to be a lesson on kind and humane chicken slaughtering. Again, we'll see.
We've also adopted (yet another) kitten. His name is Samosa, he's orange and white, and sweet as pie. This kitten wants to do nothing but cuddle. As I type he's pulling at my hands with his paws, begging him to pet him. I'm in love with him. He came to the farmer's market with us yesterday, and everyone there fell in love with him too. He's a real charmer.
At work, everything is chaos. Our new computerized charting system just went live, and it's all a mess. We're still understaffed. Such is life.
It's a rainy Sunday afternoon, so I'm going to spend some time reading before we heat up the kitchen for canning.
While camping out in North Carolina last weekend, it was like living in the rainforest. Every day the weather shifted multiple times between brilliant hot sunshine and violent torrential rainstorms with thunder that echoed and bounced off of the mountains in a deafening roar. It was gorgeous, despite the car getting stuck in the mud and the tent taking three days to dry out once we got home. It was during one of those storms that Honeybunch asked me to marry him and I (of course) said yes.
We're both so excited. Everyone in our lives is thrilled. And we're determined to throw an awesome party while keeping it simple and down to earth. There will be circus arts at our wedding, but the wedding itself will NOT be a circus! This is going to be easy, and fun... much the way our blessed relationship has been all along. I am really enjoying calling him my "fiancé", especially with a soupy French accent. And, because everyone asks, no, there is no ring, and that's the way we like it. My humble opinion is that diamonds are largely unethical and overrated, and I am a simple, practical girl. My honeybunch knows me. We're planning on exchanging simple white gold bands at the ceremony, and getting tattooed wedding bands as well (I do NOT wear rings to work).
On the homefront, tomatoes are out in full force. The Black Sea Man tomatoes have been amazing... tasty, prolific, and good keepers for a few days off the vine. The Nebraska Weddings have been less prolific and suffering more from the multiple heat waves, though we plucked a couple of them this week. The yellow pear tomatoes are putting out little golden jewels that fill my apron on a nearly daily basis, and we're having to get creative about how we use them... in omelettes, pasta salads, dressed with oil, vinegar, basil and mozzarella... We're canning today, mostly tomatoes from the farm down the road from us. Our own tomatoes get eaten up fresh pretty darn quickly. I've never canned tomatoes before, so it's a bit of a learning process... but I have to say that I enjoy the satisfaction of slipping the skin off of the blanched tomato in one smooth motion.
The sweet and hot peppers are growing, we're harvested a few hot but can't remember which types we planted where. The Salad Blue potato plants are dying off, so digging em up and seeing what kind of harvest we've gotten is on the To-Do list once the rain passes. I'm not entirely convinced that we'll have many spuds under those layers of straw... it was an experiment with perhaps too many variables... but we'll see.
We've discovered that one of the Rhode Island Red "hens" is actually a rooster. I'd suspected this for weeks, as they've matured and this particular bird got very, very big and developed a large, upright comb and shiny green tail feathers. Then, "she" began trying to mount "her" sisters. That was a red flag. And this morning, Good Neighbor heard "her" distinctly attempt to crow twice. Oi vey. We are not permitted to have roosters in our area. Technically, this one belongs to Good Neighbor... so (though I forget it sometimes) it's not up to me what fate he meets. I'm hoping Good Neighbor will let us find him another home... he's beautiful, and not aggressive towards us at all... but there's a possibility that there may need to be a lesson on kind and humane chicken slaughtering. Again, we'll see.
We've also adopted (yet another) kitten. His name is Samosa, he's orange and white, and sweet as pie. This kitten wants to do nothing but cuddle. As I type he's pulling at my hands with his paws, begging him to pet him. I'm in love with him. He came to the farmer's market with us yesterday, and everyone there fell in love with him too. He's a real charmer.
At work, everything is chaos. Our new computerized charting system just went live, and it's all a mess. We're still understaffed. Such is life.
It's a rainy Sunday afternoon, so I'm going to spend some time reading before we heat up the kitchen for canning.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Sunday, July 11, 2010
Fruit panic.
It was with a sense of panic that I suddenly realized this past week that the cherries and raspberries will soon be gone from the fields. We hadn't put anything by with these fruits, and the idea of going through all of fall, winter and spring without the taste of cherries or raspberries was too terrible to bear. Thus it was that this past Saturday morning, we ventured out to a local orchard. In the pouring rain. Yes, we finally got some rain. And we were wet, and cold, and the waxed cardboard tray we were given to put the berries in melted in the rain, and because I was with my Honeybunch it was fun, and we giggled and picked and wondered how crazy the kids working in the market thought we were.
It was slim picking in the raspberry brambles, but we picked about 2.5 quarts, which have since either been frozen or turned into sauce for our french toast breakfast this morning. We bought cherries from them as well. Picking our own wasn't an option, but they still had some for sale in the market. I have frozen half of the sweet and dehydrated the other half. The sour cherries are cooking down into preserves on the stove as we speak. I decided to go for the Martha Stewart pectin-free preserves recipe found here http://www.marthastewart.com/recipe/sour-cherry-preserves , which was silly of me given that it's 90-something degrees outside and I'm in here cooking cherries and sugar at 220 degrees for 40 minutes. However, it used less sugar than the other jam recipes I found online, and I did not feel like making a special trip to the grocery store just to pick up a box of pectin. The preserves are deep, deep red and, as I'm finding when I taste the foam I'm skimming off the top, delicious.
This weekend, I dehydrated/canned/froze a full bushel of corn, 2.5 quarts of raspberries, 12 quarts of sweet cherries and 6 quarts of sour cherries. It feels good to be able to say that. Make hay while the sun shines, right?
It was slim picking in the raspberry brambles, but we picked about 2.5 quarts, which have since either been frozen or turned into sauce for our french toast breakfast this morning. We bought cherries from them as well. Picking our own wasn't an option, but they still had some for sale in the market. I have frozen half of the sweet and dehydrated the other half. The sour cherries are cooking down into preserves on the stove as we speak. I decided to go for the Martha Stewart pectin-free preserves recipe found here http://www.marthastewart.com/recipe/sour-cherry-preserves , which was silly of me given that it's 90-something degrees outside and I'm in here cooking cherries and sugar at 220 degrees for 40 minutes. However, it used less sugar than the other jam recipes I found online, and I did not feel like making a special trip to the grocery store just to pick up a box of pectin. The preserves are deep, deep red and, as I'm finding when I taste the foam I'm skimming off the top, delicious.
This weekend, I dehydrated/canned/froze a full bushel of corn, 2.5 quarts of raspberries, 12 quarts of sweet cherries and 6 quarts of sour cherries. It feels good to be able to say that. Make hay while the sun shines, right?
Thursday, July 08, 2010
Cuckoo for Cocoa Puffs.
Lately at work, we've had a major increase in the number of patients coming to our floor with psych, drug and alcohol issues. I assume this has something to do with the fact that many other local hospitals who previously had units devoted to "dual diagnosis" patients (those with both acute psychiatric and medical issues to attend to) have shut down said units.
This is very, very unfortunate.
Our community hospital does not have the resources to provide the kind of care these patients need... most notably, we do not have the staff. Many nights in the past several weeks we nurses have had to work the floor without the assistance of our nursing aides (who are precious and wonderful and necessary for our sanity) because they've been pulled to sit in on "1:1"s. When a patient is out of control, suicidal, or demented and trying to climb out of bed/pull out tubes/pee on their roommate we initiate 1:1 observation. This means that a nursing aide, or sometimes a nurse, should no aides be available, stays within arms reach of that patient 24 hours/day, and records what they are acting like every fifteen minutes. On Monday night, we had SIX 1:1s. We don't have six nurses aides in the whole hospital on night shift under normal circumstances. A nursing aide from evenings worked a 16 hour shift overnight to help manage this. It's absurd.
As a result, I'm learning to manage 7+ acutely ill patients without the assistance of an aide. Usually at least one or two of them has some psych issues going on. I've had several patients in that past month or so going through alcohol withdrawal, more than one pain medication addict, a woman in her 70s whose drunk daughter beat the hell out of her and attempted to drown her in the bathtub, and just about the saddest case of rapidly advancing dementia I've ever seen.
In light of this, when a nearby drug and alcohol/psych rehab hospital called me up and requested an interview, I obliged and have since accepted a position. I'll be working 4 shifts/month, and start next week. It's a nice place, 100% voluntary (which makes a big difference... everyone there is detoxing because they want to be, not because of a court order). I figure that the experience will interesting and will help diversify my young nursing resume. If I hate it, it's not a job I have to keep to survive. If I love it, all the better for my nursing career. I'm hoping to develop finer skills dealing with patients in pscyhiatric crises, and to become more familiar with the methods and drugs used to help with the detox process.
Part of me feels like I am absolutely insane for taking on a new challenge at this point in my life... but another, louder part of me thinks, if not now, then when? There's never going to be a point in my life where I'm not busy, not overwhelmed, not sleep deprived and behind on my to-do list. I may as well accept that and embrace the opportunities for growth presented to me.
Speaking of growth, do a raindance for me. This heat and dryness has to break soon.
This is very, very unfortunate.
Our community hospital does not have the resources to provide the kind of care these patients need... most notably, we do not have the staff. Many nights in the past several weeks we nurses have had to work the floor without the assistance of our nursing aides (who are precious and wonderful and necessary for our sanity) because they've been pulled to sit in on "1:1"s. When a patient is out of control, suicidal, or demented and trying to climb out of bed/pull out tubes/pee on their roommate we initiate 1:1 observation. This means that a nursing aide, or sometimes a nurse, should no aides be available, stays within arms reach of that patient 24 hours/day, and records what they are acting like every fifteen minutes. On Monday night, we had SIX 1:1s. We don't have six nurses aides in the whole hospital on night shift under normal circumstances. A nursing aide from evenings worked a 16 hour shift overnight to help manage this. It's absurd.
As a result, I'm learning to manage 7+ acutely ill patients without the assistance of an aide. Usually at least one or two of them has some psych issues going on. I've had several patients in that past month or so going through alcohol withdrawal, more than one pain medication addict, a woman in her 70s whose drunk daughter beat the hell out of her and attempted to drown her in the bathtub, and just about the saddest case of rapidly advancing dementia I've ever seen.
In light of this, when a nearby drug and alcohol/psych rehab hospital called me up and requested an interview, I obliged and have since accepted a position. I'll be working 4 shifts/month, and start next week. It's a nice place, 100% voluntary (which makes a big difference... everyone there is detoxing because they want to be, not because of a court order). I figure that the experience will interesting and will help diversify my young nursing resume. If I hate it, it's not a job I have to keep to survive. If I love it, all the better for my nursing career. I'm hoping to develop finer skills dealing with patients in pscyhiatric crises, and to become more familiar with the methods and drugs used to help with the detox process.
Part of me feels like I am absolutely insane for taking on a new challenge at this point in my life... but another, louder part of me thinks, if not now, then when? There's never going to be a point in my life where I'm not busy, not overwhelmed, not sleep deprived and behind on my to-do list. I may as well accept that and embrace the opportunities for growth presented to me.
Speaking of growth, do a raindance for me. This heat and dryness has to break soon.
Wednesday, July 07, 2010
Happy Independence Day
This year I celebrated my independence in the same way I have for the past five years. I camped out on beautiful, unspoiled land... danced to pulsing drums in the mountains... played with fire... walked a labyrinth and gazed upon the Milky Way... and of course, there were fireworks.
We made new friends.
Well, to be quite honest, this fellar wasn't too happy to meet us. Not even after we tried to buy his love with cherries.
This moth, however, was quite friendly!
He wiggled his fuzzy little bonkers at us for several minutes before flitting off into the golden sunlit leaves of the forest.
Once we returned home, rejuvenated from our trip, we attended to the animals and the garden. They seemed glad for us to be home, and the chickens greeted us warming by pecking at our toes. The cats pretended they'd been starving over the weekend. The skunk tried to hide the fact that there was still nuts and dried fruit in her food bowl, and pretended to also be dying of hunger. We were not fooled, but gave them treats and cuddles all the same.
It seems that we arrived home just in time... a heat wave has hit our area, and my poor blossom-end-rot suffering tomatoes require watering twice/day to keep them from shriveling up!! The Black Sea Man tomatoes are producing very well and seem to be quite hardy to the dry weather... no black spots on the bottoms of these beauties...
However, the Nebraska Wedding Tomatoes can't seem to get beyond the size of a golf ball without developing a nasty leathery welt on their blossom ends. It's frustrating to no end... I've worked powdered milk into the soil, I'm watering deeply, I mulched with leaf compost... what else can I do?
It's wild raspberry season, and as you can see above we took about ten minutes last night to grab some in the dark on our walk in the woods. We really need a few hours and broad daylight to bring in a big haul like last year, but the 100 degree weather has deterred us from attempting that this week. Hopefully the bushes will still be producing after this heat passes and we can once again journey outside while the big bright yellow thing hangs in the sky.
Work has been horrible lately, which makes me not even want to write about it. All y'all need to know is that we had only one bed vacant on our floor Monday night. Not fun.
Lastly, a recipe. This one has been a family favorite for generations. My grandmother said that it came from the Depression era, when families may have had weeks in which there was only one or two food items available, and you had to make a meal of it. I think it is one of the most delicious foods on the planet, even though it looks more like slop than anything else.
Creamed Tomatoes
Tomatoes
Flour
Butter (traditionally, bacon fat is used, but not for us pescatarians)
Milk
Salt and pepper
Slice fresh tomatoes and dredge them in flour. Fry in butter until browned on both sides. Mash 'em up and set aside. Add some flour to the excess oil in the pan and cook to make a rue. Return the tomatoes to pan, add milk until creamy and smooth but not soupy. Add salt and pepper to taste. Serve with slices of hearty bread, using the bread to scoop up the sloppy delicious tomatoey mess. This meal is the absolute taste of summer when served with fresh corn on the cob.
Saturday, June 26, 2010
My fever is broken!!
Hurrah! Hurray! Weee!!
I'm still not feeling 100%, but I feel a heck of alot better than I did 4.6 degree ago!
This means that today I got out into the garden (in fact, out into the world at ALL) for the first time since Wednesday morning. And, I discovered some of our lovely tomatoes were showing signs of blossom-end rot. Le sigh. Apparently I haven't been watering enough... or maybe there isn't enough calcium in the soil... either way, I sprinkled a generous amount of powdered milk at the base of each and will henceforth be watering religiously. Only a few of the fruit needed to be tossed to the chickens, so hopefully I caught it early enough to prevent a big loss.
I also discovered several zucchini that should have been picked days ago... one was the size of my forearm... so the poor dears are relegated to baking purposes only, as the flavor and texture aren't quite right for eating on their own at that size. They yielded 9 cups of shredded zucchini. Yipes. Looks like I'll be getting a head start on our freezer supply of zucchini bread. I'm baking my way through the massive bowl of batter, but have only three loaf pans to work with, so it's slow going over here. I'm going to be up late tonight. I am reminded of a part of "Animal, Vegetable, Miracle" by Barbara Kingsolver in which she describes the desperate attempts gardeners make to rid themselves of their excess of zucchini.... and to protect themselves from being "gifted" with the same. And it's only the end of June....
Zucchini Bread
2 eggs
1.5 c sugar
0.5 c honey
1 c vegetable oil
2 c grated raw zucchini
3 tsp vanilla
1 c whole wheat flour
2 c all purpose flour
1 tsp kosher salt
1 tsp baking soda
1/4 tsp baking powder
3 tsp ground cinnamon
1 c sunflower seeds (or chopped walnuts/filberts, whatever you prefer)
Beat the eggs until light and foamy. Add the zucchini, sugar, oil, and vanilla and mix well. Combine flour salt, soda, power and cinnamon in a separate bowl, mix well, then add to wet ingredients. Stir until well blended, add seeds/nuts, and pour into two greased loaf pans. Bake at 350 degrees for about an hour.
Alternately, add chocolate chips and bake in muffin pans... delicious and sinful.
These loaves keep well at room temperature, and freeze beautifully too!
I'm still not feeling 100%, but I feel a heck of alot better than I did 4.6 degree ago!
This means that today I got out into the garden (in fact, out into the world at ALL) for the first time since Wednesday morning. And, I discovered some of our lovely tomatoes were showing signs of blossom-end rot. Le sigh. Apparently I haven't been watering enough... or maybe there isn't enough calcium in the soil... either way, I sprinkled a generous amount of powdered milk at the base of each and will henceforth be watering religiously. Only a few of the fruit needed to be tossed to the chickens, so hopefully I caught it early enough to prevent a big loss.
I also discovered several zucchini that should have been picked days ago... one was the size of my forearm... so the poor dears are relegated to baking purposes only, as the flavor and texture aren't quite right for eating on their own at that size. They yielded 9 cups of shredded zucchini. Yipes. Looks like I'll be getting a head start on our freezer supply of zucchini bread. I'm baking my way through the massive bowl of batter, but have only three loaf pans to work with, so it's slow going over here. I'm going to be up late tonight. I am reminded of a part of "Animal, Vegetable, Miracle" by Barbara Kingsolver in which she describes the desperate attempts gardeners make to rid themselves of their excess of zucchini.... and to protect themselves from being "gifted" with the same. And it's only the end of June....
Zucchini Bread
2 eggs
1.5 c sugar
0.5 c honey
1 c vegetable oil
2 c grated raw zucchini
3 tsp vanilla
1 c whole wheat flour
2 c all purpose flour
1 tsp kosher salt
1 tsp baking soda
1/4 tsp baking powder
3 tsp ground cinnamon
1 c sunflower seeds (or chopped walnuts/filberts, whatever you prefer)
Beat the eggs until light and foamy. Add the zucchini, sugar, oil, and vanilla and mix well. Combine flour salt, soda, power and cinnamon in a separate bowl, mix well, then add to wet ingredients. Stir until well blended, add seeds/nuts, and pour into two greased loaf pans. Bake at 350 degrees for about an hour.
Alternately, add chocolate chips and bake in muffin pans... delicious and sinful.
These loaves keep well at room temperature, and freeze beautifully too!
Thursday, June 24, 2010
...Again??
...I'm sick. Feels like the flu. We'll know soon enough, if it persists beyond today, I call it the flu, and I call out of work tonight.
Had a horrible night at work last night. Continuous bladder irrigation, blood transfusions, stinky colostomies, combative, demented patients screaming their heads off and throwing punches each time I tried to go near enough to find out what was the matter. All with a fever, body aches, nausea, and a sore throat that won't quit.
Time to curl up under the covers and try to heal.
Had a horrible night at work last night. Continuous bladder irrigation, blood transfusions, stinky colostomies, combative, demented patients screaming their heads off and throwing punches each time I tried to go near enough to find out what was the matter. All with a fever, body aches, nausea, and a sore throat that won't quit.
Time to curl up under the covers and try to heal.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Sweet corn pancakes, mud and zucchini.
Well, Honeybunch and I completed the 10k adventure race "mud run" this past weekend. What a challenge! 6.3 miles of running, climbing, swimming, mucking, jumping, sliding, and belly-crawling through mud. We were literally up to our ears in mud! I really enjoyed the obstacles (think bootcamp on a rainy day... cargo nets, hurdles, walking across a ravine on ropes), and the pure ridiculousness of being so incredibly filthy. We got hosed down by a fire truck after completing the race, and it still took three cycles through the washing machine to get our clothes (mostly) clean.
A local farm has already begun harvesting sweet corn and blueberries, which is positively thrilling me. This past weekend I made sweet corn pancakes with homemade raw butter (which turned out so neon yellow I could hardly believe it). It tasted like heaven. The recipe I use is adapted from one given to me by dear TreeMan. His mother used to make them in batches for 60+ people at a time!! We've divided the recipe to serve about 10 people, and you can halve it again if you want but I find that these are best when shared with neighbors and friends. I fyou want pure, straight-up buttermilk pancakes, the original recipe called for all white flour and no spices/vanilla. I personally can't resist fuddling with it to complement whatever goodies I'm adding (corn, blueberries, raspberries, chocolate chips...). I've added other spices and whole grain flours with great success, so feel free to experiment so long as you keep the proportions in tact.
Sweet Corn Pancakes
Mix in batches to feed 10 people at a time as listed below.
4 ½ c. flour (I usually use 2 c. whole wheat flour and 1/2 c. finely ground corn meal here)
1/4 c. sugar
2 tbsp + 2 tsp. baking powder
2 tsp. soda
2 tsp. salt
1 tsp cinnamon
1/2 tsp cardamom
2 tsp vanilla extract
4 eggs
½ c. oil
6 c. buttermilk*
1 c. fresh or frozen sweet corn kernels (or other goodies).
Sift dry ingredients together. Beat eggs in a separate bowl. Stir in oil and buttermilk and beat together.
Add to dry ingredients, stirring only until dry ingredients are completely moistened. Fold in corn. DO NOT OVER BEAT!
Brush hot griddle with vegetable oil and fry, turning once. My rule of thumb is to turn my pancakes when there are at least 5 bubbles forming in the center of the cake.
Serve with fresh butter and warmed maple syrup. These keep well in the fridge for several days and can be gently reheated in the oven with great success.
* Add a tablespoon of vinegar to a cup of milk and let it stand for five minutes and you have made buttermilk.
Our garden is providing us with snow and snap peas, green beans, lettuces, carrots and zucchini now. A few little hot peppers the size of my little finger sprung up overnight where I swear there had just been flowers yesterday. Despite having cages as support, I've had to tie up the branches of our tomato plants to keep them from breaking with the weight of the fruit growing on them. They're positively loaded, and some of the fruit are already as big as my fist. Next year I may invest in some Texas Tomato cages like these http://tomatocage.com/, as my tomato plants are almost taller than I am and stretching far above the funnel-shaped wire cages I used to support them.
A local farm has already begun harvesting sweet corn and blueberries, which is positively thrilling me. This past weekend I made sweet corn pancakes with homemade raw butter (which turned out so neon yellow I could hardly believe it). It tasted like heaven. The recipe I use is adapted from one given to me by dear TreeMan. His mother used to make them in batches for 60+ people at a time!! We've divided the recipe to serve about 10 people, and you can halve it again if you want but I find that these are best when shared with neighbors and friends. I fyou want pure, straight-up buttermilk pancakes, the original recipe called for all white flour and no spices/vanilla. I personally can't resist fuddling with it to complement whatever goodies I'm adding (corn, blueberries, raspberries, chocolate chips...). I've added other spices and whole grain flours with great success, so feel free to experiment so long as you keep the proportions in tact.
Sweet Corn Pancakes
Mix in batches to feed 10 people at a time as listed below.
4 ½ c. flour (I usually use 2 c. whole wheat flour and 1/2 c. finely ground corn meal here)
1/4 c. sugar
2 tbsp + 2 tsp. baking powder
2 tsp. soda
2 tsp. salt
1 tsp cinnamon
1/2 tsp cardamom
2 tsp vanilla extract
4 eggs
½ c. oil
6 c. buttermilk*
1 c. fresh or frozen sweet corn kernels (or other goodies).
Sift dry ingredients together. Beat eggs in a separate bowl. Stir in oil and buttermilk and beat together.
Add to dry ingredients, stirring only until dry ingredients are completely moistened. Fold in corn. DO NOT OVER BEAT!
Brush hot griddle with vegetable oil and fry, turning once. My rule of thumb is to turn my pancakes when there are at least 5 bubbles forming in the center of the cake.
Serve with fresh butter and warmed maple syrup. These keep well in the fridge for several days and can be gently reheated in the oven with great success.
* Add a tablespoon of vinegar to a cup of milk and let it stand for five minutes and you have made buttermilk.
The chickens haven't laid eggs for the past two days. I'm wondering what the heck is going on with them... they don't appear to be molting, they're acting normal and healthy... just no eggs. I've searched the yard to see if they had a hidden nest somewhere but there's nothing. Very curious. I suppose they're lucky we're vegetarian... but if they keep this up I might make an exception!!
Not really. I love those birds. I'd keep chickens even if they didn't lay eggs, just for their antics and snuggles.
Oh, Popcorn. You act so tough in the yard but you're really just a big ol' softie!!
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Bringin work home with me.
I found it rather surreal this morning when I came home from working on a cardiac floor all night and awakened my Honeybunch to have him sit up and bed and tell me that his "heart feels weird".
He was having palpitations, and as I pressed my ear to his chest I heard his heart beating irregularly and rapidly. When it did not pass after a couple minutes, I said that I thought we should go to the ER. He agreed, and went to take an aspirin (he has Factor V Leiden, which makes him more at risk to develop blood clots). As he bent to drink from the faucet, the palpitations vanished, and upon listening to his heart I found it pulsing out its usual slow, steady drumbeat. At first I was relieved, but the suddenness with which the rapid irregular nature of the rhythm went away made it even more weird. The concerns lingered and we went to the ER to have him checked out.
The telemetry monitor wanted to make him look like a liar, and he sat in the cot for four hours with a perfect sinus waveform bouncing across the screen.
It was really, really strange to be on both sides of the situation in one morning.
I'm a worry-wort and I know it. I'm that family member who all nurses wish didn't exist... works in healthcare, watching every move you make, asking questions, suggesting theories, anxiously glued to the bedside. I was irritated that no one else seemed concerned about the Factor V Leiden history in combination with symptoms that sounded VERY much to me like paroxysmal atrial fibrillation. Hello thrombus??
Finally, doc comes back with news. Blood work is fine, chest x-ray is fine, D-Dimer (a blood test used to screen for clots) is within normal limits. Follow up with your PCP and avoid caffeine, they say.
Relieved, but still unsettled. Wishing I had a homemade EKG machine at the ready for if/when it happens again. Honeybunch thinks that he can make one pretty easily, which I find hilariously amusing.
Either way, I'm likely to be even more patient and sympathetic towards anxious family members than usual at work tonight.
He was having palpitations, and as I pressed my ear to his chest I heard his heart beating irregularly and rapidly. When it did not pass after a couple minutes, I said that I thought we should go to the ER. He agreed, and went to take an aspirin (he has Factor V Leiden, which makes him more at risk to develop blood clots). As he bent to drink from the faucet, the palpitations vanished, and upon listening to his heart I found it pulsing out its usual slow, steady drumbeat. At first I was relieved, but the suddenness with which the rapid irregular nature of the rhythm went away made it even more weird. The concerns lingered and we went to the ER to have him checked out.
The telemetry monitor wanted to make him look like a liar, and he sat in the cot for four hours with a perfect sinus waveform bouncing across the screen.
It was really, really strange to be on both sides of the situation in one morning.
I'm a worry-wort and I know it. I'm that family member who all nurses wish didn't exist... works in healthcare, watching every move you make, asking questions, suggesting theories, anxiously glued to the bedside. I was irritated that no one else seemed concerned about the Factor V Leiden history in combination with symptoms that sounded VERY much to me like paroxysmal atrial fibrillation. Hello thrombus??
Finally, doc comes back with news. Blood work is fine, chest x-ray is fine, D-Dimer (a blood test used to screen for clots) is within normal limits. Follow up with your PCP and avoid caffeine, they say.
Relieved, but still unsettled. Wishing I had a homemade EKG machine at the ready for if/when it happens again. Honeybunch thinks that he can make one pretty easily, which I find hilariously amusing.
Either way, I'm likely to be even more patient and sympathetic towards anxious family members than usual at work tonight.
Monday, June 07, 2010
Round two and running.
The season is moving on. Spinach and strawberries are waning, to be replaced by zucchini and cherries. The sight of cherries at the farmer's market this past weekend was such a thrill... they looked like such beautiful little jewels, in their red and blushing yellow!
A few recent night runs on the rocky trails of our local woodlands have led me to discover the downside of "barefoot" running (in Vibram FiveFingers)... stubbed toes! Goodness me, my left foot is throbbing today from the many expletive-laced encounters with rocks and roots last night. This revelation about running shoes has enabled me to run painlessly in regards to my knees, hips and back... but my toes are taking a serious beating. I suppose I should run by daylight instead of by the light of a red headlamp, at least until I learn to pick up my feet. However, night runs feel so damn good... the chilled air, the rich smells of cooling earth, the quiet... so far we haven't come across anyone else on the trails at night. It's much easier to get me out there at night than on a 90 degree afternoon.
The 10k mud race is this Saturday, and I'm fairly certain that I'll end up walking a good portion of it. I'm getting stronger and running longer, but I'm unlikely to finish the race without stopping to walk once each half mile. I'm okay with that. The whole point of running in general is to have fun, and the point of this race is to have fun and raise funds for a good cause. Whether I walk or run across the finish line, I'll enjoy the process.
A few recent night runs on the rocky trails of our local woodlands have led me to discover the downside of "barefoot" running (in Vibram FiveFingers)... stubbed toes! Goodness me, my left foot is throbbing today from the many expletive-laced encounters with rocks and roots last night. This revelation about running shoes has enabled me to run painlessly in regards to my knees, hips and back... but my toes are taking a serious beating. I suppose I should run by daylight instead of by the light of a red headlamp, at least until I learn to pick up my feet. However, night runs feel so damn good... the chilled air, the rich smells of cooling earth, the quiet... so far we haven't come across anyone else on the trails at night. It's much easier to get me out there at night than on a 90 degree afternoon.
The 10k mud race is this Saturday, and I'm fairly certain that I'll end up walking a good portion of it. I'm getting stronger and running longer, but I'm unlikely to finish the race without stopping to walk once each half mile. I'm okay with that. The whole point of running in general is to have fun, and the point of this race is to have fun and raise funds for a good cause. Whether I walk or run across the finish line, I'll enjoy the process.
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