Being Relevant

I'd like to shout something out into the great silence.

First, I stopped posting my original recipes here awhile ago because I discovered that someone was "lifting" my whole posts, pictures and all.  I felt so betrayed, so robbed.  So I ceased to share recipes.

Second, I have also frequently heard that "no one" is blogging anymore, and what's the point because it's boring to read anything longer than a tweet.  But, oh my, I tend to write a lot.  A lot.  So I stopped writing even though there were some people reading.

Third, I recently heard a fairly well-known YouTuber say in one of her videos that older people were "not relevant" to the current world.  Needless to say, I felt a bit bothered about that, so I posted a note that said that maybe I should just fade away quietly since I am older.  Now, all would have been forgotten, except that the YTer herself answered my post with one of her own saying that "of course, we don't mean You specifically."  That ticked me off--who specifically did she mean to insult?  What are all the old people supposed to do?    I unsubscribed.  Doesn't hurt her but at least I used my tiny bit of power even if it didn't make a dent; she's getting no more ad revenue from this old lady's click.  So there's something else I quit.

I've been frustrated by a lot of unkind comments from various people (online and in real life) who have called me a liar, who have told me to die, who have told me that I should be ashamed for being from Mississippi, who have called me "a waste of time and space" (the latter comment was actually from family, oh my goodness), who have had a lot of uneducated things to say about my disability, and more.  I need not go on.  This stuff is just painful.  

Seems like all I hear anymore is negativity, and that makes me feel.....bad.  Just bad.  And it's not fair.  Even on an awful day, I'd rather sit in the sunshine than cower under a cloud.  The trouble is that I have to remember to make that choice.  I have frequently been guilty of cowering in the past couple of years, and that's not good.  

So I have been thinking about all this stuff while I've been making marmalade the past few days.  It's not easy standing at the stove, especially after surviving two bouts with Covid.  But I've been gifted with some citrus fruit and I want marmalade so I'm willing to pay in pain to get the job done.

I like to create recipes.  Sure, I'm no pro and I am more than capable of messing things up but we learn by making mistakes, don't we?  That's what I think anyway.

And I still like to write.  Admittedly it would be nice if people actually read.  Maybe they will; maybe they don't.  This reminds me of that well-worn Koan about the tree falling in the forest and no one hearing it.  But I guess someone out there thought I was good enough to steal recipes from so maybe there's some reason to keep mashing the keys on my laptop.

Despite being a Senior Citizen, I believe that I still have relevance.  After all, the older we get, the more we have experienced in life and the more we can share.  It would be nice if someone cared, if someone listened.  I can't make anyone do that but I can still write, I can still create, and I can still make a joyful noise in my own way.  

Yeah, that makes me relevant.  Why?  Because it's relevant to me.  And that is Good Enough.

Life is still good enough for me to keep trying.

Will I share my marmalade recipe here?  Maybe.  But it takes three days to make from start to finish, so be prepared.  And if you wanna steal my recipe without crediting me, shame on you--your mama should have raised you better.

Getting Fighting Mad About the Reality of Covid

 I don't get angry often and certainly not with strangers because that's rude but about a month ago, I became so enraged that it has taken great effort to get over it.  Why was I so cross?  Well, a nosy busybody took me to task for mask-wearing and then she told me that Covid was "political" and that it wasn't real.

Not real?  Yes, Virginia, there is Covid.

How do I know?  I have been suffering with Long Haul Covid for nearly 14 months, and it is hellish.  

Can you get re-infected?  Well, recently, I was chatting with a friend I ran into who told me that half a dozen members of her immediate family had been infected just that week.....I'm not certain that I was re-infected during that particular conversation but I surely got Covid again somewhere that day (only the second time I left the house during the month of April and I haven't seen one other person since, nor have I left the house in three weeks).  I came down with a fever, and now I am suffering again.  At the moment that I am sitting here hammering away at the keyboard, I am so ill that I have been awake for more than 30 hours, and I feel utterly desperate with exhaustion.  I cannot sleep sitting up and I cannot breathe if I lie down.  So, yeah, I think re-infection is a thing, too.

I do NOT care if You don't believe but don't try to tell Me that I am wrong.  I'm living in this shell, and I know what goes on here.

Looking back:  February 14, 1982.  I remember; it was the last semi-normal day of my life.  I wasn't feeling well so I missed my footing on the stairs in the dorm and fell up the stairs.  Not down; up.  I felt progressively worse during the course of that week, despite getting antibiotics from the campus clinic and finally my parents had to come bring me home to recover.  But I never did recover properly.

I got better enough that I was able to go on with my life for a time but it was obvious that I wasn't "right" and my health issues finally ended everything for me just four years later.  It was so hard to find medical help because few understood what was going on.  One doctor told me that he would not treat me until I got mental help.  The psychologist called the doctor after she'd seen me a couple times and told him in no uncertain terms that I was Not sick because I was depressed; instead I was, quite reasonably, depressed because I was sick and no one believed me.

The people in my family's lives also refused to believe that I was truly ill.  The question of that reality damaged relationships with family members.  We lost all of our friends over my health.  We lost our church fellowship over it, too.  I was told so many times that "if you're right with God, He will heal you" so when He didn't, this meant that, in their eyes, I was in the wrong.  But I have come to understand that they were incorrect:  sometimes God just says "no" and we have to thank him for whatever blessing comes through the trials of life.  I try to say thank you every day; sometimes it is very hard.

Ultimately I received a differential diagnosis:  ME-CFIDS.  A genetic auto-immune disorder.  Incurable.  Untreatable.  But, thankfully, not fatal.  It was also not communicable unless I were to pass it on by bearing a child, so I decided never to pursue that side of my life in order to spare a future generation enduring this pain.

When Covid came along, I was immediately aware that I was at major risk because of my long-standing health issues, so I made another hard decision:  I would not seek medical help.  The main reason for this is that I did not wish to risk infecting medical personnel who were urgently needed by many.  I also did not wish to take up resources, time, and effort when there were other ill people who had families who needed them; I have no one.  My mother always taught me that "our times are in God's hands, and only He knows when it is our end" so I figured I would simply trust that either God would take me or leave me.  Well, He left me here despite my battle with Covid, and only He knows why.

The funny thing (if there could possibly be anything funny at all ever) about Covid is that it appears to attack the cytokine system of the body and that is precisely where ME-CFIDS hits people.  Interesting.  I have been waiting and very much hoping to see in the news that the medical people have had an "aha!" moment over this, especially now that they are seeing that some people (like me) are not recovering from Covid.  But, alas, nothing substantive yet.  It just makes sense that the two could be linked.  So many of the symptoms are the same in the two disorders.  Believe me, I know this better than anyone since I've lived with ME for nearly 40 years.  Ironic.

But getting back to that lady who told me off for wearing a mask:  it took me many days to realize why I became so angry at the nosy busybody who was spreading false Covid information.  It wasn't just her I was cross with:  it was all the many people who have derided me and dismissed me and rejected me for four decades while I fought an illness that could never be healed.   Her words sliced me like an icy sword even though she thought she was "helping" me to fight something that she couldn't believe.  Despite how angry I felt, I still told her that day that my prayer for her was that she never should discover the truth, that she would never be infected.   No one should suffer.  No one.  I meant it then, and I mean it now.  I forgive her.

But what should we do?  We should show compassion to those who suffer.  We should believe.  Believe in God.  Believe in the veracity of others.  Believe that better days will come.  And we should fight for everyone to have the chance to avoid Covid:  wear a mask, wash your hands, get vaccinated.  It's not hard to cooperate in times of great threat; we all have a duty to one another.  In that duty, we honor the gift of life.

Life is good.  

Even when you can't breathe, it's still possible to whisper, "Thank you, God, for the life you have given me."  It's all good.  Really.

Old People Life Hack #1: Rural Mailbox Helper

 So this is something I've been thinking about a lot:  Getting Old.  Yeah, major nuisance and when you combine that with Long Covid.....well, there just are no words adequate to describe that experience.  And, yes, I have had Long Covid for an endless year.  The good news is that I can't recall most of 2020 because I was either very busy breathing or very busy sleeping 16 hours a day.  Just living has been a full-time job.

Before I digress further let me say that actually Long Covid assisted in the formulation of this particular idea because, thanks to the whole "not being able to breathe" thing, I can no longer walk down my driveway to get the mail.  To be fair, it is a lengthy driveway and it's normally a pleasant five minute walk to and fro.  

This is not my actual mailbox but you get the idea.....

Now, ridiculously, I have to drive the car to pick up the mail.  And therein lies the problem:  since I have to drive to the mailbox, I also don't have the strength to get in and out of the car to fetch the mail so I pull right up to the box.  It's a big box.  When the mail carrier chucks the post in there, it slides all the way to the back and I can't reach it from the car window.  Dammit.

One day when I was sitting at my desk mulling this frustrating problem, my eyes happened to light on another annoyance that was sitting right there in the utensil mug:  a telescoping back scratcher.  Man, I hate that thing.  Every time I use it to scratch my back, it just folds back up again.  Useless.  But it occurred to me that it was folding up because I was pushing it down.  Now if it was being used to pull up, it would stay open.  

Major lightbulb moment.  I took the back scratcher to the car next time I went to pick up the mail.  Letters at the back of the box?  No problem.  I extend the back scratcher, pull the mail forward, and (as the old expression goes) Bob's your uncle:  I've got mail!

You know, I used to have a neighbor who was proud of being minimalist but she never had what she needed at hand when she needed it so she'd come to my house where *magically* I'd have just the right thing.  She'd always ask how it was that I had "everything" and I'd tell her the same thing each time:  I don't have everything; I just don't throw everything out because sometimes junk comes in handy.  If I had thrown out that wretched back scratcher after the times it annoyed me, I wouldn't have had the solution to the problem of getting the mail out of the back of the box.

Silly solution?  Yeah.  But who cares?  It works!

Life is good (especially when you keep extra stuff).

An Unreasonable Flower

Today I was startled by the appearance of a truly pretty flower. 

Startled, you say?  Well, I really should begin by explaining that my yard is overgrown.  Very overgrown.  It is the sort of overgrowth that does not come from the mild carelessness of missing mowing a time or two, nor is it the sort of overgrowth that results from the failure to rake away stray tree seedlings amongst the fallen leaves in the autumn.  No, this is overgrowth of the worst sort--the kind that comes from being legitimately unable to clear the yard for many years at a time.  It is overgrowth from neglect. 

At the front of the lot, which hasn't been cared for in about a dozen years, there is a solid stand of yellow pine grown all on its own.  Given another half decade, it could even be ready for harvest as pulpwood, if anyone would be willing to cut less than an acre.  The yard in front of the house has suffered alone for five years and is covered in such a thick growth of prickly wild berry vines that it is impossible to traverse.  The face of the house itself is covered by other vining plants that reach halfway up the large living room windows and that cover the front door.  The backyard, having been mowed once in the last three years, is less bad but still in undeniably poor shape.  To say the very least, my acreage is the world gone wild.  Mostly I don't mind; although the neighbors don't say much, I'm aware that they dislike it.  

Wildflowers come up wherever they may during the appropriate seasons: white violets in the late winter and early spring, berry flowers in the late spring, various wild asters in summer, and, gloriously, in autumn there is an massive array of everything purple and golden--daisies and boneset and ageratum and meadow beauty and more.  But nowhere in my yard is there a planting of traditional flowers, unless you count a few straggeldy untended azaleas that fail entirely to bloom properly in season but do so whenever they feel like it and that is inevitably out of season.  

There is no tended or cared-for flowering here.  No annuals, no perennials, no bulbs.  My parents were no gardeners, and (despite some half-hearted container vegetable farming) neither am I.  As I have lived here for more than thirty years without giving great heed to planting flowers, I am still observant of what thrives locally so  I know what grows here and what doesn't.  Today I saw something that had no business here:  it appears to be an amaryllis.

As happy as I was to see the pretty face of the flowers, I was more entranced by the questions of why and how.  Why?  Why is it here?  It is a bulb plant; those only grow where they are planting and they don't just come up unexpectedly in some untidy forgotten place.  How?  How did it get here?  I just don't know.

I know how fish turn up in brand-new unseeded ponds.  (They arrive as eggs caught on the legs of water birds flying from one pond to another.)  I know about volunteer trees.  (Their seeds get caught on the wind or they travel while in the gut of an animal who poops them out later in some other locale.)  I know things like this.  But I do not know and cannot explain why or how a bulb plant should suddenly arise out of nowhere.

Still, it's not good to question a miracle too closely, is it?  For now, I'll make my mind up to just enjoy gazing at the pretty salmon-pink flowers while they bloom.

Life is good.

And it's surprising, too.

A Tiny Little Pocket and Changes in Technology

The cool weather is winding down, thus my sweaters and light jackets are nearly all in the laundry basket awaiting the day when either divine inspiration or (more likely) desperation drives me to do the wash.  But it was quite chilly this morning, and I needed warmth for my journey to the mailbox.  At the back of my closet was pink sweat jacket, quite an elderly one, and that would do what I needed it to do.  

I don't throw things out that are still usable, no matter how old they are.  Despite a news article I saw this week that contained what I consider to be dubious advice regarding hurriedly disposing of fairly new undergarments and such, I must admit that I actually own a pair of socks that I bought in 1980 and still sometimes wear (yeah, I've got clothes older than you) because they are still good enough. 

But the pink sweat jacket shows its age in an odd way:  there is a tiny little pocket on the forearm of the sleeve that closes with velcro.   How tiny?  Three inches deep and more than two inches across.  What could possibly fit?  It's one of those things that you probably wouldn't know unless you already know, if you see what I mean:  it's a cell phone pocket.  Really.  There was a time when the fad was for itsy bitsy phones--kinda showed off the forward movement of technology, you know.  We had gone from massive 2-pound phone bricks to smaller and smaller cells, so it was really stylish to have the littlest one available, and even my old cheapie dollar store fleece jacket was part of that trend once upon a long-ago time.

Phones have gotten bigger again; flatter of course but still much bigger.  I remember an online conversation I had with a posting friend (this must have taken place about the same time the jacket was new) who quite viciously poo-pooed my theory that there would be a sudden uptick in technology that would see everyone with a foldable computer in their pocket within a decade or two, and that it would instantly stream video, too.  Well, I wasn't wrong, was I?  Nearly anyone you care to name has access to a smart phone, and some of the latest ones can fold so that they are smaller in size.  Oh, wait, do I sense another trend toward smallness?   

It would make sense to go smaller but I don't think it's gonna happen because we just haven't got enough pockets for all of the multiple electronic bits and pieces that people deem necessary to haul around.  Advances in technology are supposed to make our lives easier, aren't they?  Nearly as I can tell, it just means adding to the tyranny of electronic connectedness.

I doubt we'll see the need for tiny pockets again.  Now they are just there on some ancient articles of clothing to confound the future.  I don't care to go backward and I'm not a Luddite but there is something to be said for tiny pockets sometimes.

Yeah, it's interesting getting old.

Life is still good, though.

Another $3 Thanksgiving

Even though I have very little, I figure that other people are worse off than me.  That's why I chose not to go to the local food bank this week.  

What do I mean when I say that I have very little?  Well, this was the state of my refrigerator before I went shopping a few days ago:

And this was the state of my refrigerator after I put the shopping away:

Kinda scary, isn't it?  But I saw it as hopeful since it was sure more than I had.  And I was grateful, too, that day because I was able to bake bread at my neighbor's house.  My oven is broken; and if I don't have my bread, I would be very hungry indeed.

But tomorrow is Thanksgiving.  I wasn't sure what to do.  I prayed and realized that I could spend $3 plus tax on food.  Since canned veg was on sale at the dollar store, I did pretty well for my money.  Here's $3 worth:

Doesn't look like much?  It's a bonanza to me. 

There's not much in the chest freezer but there's a container of pumpkin I froze when I was gifted a leftover jack-o-lantern last year and there's fruit cake (which I make as often as I can because I love the stuff--the homemade kind, not the store-bought variety) and some mushroom loaf that I'd forgotten about.  There's cabbage and carrots that my neighbor gave me.  And there's even some frozen bananas--also from my very kind neighbor.

I've got it planned out:

For breakfast: pumpkin pancakes with persimmon butter (the persimmons were a gift from another neighbor)

For Thanksgiving dinner:  corn pudding (my mother's recipe) and cranberry sauce, mushroom loaf, English peas, baked potato with"stewed" tomatoes, and squash biscuits.  (Thank goodness the toaster oven still works, or I wouldn't be able to make the biscuits or the potato.) As far as I am concerned, this is a vastly huge meal and a very rare occurence.

I should explain that my family's notion of stewed tomatoes is different than the kind that comes in a can--in this case, it's more of a thickened tomato puree topped with melted butter.  I'll use only about 1/3 of the can of crushed tomatoes for this.  The squash biscuits will be made using my great-grandmother Caroline's recipe (which you can find in this post)--the container of frozen pumpkin will serve for both the biscuits and the breakfast pancakes.

For supper: veggie soup (I'll use the rest of the canned tomatoes with the can of mixed veg.  Although I haven't got onions, garlic, or celery, I do have onion salt, garlic powder, and celery seed; that will be Good Enough.  I've got macaroni to give the soup some body.  It will do for several meals.)

For teatime: sliced cake and tea.  Since I'm fortunate enough to have milk and eggs right now, I'll use those frozen bananas to make banana bread.  (I just use the recipe from my old 1950's Betty Crocker Cookbook.)  As I'll be "hotting up the oven" (as my grandmother would say), I'll also make a Bonus Cake (my recipe can be found here).  I don't have berries right now but I do have a can of peaches that I got on my last trip to the food bank.  I despise peaches but somehow I don't mind them at all if they are in cake.  If there's one thing a holiday does, it's to inspire cooking!  I need to use up the ingredients I have right now so baking makes sense, and it will be nice to have both thinly sliced with a mug of tea.  And I'll be able to freeze some to keep for Christmas.

Finally, for Black Friday breakfast: cranberry on buttered toast.  (If you've never tried this, you should!)

A little bit can make a lot if we give it some thought.  And I'm surely thinking.

I'll spend the day entirely alone, as always, but I'm okay with that.  In my experience, it's a lot more painful to be the stray dog at someone else's table.  And now that I've got the menu settled, I'm looking forward to the day.

What I'd like to say, though, to all those who are fortunate this holiday is to remember your neighbors, your elderly relative, anyone who might have need.  Perhaps you don't realize that their refrigerators look like mine or are maybe even worse.  

Be sure to share.  
Be grateful for your blessings.
Life is good.

Climate Protests? What Are You REALLY Willing to Do?

Okay, so maybe I'm old and maybe you don't wanna listen to me because of that.  And maybe I'm a little cranky by now because I think that sometimes people don't listen when they should.  Don't whine about TL/DR, just give me a few minutes of your time and read this.  Please. 

Certainly I'm old enough to remember all the hoopla about recycling and saving the planet since before the very first Earth Day was celebrated in 1970.  And I also recall quite clearly how most people forgot about it when it no longer became fashionable to worry about the health of the planet.  These things go in cycles.  Like wheels, they keep turning.  Loving our home here on planet Earth means absolutely nothing unless we make habits of our changes; the second we let our guard down and we get lazy, that wheels starts spinning and we're off and thoughtlessly busy about other things.

When I read the buzz about all of the protests occurring this weekend, I have to admit I eye-rolled a little.  (Hey, I already warned you that I'm a little cranky.)  I had that reaction because I want to know How many of those protesters are actually living the reality of lowering their carbon footprint?  Are they all talk or are they taking action?  It's something I know a little bit about at a literally grass-roots level, and I have been making an effort for years.

What does it take?  

Well, for one thing, sweat.  How is the AC running in your house?  I live near the Gulf Coast where it is helly hot nine months out of the year, and I have had problems with chronic heat stroke (among other quite serious health issues) so I need to be careful.  But every year, I've been raising the temperature higher on the thermostat to see how far I can push this.  This summer, I've hit the target; I know just what I can live with:  I leave the AC off all day until after sunset.  The house gets pretty hot by late afternoon:  87-90 F.  But it's still cooler than outside.  At night, I turn the AC on at 80 F so I can sleep.  As a result, I've lowered my electric bill for the summer months by at least 50%.  Yes, it's uncomfortable but I can live with that.  And I'm using less power so that's good for the planet.  Would you be willingly uncomfortable like this for a good cause?

Another thing:  just how much do you drive your car?  Do you do a lot of driving you don't truly need to?   I live in the country outside a town.  There are no stores within easy walking distance.  There is no public transport of any kind.  I am unable to use a bike and don't own one.  So if I need to go somewhere, I have to drive.  I wait until I have several errands to run.  I plan my route so as to be economical with gasoline and time.  For years, I've made a habit of keeping a notebook in my car to record where I've gone and why, to record gas purchases, to keep track of mileage.  It's enlightening reading.  I've managed to figure out how to drive less miles while making the same errands by simply taking a different route.  I've learned something else, too:  last year when my car was broken down for four months and I couldn't afford repairs, I discovered that I didn't really need to drive as often as I'd thought.  So now I tend to drive about 4-6 times in a month.  Yes, I am often at home (alone, as it happens) for as long as 10 days at a time.  My total mileage for this year from January through mid-September:  less than 500 miles.  Could you do without driving like that?

What is your diet like?  Do you eat meat?  Do you cook?  Or do you eat fast food?  I haven't eaten meat in about 35 years.  In my case, this was not voluntary (there's nothing to make you a vegetarian quicker than a doctor who says, "you can continue to eat meat OR you can live; you can't do both") but I'm glad to be vegetarian, and it's nice to know that it's a pretty good choice for the planet, too.  Yes, I cook my own meals.  I don't buy what I can make:  like veggie burgers, bread, and marmalade.  The food I make is healthier than the processed food that is available.  I save a lot of money by not buying pre-made items, and I also greatly reduce package waste.  When I have to heat up the oven to cook something, I think about what else I can make at the same time so that I don't waste the power that it takes to use the oven.  Fast food is not an option, either financially or as common sense.  My one exception to this is to buy French fries in December because my mother and I used to do that when Christmas shopping; it's a happy memory thing, and a once a year treat is no vice.  Could you do that?  Avoid fast food?  Bake your own bread?  Make marmalade like Paddington Bear?  I do.  Anyone could.  But would you?

What do you do about garbage?  Are you throwing out stuff you could otherwise re-purpose?  I've reduced the waste that I send to the landfill by about 80% over the past ten years.  I buy less and I re-use things more carefully.  I re-use boxes and other containers by re-making them to be used in other ways.  You know those spouts that are on the sides of half-gallon cartons of milk or juice?  They make brilliant spouts for use on Mason jars if you just take five minutes to adapt them for the purpose.  You know the plastic lids from bulk oatmeal containers?  They make the best possible bowl scrapers if you take a moment with a pair of scissors.  I look at everything carefully to see whether I might be able to get some other use out of it--just for example I recently re-purposed a glass sauce bottle to replace the broken container for a hummingbird feeder; it took me all of five minutes to accomplish.  Would you do this with your "garbage"?

Do you have the option for recycling your waste?  I don't.  There is no trash pick-up in my neighborhood (I rely on the kindness of a neighbor who takes my garbage with his when he goes to the landfill monthly), so there is no recycling pick-up either.  However, there is a recycler in a nearby town who pays for any type of metal waste, so I save up cans and other items to take several times a year.  It's hard to be consistent about this because it's so easy to just throw something in the trash but I try to remind myself that I'd rather have the pennies for the few moments that it takes to rinse and store recyclables to be sold later.  Would you take the time and make the space to do that?  

What about your food waste?  I have made a simple compost bin for the back yard, but I try to make sure that as little waste gets to it as possible because I want to use up all of the food that I can.  Did you know that you can make excellent bread out of any leftovers?  I frequently save leftover rice or cabbage centers or soup or even vegetable peelings for this.  That bread takes about ten minutes to prepare and rises overnight.  It makes a wonderful healthy breakfast food and, no, it does Not taste like cabbage.  We just have to remember that vegetable trimmings are still edible.  There are so many things that you can do with them.  Seriously, what do you do with the outside leaves from cauliflower?  Do you throw them away without thinking?  Or do you eat them?  You can eat them.  You should.  I do.  Would you? 

How often do you buy items like aluminum foil and plastic wrap?  Do you just tear off some plastic wrap when you need to cover food?  There are other ways to keep food fresh; it's a matter of habit.  Why use plastic wrap to cover over a mixing bowl, if you can plop a plate or even a pan-lid on top instead?  What else do you have that you could use creatively?  Sure some plastic stuff is gonna sneak into the house (margarine or whipped cream tubs and the like), are you re-using those?  It's better than single-use waste.  You don't really need aluminum foil to line baking trays if you'll just oil and flour-dust them properly when baking and then wash them well afterward.  Does that take time?  Yes, it does.  Is it worth it?  Yes, it is.  You can save money and resources at the same time.  It's win/win.  But are you willing to do it?  By the way, at my house, I am so careful about use that rolls of plastic wrap and aluminum foil last for at least a year or more.  Could you make them last longer than that?

What about paper towels?  Do you really need them?  In the past year, I have used a total of two rolls of paper towels.   How many rolls do you use in a month?  Probably more than I use in a year?  You can do with less.  I only get the cheap stuff that disintegrates easily but that's what I want it to do anyway--the expensive ones take forever to degrade and that's bad for the environment.  Paper towels, to my way of thinking, are only for wiping up things like oily spills (it's unsafe to put items in the dryer that have had oil on them) or for cleaning up cat vomit (which I only care to deal with once and then forget about).  If I want to dry my hands in the kitchen, a cotton towel works well and it can be re-washed.  For napkins, I have a collection of pretty linen napkins that I purchased more than a decade ago for $1 at a yard sale, and I expect them to last another decade (hopefully I'll last that long, too).  I just keep washing those napkins.  Would you be willing to accept this small inconvenience?  Or will you buy single-use waste?

Now that I've mentioned the dryer, what do you do about laundry?  Do you use all the latest products that are full of nice chemical scents and that are pre-packaged so that the manufacturer decides what amount you need to use?  Yeah, I don't do that.  Those things are over-priced, over-processed, nasty for the environment, and mostly just not necessary even though they look and smell pretty.  I buy off-brand, and I've experimented until I figured out the smallest amount that I could use to achieve cleanliness.  Minimal.  It works.  In the days before I was vegetarian, I saved all my meat fats to make soap; it was excellent soap, much better than any I buy now, and one thing that I miss being vegetarian.  Do I use my dryer despite the financial expense and the possible cost to the environment?  Unfortunately, yes.  Humidity here is regularly above 80%.  In my experience, that can mean that if I hang sheets on the clothesline at 8 AM and leave them in overhead sunshine all day, they may very well still be damp when I bring them indoors at 4 PM.  Sometimes, you've gotta make your choices by dealing with the issues at hand:  I dry on the line and finish in the dryer.  Common sense in the given circumstances.  At least I am reducing the amount of time that drying is needed.  Would you be willing to do this?  Do you have a clothesline in your backyard?

Speaking of backyards, what is your yard like?  You would undoubtedly think mine is a mess because I don't "garden" like most folks do.  For years now, I have been chosen to allow my two-plus acres of land to re-wild naturally.  Instead of a lush three-quarter acre lawn fronting the road, there's now a whole bunch of pines and sweet gums.  As the trees grow taller, the eco-system around them changes and more species of animals have taken to living here.  The more species an area can support, the healthier it is naturally.  Maybe I can't save the whole planet but I can give it most of the space I've got.  In the half-acre or so that I keep for myself, that is plenty enough for the house and the clothesline and a container garden.  Could you do that with your land?  Would you?

Speaking of container gardens, do you try to grow your own herbs and vegetables?  Even if all you have is space for one 5-gallon bucket, you could grow something.  Every little bit makes a difference.  My land is mostly wetland and not arable.  Container planting is my wisest choice and the easiest for me because I'm not capable of heavy labor like digging.  What containers do I use?  Whatever I have been given:  cut-down plastic barrels, leftover plant pots (again plastic), old bathtubs.  (The bathtubs are my favorite--it's fun to grow peas in a tub!)  But "plastic" you say!  Oh my.  Well, I wouldn't buy them myself but I'm re-using items that are discarded, and that has to be okay enough.  I can't always grow as much food as I'd like but I do as much work my health allows.  Do you do as much as you can?

Of course there are many things I cannot do, things that I have no control over.  My house is all-electric.  That is not good and I'm aware of it but I can't move and I can't change it, so I try to be responsible as best I can.  I am, admittedly, lackadaisical about taking re-usable totes to the grocery store.  In my defense, let me say I plan to use those grocery bags for garbage since I refuse to buy garbage bags.  Really why would I want to pay for something just so I can throw it away?  Makes no sense to me.  The thing that I can do is to be aware of making the best choices that are available to me.

There are so many ythings that I would love to try.  I wish I could do solar.  But the set-up costs are very far beyond my means and the principles are beyond my simple understanding.  I want to replace my big water heater but the price is also beyond me.  Failing that, I wish I could put a timer on the water heater but that, as inexpensive as it might be, alas, is also unaffordable as far as I am concerned.  There are even more other things I'd like to do but can't.  I'd love to try doing without my washing machine but haven't got the physical strength.  The important thing is that I am doing what I can every day and that I'm paying attention to what I'm doing.

Sometimes I also pay attention to what other folks are doing.  Today I kept seeing those headlines about climate protests.  I wondered how many of those protesters got to the meeting place by car.  Did they carpool?  Did they use public transportation?  Did they walk?  If you're gonna protest, how responsible are you about how you're gonna get there?  It's important.  Live by creating the change you want to see.

So I decided to check a website today that allows you to calculate your Carbon Footprint.  It asked a lot of questions, and I responded honestly.  My total footprint was about 80% LESS than the average American.  What is your footprint?  Could you do better than you are right now?  I would like to do better.  There's always something more to try.

Zero waste is a lovely idea.  Unfortunately, it is a utopian ideal that is both frustrating and impractical for most people.  However, reducing your footprint in simple ways, by small actions taken day by day in a regular way, IS possible.  It's very possible, it's not hard to do, and it DOES make a difference.   The more people cooperate on this, the bigger difference can be made.  I'm just one disabled old lady in Mississippi but I'm committed to doing this.  Can you?  I bet you can do more than I could ever dream of doing.  Will you?  I have no doubt whatsoever that almost everyone is capable of more than I could do.  But would you?

It's just fine to protest about something you don't like.  But it's much more important to LIVE the reality, to be willing to take the time, to be a little uncomfortable personally, to commit to doing what it takes.  So, yeah, I'm a somewhat underwhelmed by noisy crowds.  I'd rather see some substantive and realistic action on a daily basis.  That's what will make a difference.  Can you do that?  Take up the challenge.  Less talk.  More action! 

I still believe that life is good.
I'm working hard to make it that way.
What are you doing to make life better for the planet?  

It's Not Just Stuff

I know.  I know.  I shouldn't read online comments that people make.  But I do read them.  Don't you?  I read one today that made me really cross.  

The poster said quite blithely that you could and should judge people on their possessions--that if a person cared about having things then they could not be trusted to care about people.  

I shouted at the computer sceen:  So unfair!  Not true!  I love people but I also enjoy having some things.  

This is an issue that I've been faced with more than ever during this difficult past year when I've had so little money that I've gone weeks without toilet paper.  It has been a time when meals were very thin indeed; sometimes I have been hungry.  And the few people who have spoken with me have asked me why I didn't sell this thing or that thing.  

I believe that they meant kindly but they didn't understand:  the things that they said I should sell have little monetary value but their presence in my home makes me feel comforted, makes me feel as though somehow at least one little piece of my world isn't in the center of the maelstrom that is my life.  Yes, I could sell that pretty plate from my dining room for $2 but the cost to my peace of mind would be much higher.  

It isn't a matter of greed.  It's a matter of continuity and of visual confirmation that things are okay, that things will continue to be okay, that somehow there is still hope.  

When I was a kid, we moved a lot.  A lot.  My mother would give me a small box and tell me that I could take only what I could fit into it and nothing more; everything else would be left for the trash man.  It was often heartbreaking, and thus I could never allow myself to fall in love with dolls or really enjoy a toy because I knew I might not be able to keep it forever.  Perhaps I still live in fear of the existential pressure of that small box.  

As a young adult on my own, I still moved house often.  Before I ever unpacked the necessities, I went right to decorating.  I hung curtains, put pillows on the sofa, and placed a picture or two on the walls.  Only then did I bother with cleaning the bathroom and putting the kitchen to rights--those things just didn't matter as much as setting my heart at rest.  If some space in the house was pretty and pleasing, I didn't mind living almost anywhere.  I still feel that way.  

Things can give a sense of belonging.  And sometimes they fulfill a sense of simple longing.

A few years ago when I was preparing for a yard sale, a family member noticed my collection of hair barrettes; she said I was too old for kidstuff and that I didn't need those things and that I should sell them to someone who could use and enjoy them.  I gulped.  I held my breath.  I emptied the drawer of barrettes.  I sold them.  And later when I was alone, I cried.  The one who had really needed those barrettes was me, even if I didn't wear them.

Without consciously realizing that I was doing so, little by little I re-filled that dresser drawer with pretty hair jewelry--barrettes and hair sticks and scrunchies.  Dollar store stuff, nothing fancy, certainly nothing that cost more than a dollar or two.  But it was shiny and pretty and satisfying.  Why do I need it?  Ever since I can remember I was told that I was ugly, that my sister was the pretty one.  And I remember that no one would brush my hair even when I was little--I desperately wished for that; it seemed like the greatest sort of caring.  Now I'm an old lady, and I still sometimes wish someone would brush my hair.

I'd rather not believe that my family was unkind, and I do know that they were busy dealing with troubles of their own.  Things happen, and we have to move on.  I can't go back to being a little kid but I can soothe the child in me with a barrette every now and then.  I don't have to wear them; I just like imagining.  And, yes, sometimes I give them away to real children because they need to feel pretty as well.

There are other things I keep.  One of the important things is a feathered owl mask hidden in the bottom of my dresser drawer.  No one else knows it's there but I do and I know why.  

Women of a certain age might remember a long ago fantasy TV show; there was an episode that took place at a fanciful costume ball where two characters wore feathered owl masks.  I watched that romantic show with more than a little longing.  

Only in my mid-20's I had become incurably disabled and I was housebound.  Realistically I knew that I would never go to a costume ball or even on a normal date; I knew that my life was doomed to disappointment in the future and there was nothing I could do to change that.  But I could still dream; and when I found a feathered owl mask at a flea market, I paid the dollar for it without thinking twice.  The mask was enough.  It was my deep and unfulfilled wish but it was also a dream I could hold in my hands anyway.  More than that, it was my secret defiance against everything that kept me chained and unable to fight otherwise.

The dresser that holds my barrettes and hides my owl mask is another important thing.  It originally belonged to my grandmother.  Granny was a tall skinny woman who had to wring from life what little it would give her.  She was never pretty, never had a chance to be.  That's what my mother remembered about her mother-in-law, and she often wondered why on earth Granny had chosen to buy the gently feminine dresser that didn't suit her; after all, Mother said tartly, Granny was so tall that she had to bend over to see her face in the mirror.  

I know why Granny chose that dresser.  She needed it just the way I do.  Maybe she wanted more than life gave her.  Maybe that dresser was her fist raised in defiance of those who couldn't see that her as anything other than an old hardscrabble immigrant farmer's wife.  But Granny could dream.  Her dresser is proof.  Those small secret symbols make the hard corners of life less sharp, more easy to bear.  It doesn't change reality at all but it invites a dream and encourages a hopeful smile.  Granny's dresser reminds me that I should dream, too, despite knowing that dreams don't truly come true; it's healing to wish and to ponder.

Sometimes things aren't just things.  They are symbols.  They quietly remind us to endure, to have courage, to keep the faith, to keep going, to reach out in hope.  

In this past terrible year and a half, I have had no money at all--not for necessities and certainly not for niceties.  I've held on hard and gritted my teeth while I felt like grim death.  I have done absolutely nothing for myself beyond survival, and sometimes little enough of that.  I reached a point where I had no hope and where I couldn't allow my self to wish.  It hurt too much.  Recently I realized that this was wrong.  No matter how poor I am, too much of doing without joyful things is wrong.  

I became aware of this when I saw a barrette on the main page on eBay.  It was a China cheapie--a shiny rhinestone snowflake, and it was on auction for a ridiculously low price.  The auction was ending within seconds.  On a whim, I bid.  And I won the pretty barrette for seven cents.  Seven cents.  It felt like seven hundred dollars.  The good it did me was worth much more.  

Oh, how I enjoyed waiting and watching for that snowflake barrette to come in the mail.  It was something to look forward to and that was so important because I had had nothing to anticipate for such a long time.  When it arrived, I was stunned at how pretty it was.  The barrette stayed on my worktable for a long time just so I could look at it every day to admire (to be honest, it's still there glittering under the light).   And little by little, I've been recovering the drive to keep fighting.

So that's why I was upset by reading that thoughtless online comment.  We have no right to judge others, and we certainly should have nothing to say about what other people choose to own.  Sometimes they actually need the seemingly unimportant things they hold.  In truth, we can only understand others by listening to their stories and by watching what they do.  That's something we should all afford to do, and it's something we should make time for.  

Sometimes someone's stuff is the essence of their courage and the basis for their hope.  No one should shame them for it.

Life is good.

The $10 Dilemma

Recently I ended up in a place where nobody wants to be:  the ER.

Now I tend to avoid medical personnel as often as possible because I'm tired of having to explain my health issues to doctors who just don't get it.  But that was neither here nor there last Sunday night because I could not breathe.  Really couldn't.  I'm accustomed to dealing with asthma but this time I couldn't get it under control.  After hours of struggle, I decided that I needed help.  And I'm not a person who is likely to ask for help unless the situation is dire.

So at nearly 11 PM, I drove myself to the hospital because there was no one to take me.  I won't trouble you with the stories about how the warning light on my car was saying that it was nearly out of gas or about how I'm night-blind and couldn't find the entrance to the parking lot.  

Maybe I also shouldn't talk about how the nice folks at the ER ignored the fact that I couldn't breathe and instead tested me for other things while they left me sitting around for four hours waiting while they ran the tests again because they were freaked out by the results.  On the ailment they were testing me for, a score of zero is normal and four is dangerous.  My level was at fifteen.

So the doctor was fussing at me.  Didn't I know I needed medication?  Yes.  Why wasn't I taking it?   No money.  That was no excuse, he said.  I sighed.  Later he came back to my room with the wonderful news that I could get my scrip filled for just $10 at Wal-Mart.  He was so pleased with himself for coming up with that idea that he looked like he had pulled a rabbit out of a hat.

What could I do?  Explanation was futile.  This guy obviously had no idea that $10 is a LOT of money, so I thanked him and promised faithfully to take my medicine.  I meant it.  After all, I'm no fool; I know those test results are dangerous.

(By the way, they never did treat my asthma.)

Wal-Mart is pretty much my idea of Hades.  Or maybe just the Temple of Mammon.  I refuse to go there unless it is a last resort (like when my printer runs out of ink).  But I dragged myself over there to fill my prescription.  

There was no line at the pharmacy counter but I still had to wait and wait and wait.  Since my bones were aching per usual, I decided to take a seat on the sole waiting bench next to an elderly woman with a very full shopping basket and she started chatting the way that folks here in the South do and that I generally enjoy.  She told me that she had to get presents for her various neighbors but she said waspishly that she wasn't willing to spend more than $10, and she wondered if they might want the candles on a nearby display.  Her tone made it clear that she didn't much like her neighbors.

I didn't think the candles were worth $10 but didn't like to say so.  Instead I said that a present like that would brighten the day and warm the heart for her neighbors, and that it was very kind of her to think of them.  It's better to say something nice, isn't it?  But, to tell the truth, I was tearing up because I was thinking, "oh my, what I could do with $10!" because there won't be any Christmas at my house this year and I already know it.  I really wish I could give presents to my kind neighbors but I have nothing to share.

Then the lady pointed out a large bakery container of Christmas cookies on the bottom rack of her shopping cart--also $10 (surprising how that amount kept repeating itself).  She told me that she had dropped them and that the cookies had spilled on the floor.  She had shoved them back in the box.  They didn't look broken, she said, so she was just going to put them back on the bakery shelf.  "That would be okay, wouldn't it?" she asked me, because she would just get another one.  

Why?  Why would anyone do such a thing?  Would you want to buy food that had fallen on a filthy high-traffic floor?  But I didn't say that.  I suggested that she turn the container in to the bakery clerk and explain that it had been opened.  Presumably my horror showed on my face because she decided to resume shopping after that instead of talking with me.  

By then I was actually crying.  Why do people think it's okay for someone else to have to accept something they wouldn't touch themselves?  I don't understand it--it's like the long-expired food that turns up in food donations.  If you won't eat, why give it to someone in need?  Are they less human than you are?  Yes, I have eaten expired food this difficult year.  I didn't want to but it was what I was given and it was all I had.  I have sometimes been so very hungry.

While I waited on the bench, other people sat down, one after the other, and complained about spending money for the holidays.  I responded as pleasantly as I could, although I really had nothing to say on the subject, and I certainly didn't want to admit that because I was spending $10 on a prescription, I would be doing without toilet paper and several other necessary items this week.  

Once more, I am reminded that I don't live like other folks.  Maybe my values are way out of whack, I guess, at least the way this world looks at it.  I'd rather be kind whenever I can.  It costs nothing and it can do a lot of good.  I'd rather be honest when making mistakes, especially if someone else might be harmed.  I'd rather keep trying to look for hope in the holidays, even if there's none there for myself. 

Life is good.
And we can make it better.
I decline to give up.

Hearing and Listening

"It was a raccoon," my neighbor said with certainty.

I tried again to tell her the facts of what I knew, "But....."

"No buts.  It was a raccoon, and I am sure of it."  And then she began to detail her experiences with raccoons.

I nodded politely and agreed that no doubt she knew best because I was taught (and quite correctly, too) to respect my elders.  But, you know what?  She didn't know.  She didn't know, and she surely didn't know best because she hadn't heard all the facts.  

We're all like that sometimes, aren't we?  We theorize ahead of the information and we shoot from the hip believing that we know best.  What we should be doing is listening and not merely believing that we've heard it all.  I am as guilty of that as anyone else.  It's a lazy habit, and I believe that it's a result of the way we receive pre-digested news bites and potted previews of information.  We learn little or nothing and wrongly suppose that we have heard it all.

It's good to reflect on that so I can try to improve myself.  But the fact of the matter is that it doesn't address the mystery that I was trying to discuss with my neighbor.  I assure you that the answer is Not "raccoon."

I first noticed the signs of the mystery last week when I was looking outside my bedroom window at my bottle tree.  I've mentioned my bottle trees (a Mississippi tradition that I love) here  before several times, most notably when someone marauded one of my bottle trees and stole antique bottles from it.  (You can read about that in this post.)  This time, a bright blue antique bottle lay at the base of the tree.

I refuse to believe that a raccoon is the culprit.  Why?  The most notable reason is that a different bottle had been substituted for another one that was missing.  It's clear glass when all my bottles were color.  It's a bottle I've not seen before.  I have no idea where it came from.  And that is just creepy.  

A raccoon seems highly unlikely to bother to (or to be able to) reach four feet up to slip a bottle down onto a 4-inch long twig to say thank you for the bottle it has stolen.

The bottle tree that is at the bedroom side of my house is not easily visible from the driveway and it is obscured by shrubs and the like.  You have to know it is there before you notice it.  

I should also say that my driveway is about 600 feet long and there is a heavy treeline that obscures my house and most of my yard from the road.   And you pretty much have to know that there's a house here before you notice it as well.  My two-acre property is a quiet and secluded place.  I am very alone here.  That's why the next thing that happened startled me enough to try to talk to the neighbor.

My half-grown kittens Frank and Dolly are unaccustomed to seeing any person but me.  If someone else comes by, they dash away to hide silently.   They only do this when they see a human being.  That's why I knew what had scared them in the middle of the night when they were sitting on the sill of the window that looks out onto the bottle tree.  There was a sudden thump as they jumped down and then complete silence.  They never leave me in the middle of the night like that.  There had to be someone outside.

I kept as quiet as the cats were doing, and I didn't want to look out the window to betray my presence.  I listened, and heard nothing.  But it occurred to me that I didn't even hear the night birds and the frogs that are usually quite noisy here.  All was silent.  

Since then I've noticed a couple of things shifted around in my yard--like the big plastic chairs that are in front of my workshop.  They have been moved a few feet away from where they have been for some years.  And this happened several days after the strange bottle turned up on my tree.  Someone has been here.

There's no concrete proof that I can offer that anyone else would understand.  No one notices the little details here but me because almost no one is ever here but me.   During this past month, I've seen only three people.....and now I'm trying to figure out one mystery.

I'm watching carefully.  I'm listening cautiously.  But I wish I had been heard when I was trying to tell my tale.  And I hope that my mystery visitor never returns.

Life is good.
Be vigilant, and stay safe.