Anybody that knows me knows I wear some snazzy T-shirts that express what I'm feeling. As you can judge from the title of this blog what I'm feeling today. Yep, I'm on the pity pot today. Or partially. I'm not to the point of throwing things around in frustration, but I'm close.
Last night, I roasted an eggplant, Vidalia onion, and half a tomato to go along with my fried breaded okra. Yep, all exception the onion were from my garden picked earlier in the day. The intention was to scoop out the eggplant and tomato, mix it with the onion and top it with some shredded mozzarella cheese which I had made the day before. I was
going to sprinkle it with some fresh oregano, basil, and rosemary which I had harvested just for the purpose before I placed it under the broiler. My mouth was watering just thinking about it while harvesting.
While the vegetables were in the oven, I cleaned and breaded the okra. I poured the oil into my cast iron skillet to heat and the timer went off on the oven. It takes me four times as long when I have to cut up vegetables now. I donned my oven mitt to get the sheet pan out of the oven. I was carrying it back to the cutting board when I tromped on one of the cats' tail. I lost my balance. The sheet pan tilted and all my pretty vegetables slid onto the floor.
I grabbed some paper towels and started to get it up when I noticed the smoke rolling out of my skillet. When my vegetables hit the floor, the tomato went everywhere in a hot, wet mess of well roasted vegetable (or is it a fruit). I stepped over the mess and turned the heat off. A good thing the oil had been new or it would have made everything taste like burnt yuck. As the oil cooled, I cleaned up the ruined vegetables.
I contemplated roasting some more eggplant, onion and tomato, but decided against it. It was already going on 9PM. I fried the okra and had that for dinner. That's the good thing about being alone. I decide what and when to eat. My husband was always a meat, veg, and bread type of man. Even when he only ate tablespoons of food, he stuck to it. No way would he been satisfied with just fried okra for dinner even though it was one of his favorites.
So today, I'm keeping it simple. I'm doing Asoba noodles. You Americans will recognize it if I used the word :Ramen" noodles. The difference is I add extra yummies to mine like green onions, fish, shredded carrots, and spinach. I cooked the vegetables and make my own soup base. Sometimes, I'll substitute Kale or seaweed if I have it on hand. I change up the meat to chicken, beef, or tofu (if I made any). The little packet goes into a drawer for when I make a big pot of chicken soup because of the sodium level being so high. It's a bowl of soup that is a meal.
I've been eating all sorts of things since my husband died. For the first week, it was seafood. He had an allergy to all seafood. The next week was vegetarian. The week after was Indian. Since I've had my fill of these, it's whatever strikes my fancy or my energy level. I can cook once and it'll feed me for a couple of days. I only eat one full meal a day now. I know, I know, it ain't healthy. But yet, I usually eat a good meal with all healthy stuff. The rest of the time I nibble and snack. It might be popcorn and nuts, or fresh veges, it might be cereal, or fresh peaches and low fat cottage cheese.
It's just too much trouble cutting up meats and veges for one person twice a day. When I cut up broccoli, cauliflower, celery, or carrots, I always cut double the amount for snacking later or for the next meal. Sure it would be easier to buy nuke meals, but I've had my fill of them in the past year and a half probably forever would be too soon to eat another one. I just love to cook or I did when I could move and use two hands. I pick my battles to ease fruastrating myself as much as possible.
That's like all the forms I've been confronted by these last couple weeks. Life insurance and my husband's retirement plan especially. They were several pages of fill in the blank. I already have difficulty reading with my stroke, but writing legibly...forget it. I wish my old typewriter worked. I have to wait to fill out these forms when one of my daughters or grandchildren come over. I can't draw a straight line to save my life and numbers fuggedaboudit! I have a hard enough time reading phone numbers and addresses that I've written. Don't get me wrong. I know practice makes perfect, but I just do not have the dexterity in my multiple injured, but healed left hand. But that's what I'm left with because my right hand was affected by my stroke.
Would I like a little cheese with my whine. No, thank you. I warned you in the beginning that this was my moment on the pity pot. Getting out of the shower today, I (of course) got my panties and shorts in a wad on my affected side. I didn't have my husband to run to for help. I just had to deal with it. Twenty minutes later, success. I was finally able to leave the bathroom fully clothed. Totally exhausted from the effort. If I hadn't gotten so dirty and sweaty in the garden this morning, I wouldn't have had to get a shower in the first place. Now, gone up in smoke are the plans to make a new bunny cage for the new Angora bunny baby I'm getting at the end of next month. It's much cheaper to build the cages than to buy them. I just don't have the energy to spare. A good thing I made my soup base before I took a shower.
On days like the past twenty-fours have been, I have to keep reminding myself that life without challenges would be boring. I could stand a little boredom right now. Nah, not really. I would get in so much trouble if I was bored. A WHOLE LOT MORE than I get into now. I should be content but I'm not. I want more. I think I'll work on the sweater I started to knit. That's the ticket. How much trouble can I get into knitting? But you know as a Murphey, there's always Murphy's Law.
Nothing is impossible.
