About Me

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Four years into widowhood, after one year of incredible happiness and nearly 14 years of single blessedness. Have given up perfect manicures and pretty hands in order to resume playing the soprano recorder and to see if I can figure out how to play bluegrass banjo. Singing in the shower. Still really, *really* love to knit!

Thursday, March 27, 2014

Cupcake + ice cream = cankles

We had the quarterly birthday party at work today. I have not eaten ice cream in over a month. So I had one of those single serve cups of Blue Bell Dutch Chocolate. And a small cupcake. By the end of the day my legs were swollen and stiff halfway up my calves. And as red as if I were wearing 5" high legwarmers just above my ankles.

Three months from now I will try just the ice cream and see what, if any, reaction I get. I don't like cake enough to choose it over the ice cream.

Lesson learned: the healthy stuff I have been eating for the past month is what I need to continue to eat. I had a far more successful experiment at dinnertime. Stirred a scoop of vanilla protein powder into a cup of fat free Fage yogurt, sweetening it just enough and nearly tripling the protein grams. Then I sliced up several strawberries and stirred them in. Protein, a modicum of good carbs, vitamins, fiber, pleasant mouthfeel, and the satisfaction of having been right about a hunch. I think this is going to become one of my go-to breakfasts.

This has been a good week at work and an increasingly frustrating week at home. I had a painful symptom last week and have nearly finished a course of antibiotics. I have been going to the gym out of sheer bulldog stubbornness. On more than one day I have run out of safe snacks before I ran out of workday or commute home. The piles are getting out of hand again. I am too tired at night to make music. I haven't picked up a pencil in two weeks or more. I am a musician who doesn't music, an artist who doesn't art, a knitter who doesn't knit, and a reader who until last week hadn't read for pleasure in months.

I picked up the Harlot's new book before Knit Night. I am nearly done. I may read the last four (?) essays before bedtime. Or not. It is not quite 9:00. I have two meds to take, and my body is screaming for sleep. I blew off the gym this morning for another hour of sleep. I rescheduled tonight's banjo lesson because it would be a waste of his time and my money. I have had to postpone my massage twice. I burst into tears listening to the march of the day yesterday: Scotland the Brave. And I had some spotting today. As I did last month. The Red Fairy left the building five or six years ago. I don't know what the h-e-double-hockey-sticks is going on, but somebody needs to tell my hormones to straighten up and fly right.

Don't be surprised if I keep the ringer off all weekend and only show up for the Women's Broadcast on Saturday night and church on Sunday.

Mumble mumble rassen frassen.

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