Cooking with the Cat Lady (Or How I Almost Burned the House Down)

Most of you don't know this because I haven't been very good about posting this year, but I have been on a mission. A mission to take control of my life and my body and become a healthier person... Well, maybe I should just say healthy in general because I wasn't healthy by any stretch of the imagination. So in January of this year, I took on a change. I gathered together the scraps of my self control and started what my doctor refers to as a "life change".


I call it a life-long diet.


You see, I have a problem. A very terrible, dark, and possibly people-eating problem. I love food, and in return, it loves me back. Over the years, it has found its way into my body and suction-cupped on to my hips, my thighs, my tummy, my arms, and any other spare inch of space. One day late last year, I woke up to discover that all of this squishy, ever-loving fat had turned me into something I can only say resembled a marshmallow.


It wasn't pretty.


So, five months later, I have lost almost fifty pounds (with many more to go), and I have discovered my hidden love of yoga and running (slowly jogging, really).


Now, I'm not writing all of this to go off on a tangent about my wonderful new lifestyle. I might write about that another day, but I had to say all of that to get you on track for where and what I am today.


You see, last night while I was making dinner (pan-seared "fried" chicken), I had a thought. I should really post this on the blog. And I should. I had thought this thought many times before since the last time I posted, but I usually lazily dismissed the thought and felt guilty about it later.


For some reason, last night I decided that I would not suffer guilt - I would post to the blog. So while my last batch of chicken was happily searing away in my pan, I went in search of my camera.


And when I found my camera, and made my presentation plate... the batteries were dead.


I huffed and I puffed... and I went to look for batteries.


And yes, my chicken is still cooking.


However, I could not be side-tracked. I ran upstairs to our bedroom and scoured our electronics - stealing batteries from every possible source - to no avail. Each time I would put the batteries in the camera, flip it on, focus my shot, and click... nothing. The camera would then inform me that the power source was low. Sigh.


I searched our living room and the area I've deemed "my office". Again load. Again turn on. Again focus. Again click... and nothing.


Huff. All this time my husband was sitting on the couch asking me questions. What are you doing? Did you check here? Did you go there? What about this? And all this time, the smoke in the house is building - becoming some type of choking chicken smog. However, I do not care! I need batteries because I am going to post this recipe to my blog or die!


Finally, I steal some batteries from my husband's electric toothbrush that managed to work, and I sigh, relieved that the nightmare is over. However, it is at this point that my blinders fall off and I realize just how cloudy it is in my kitchen. Oh wait... those aren't clouds its... smoke. Big, dense, choking smoke. I rush over to the remaining chicken and slide it away from the burner (tossing the chicken on to a dish as well).


As the proverbial smoke settled, I was left with three pieces of charred chicken, but I wasn't really upset... after all, I was going to post to my blog, and it was going to be great!


Then as I sat down to eat, I plugged my camera into my computer ready to transfer the photos and prepare my blog entry. When it finally loaded on my computer screen, I nearly screamed. The pictures are blurry.


.... Actually, now that I look at them again they're not really blurry... they're smoky.


Figures.

Project in a Day - 1

I did a sewing project today to help lift my blah mood. It worked! It's amazing how something as simple as new pillows makes a difference.

I've been meaning to make these pillows for about a year now because the ones that come stock-shipped with new sofas are usually horrible. I'm really not big on tone-on-tone fabrics. To make these pillows, I just cut out four 19x19 squares of fabric and did straight stitches. Easy as pie. The stuffing is even from an old pillow I took off our bed.

Anyway, here's the result.

Before:

And After:

P.S. I didn't pose the cat there - that's just her space, and I don't dare try to move her when she doesn't want to go.

Hello World

It's only been two months since my last post, but it seems like so much has happened. (And in reality, it has.) I am always amazed by how quickly things can change. They say that life is like driving a car through the mountains. Sometimes you're on an upward spiral, and other times, you're coasting down hill.


At the moment, I don't think this would be an appropriate metaphor for my life. Right now, my husband and I are on a trampoline.


Do you know that point where you kind of hover in the air? You know... when you're not exactly sure if you're still on the way up or if you've already crested and falling down. That's where we are.


They say all changes happen for a reason, and in this state of unsteady economy, I can only grab on to my optimistic outlook for dear life. I wouldn't say we've had a hard ride, so far, but it hasn't all been rainbows and sunshine either. It's just been a ride.


I know this post probably doesn't make a lot of sense, and it also really lacks direction. But this is all I can give you today. I'll let you know tomorrow if its getting better. All I can say for now (and, Mom, you might want to turn away) is this:


Corporate America... you really suck.

Little Sister, Big Sister

I had a pretty crappy day today, and when this happens, I find myself letting my mind wander to far away (and long ago) places. I read an article about clowns today (somewhere on the internet), and it made me think of my sister.


My sister *loved* clowns. In the house I spent my early years in, my sister had a room full of clowns. I think she even had some form of clown wall paper at one point, but I can't be sure. (That actually might have been my room, but it would have been long before I was capable of making decorating decisions on my own... so I'll blame it on my mom.) Anyway, I do clearly recall the dozens of clown figurines she had.


They scared the be-gee-zus out of me.


It was really a horrible thing, too, because I always loved to have little mini-slumber parties in her room, and I would have to really psych myself up to be able to go to sleep. I could see all of these big noses and painted cheshire grins, and I could feel my tiny heart pounding as it attempted to leap out of my chest.


It probably didn't help any that my sister would sometimes goad my fear just a tiny bit. I'll give her credit - most of the time she told wonderful stories about houses made out of candy and princesses in far away lands. But sometimes... she would introduce me to her "pets".


We were both born with a curious kind of imagination, and she used hers to invent these "invisible animals" that slept above her bed. It would've been okay (probably) if she'd picked kindly animals like ponies or kittens, but no, she once told me that she had a pet spider... and that it was going to crawl on me...


While I slept.


Can you think of anything scarier to a seven year old girl? Scarier than an invisible spider that will crawl on you while you sleep?


I think not.


I think she told me these stories on the nights when she really wanted to sleep alone, but they never deterred me. I would lay there in the dark and listen to her breathe, praying that I would feel anything creepy or crawly.


And I don't know if she ever realized this or not, but the whole reason I was able to sleep was because I would always think to myself that she would protect me (from her invisible pets, ha!).


And she did.


Sometimes she still does.

The Best Laid Plans

Wonder of all wonders, my husband had a day off yesterday. It wasn't a sad little half-day, either (you know, when he has to go in for three hours and then come back home). No, he had an entire day to do whatever he pleased. We've actually been planning what we were going to do on this marvelous day off together for almost two weeks.

Thursday we finally decided that we would make a trip down to Florida to visit a few stores and, basically, spend the day wasting time and enjoying each other's company. We were very excited about our plans, and we actually spent half of the day before talking about all the nice things we were going to do.

Friday morning I woke up at nine a.m. (isn't it nice to sleep in?). D was still asleep, so I flipped through T.V. channels and watched a few episodes of "House". By eleven, I figured out that he wasn't going to wake up, and by noon, I figured out that our day wasn't going to go at all how we had planned it.

Finally, my sleepy husband wandered into the waking world, and he made some cute comment about possibly still going out of town (as if it still might happen). I humored him for the moment, and for my smiles and good nature, he made me lunch (a chicken salad sandwich and broccoli potato soup).

That alone was worth skipping the trip. It's always cute to watch him cook.

All in all, it was a wonderful day. We went and picked up dinner from a wonderful seafood restaurant, and we spent the afternoon watching movies. It wasn't what we had planned, but it seems like anytime we make plans recently they always get waylaid.

It always works out for the best though. I had a great day, and days like this are always what remind me that this is what I got married for.

I feel tall.

I went to the doctor's office today (again) to see if they could do something about this miserable Black Plague I've been toting around for nearly a week now, and when I stepped into the back of the office (you know, that place where they ask you to step on the scales and you close your eyes), the nurse kindly asked me (after laughing at me a little because I have an inner ear infection and my normal clumsiness + tilted equilibrium + moving scale = almost falling on my face) if they had ever measured my height.


I had to stop and think for a second (when was the last time I was measured?)... No... the last time was when I was fifteen and getting my learner's license (you know... when they make you stand up next to that roll of tape they've got on the wall... the one that makes you feel like you've just robbed a jiffy store).


So, I stepped over to this funky looking doo-dad, and she stretched (she was tiny) to move the bar down. Imagine my surprise when I stepped away, and she said "5'8'' ". All matter-of-fact-like.


I was in shock.


For years, I have believed that I was barely scraping 5'6''. I was so much in shock by her statement that I took off my shoes and made her measure me again.


Still 5'8''.


I don't even know what to say about this. I feel like a giant! When did this happen, and why didn't anyone tell me?


So now, my husband is gloating because he's always told me that he is 5'7'', and I never believed him (because he's always been a little bit shorter than me).


I can't believe he was right.


Now, I must decide what to do as an important member of society. Is there some kind of club I should join?

Clumsy, Clutzy Coughing Fits

I've been sick for four days. This is the dainty little sneezing with pretty cloth hankies either. This is a fire in my throat, and a cork in my nose. That's right people; I have strep throat. Again. I don't know why this particular ailment loves me so much, but I seem to contract it at least two times a year. And, it hangs onto my body like I'm the only thing with tonsils for a two hundred mile radius.


Most of my family doesn't even know that I'm sick, and this is because I turn into a complete introvert when I'm ill. I don't want to talk to people. I don't want to see people. I don't even want to listen to people. Everything. Hurts. I'm also kind of a whiner, and I realize it. So, the sound of my own voice becomes irritating.


However, I didn't write this post to whine about being sick. I wanted to tell all of you how badly sickness seems to amplify my normal clumsy nature.


You see, I've always known that I was a clumsy, clutzy person. From the moment I walked into my third grade classroom and stepped straight into a trashcan (and proceeded to get my foot stuck in said trashcan), I have known that I was doomed to bump and trip my way through life.


Really, its not that bad of a lot to have overall. I just have lots of bruises.


However, it seems that when I am sick this normal trippy, dippy nature is amplified to insurmountable heights. I proceeded to make this ten times worse today when I took an "Energy Now".


You see, I sell vitamins and natural remedies in my spare time (www.trivita.com/13564194). I like the natural products because they don't interfere with any other medication I might have to be on, and when I'm sick, I double up on my daily vitamins hoping the the extra vitamin C will help my body win the fight.


Well, another thing I don't do when I'm sick is clean. I stay in my bed as much as I can, and I try to keep myself hydrating and focusing on getting well. Today I decided that I had been in bed long enough and that my house needed to be cleaned (boy, was I right). So, I hobbled out of bed and coughed my way down the stairs to look at the damage.


I was nearly overwhelmed, but I pulled myself together and started working. After an hour or so, I was too tired to move. But, I had a secret remedy, and I wasn't afraid to use it! "Energy now" is a green tea, B-12, and other energy amplifiers supplement that gives you a nice natural boost without the drag later on. I love it, and I knew it would be perfect for today.


However, I didn't expect my wheezing and bumbling to get in the way. I tripped on my way into the kitchen. I bumped into the end of the couch and got a nice bruise. I slammed my head into the arm of the treadmill, and I slipped in the bathroom after cleaning the floor.


I think I've determined that its best for me to just admit defeat and crawl back in bed. Maybe tomorrow will be better.