These are some of the basic things I learned from my parents by word and/or example.
1. My parents did not teach me that I was better than anyone else. They did teach me that I was as good as anyone else. That old, ‘Hold your head up high and walk on through the storm,’ idea. We all have the same rights, not more or less than anyone else.
2. Regardless of what anyone else does, I and I alone, am responsible for my own actions.”Yes, yes, I know he/she did this or that...” Still, I bear the responsibility for what I do.
3. This I learned from my mother, which she may not have put in these exact words; but the message came through loud and clear. Doing something because someone else is doing it, is the poorest possible reason for doing anything. We, or at least I, learned rather quickly that saying, “But everyone else is going to…” was a sure show-stopper with my mother. I suppose all kids want to be like the other kids, want to do the same things; as I did - up to a point. Kids don’t want to be different. However, for whatever reason, I refused on my own some of the things the other kids might want to do. It doesn’t make you popular to go against the grain, but the lesson is worth the learning. Being different makes you what you uniquely are. Being like everyone else helps you get lost in the crowd.
Monday, August 31, 2009
Saturday, August 29, 2009
Running Away - Running To: A Five Year Old's Adventure
If a child runs away from home, it is usually a serious matter; and even dangerous, in some instances. When I was four and a half to five years old, I ran away from home. However, I wasn’t trying to leave home so much; I was just trying to go to a place where I so wanted to be. I ran away to school.
I started school in the fall after my fifth birthday. I suppose I had pestered the family about why my two older brothers and my older sister could go to school and I couldn’t. I’m sure I was told that my turn would come as soon as I was old enough. So-- what does that mean when you’re four or five years old? I suspect my young mind said, “Not fair, not fair!” Another six months, another year, that was forever!
We lived then, in a very small town; I suspect just a few hundred people. The school probably wasn’t more than a couple of blocks away; perhaps a little more, but it couldn’t have been much more than that. At that time more people didn’t have cars than did, so traffic wasn’t a problem, thank goodness. I doubt that I had been taught crossing-the-street-rules.
One day, Bob, my next younger brother, and I were playing in the back yard, while our mother worked in the house and looked after Pres, our baby brother. He would have been about a year old at the time. While we played at whatever games children played then, apparently this approximately five year old little girl, decided that it would be a fine day to go to school. We calmly walked out of the yard when mother, busy in another part of the house, wasn’t looking.
I took Bob by the hand and we walked down to the school and into the classroom, astounding the teacher and the class. Bob was about two years younger than I was. I don’t know what he thought, and I don't remember what I thought either. I didn’t know what to do next, but I think the teacher took care of that by asking us what we were doing there. I simply told her that I wanted to go to school. I was in charge of my little brother, so it seemed a natural thing to take him with me.
Our school day was short lived. The teacher sent one of our older siblings to tell mother where we were. We were fetched immediately; I’m sure my mother was embarrassed. It seems strange, but I don’t remember what my punishment was, for committing such an unwise act and causing a commotion! Justice was usually sure and swift where mother was concerned, so I strongly suspect that I was not only soundly scolded, but spanked as well. I can understand that, since we probably gave her the “parent scare,” and took her away from whatever tasks she was trying to accomplish. Bob was totally not to blame, so I hope he was spared any punishment.
I never regretted having committed such an audacious act for a five year old. That, to me, was my big adventure, and it was worth it. I thought that school building and the classroom were the greatest things I’d ever seen.
I started school in the fall after my fifth birthday. I suppose I had pestered the family about why my two older brothers and my older sister could go to school and I couldn’t. I’m sure I was told that my turn would come as soon as I was old enough. So-- what does that mean when you’re four or five years old? I suspect my young mind said, “Not fair, not fair!” Another six months, another year, that was forever!
We lived then, in a very small town; I suspect just a few hundred people. The school probably wasn’t more than a couple of blocks away; perhaps a little more, but it couldn’t have been much more than that. At that time more people didn’t have cars than did, so traffic wasn’t a problem, thank goodness. I doubt that I had been taught crossing-the-street-rules.
One day, Bob, my next younger brother, and I were playing in the back yard, while our mother worked in the house and looked after Pres, our baby brother. He would have been about a year old at the time. While we played at whatever games children played then, apparently this approximately five year old little girl, decided that it would be a fine day to go to school. We calmly walked out of the yard when mother, busy in another part of the house, wasn’t looking.
I took Bob by the hand and we walked down to the school and into the classroom, astounding the teacher and the class. Bob was about two years younger than I was. I don’t know what he thought, and I don't remember what I thought either. I didn’t know what to do next, but I think the teacher took care of that by asking us what we were doing there. I simply told her that I wanted to go to school. I was in charge of my little brother, so it seemed a natural thing to take him with me.
Our school day was short lived. The teacher sent one of our older siblings to tell mother where we were. We were fetched immediately; I’m sure my mother was embarrassed. It seems strange, but I don’t remember what my punishment was, for committing such an unwise act and causing a commotion! Justice was usually sure and swift where mother was concerned, so I strongly suspect that I was not only soundly scolded, but spanked as well. I can understand that, since we probably gave her the “parent scare,” and took her away from whatever tasks she was trying to accomplish. Bob was totally not to blame, so I hope he was spared any punishment.
I never regretted having committed such an audacious act for a five year old. That, to me, was my big adventure, and it was worth it. I thought that school building and the classroom were the greatest things I’d ever seen.
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Comments
Please feel free to comment on any of the posts available here. It lets me know you’ve been here; it lets me know what appeals to you, or otherwise. I am interested in what you have to say, whatever it may be. The only exception would be that any comment with profanity or crudities would be deleted. I don’t expect that from anyone who might comment; it’s just outlining the rules -- something akin to looking to the left and the right before stepping off the curb.
Formerly, the setting for comments was "Registered Users Only." You didn't have to sign in to read the blogs, but you had to sign in to comment. I've changed that, and now you don't have to sign in to leave a comment, if you want to do so.
P.S. I've found that isn't quite true: You don't have to "Register" with a sign-in, such as Google, or other, if you don't have it, or just don't want to. What you can do is click on the sign-in space as "Anonymous" and then leave a comment. You can leave your name in the comment if you want to, so I will know who you are.
Formerly, the setting for comments was "Registered Users Only." You didn't have to sign in to read the blogs, but you had to sign in to comment. I've changed that, and now you don't have to sign in to leave a comment, if you want to do so.
P.S. I've found that isn't quite true: You don't have to "Register" with a sign-in, such as Google, or other, if you don't have it, or just don't want to. What you can do is click on the sign-in space as "Anonymous" and then leave a comment. You can leave your name in the comment if you want to, so I will know who you are.
Monday, August 24, 2009
Killing a Pizza
I killed a pizza today. One of the day’s lowlights, but not too low on the scale of things that matter. Actually, I didn’t kill an entire pizza, just one piece of it. I micro waved it to death. As I have said, I live alone. When I decide I want a pizza, after eating what I want; there is still a lot of it left.
I wrap the individual pizza slices in foil, put them all in a plastic baggie, and store the baggie in the freezer. I take them out one at a time as I want them. Today, I put one of the slices in the microwave, while I did small chores in the kitchen. The pizza wasn’t hot enough after the first warm up, so I gave it a second go, with a bit less time. One end was still cold, so I gave it another 25 seconds, on about 40 percent power—or so I thought.
I realized the microwave was still humming away, when it should have stopped. I turned to look at it and there was way too much time left! I hit the clear button, and opened the microwave door. Apparently when I hit the power button, I missed it, and hit a number instead. The pizza was hard as a rock, and shrunken to about half the size it had been.
There were several slices left, so I repeated the process with another slice of pizza. This time I paid more attention, instead of just glancing at the timer while doing something else. No more hard rock pizza. I was able to eat it this time, not feed it to the garbage disposal.
I wrap the individual pizza slices in foil, put them all in a plastic baggie, and store the baggie in the freezer. I take them out one at a time as I want them. Today, I put one of the slices in the microwave, while I did small chores in the kitchen. The pizza wasn’t hot enough after the first warm up, so I gave it a second go, with a bit less time. One end was still cold, so I gave it another 25 seconds, on about 40 percent power—or so I thought.
I realized the microwave was still humming away, when it should have stopped. I turned to look at it and there was way too much time left! I hit the clear button, and opened the microwave door. Apparently when I hit the power button, I missed it, and hit a number instead. The pizza was hard as a rock, and shrunken to about half the size it had been.
There were several slices left, so I repeated the process with another slice of pizza. This time I paid more attention, instead of just glancing at the timer while doing something else. No more hard rock pizza. I was able to eat it this time, not feed it to the garbage disposal.
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Family Vacation
A loosely planned auto vacation was one of the best vacations we ever had. We intended visiting Smoky Mountain National Park and we did. We took along a tent in case we wanted to camp out. However, someone had been killed by a bear in the park the night before. Suddenly the idea of sleeping in a tent lost its appeal. We decided something with stronger walls surrounding us would be preferable.
We did some exploring in the area. Then my husband said he had an old army friend in South Carolina, he always wanted to look up if he was ever there, so how about we extend the trip to South Carolina. We found Melvin’s friend; they invited us for lunch, and we had a very nice visit.
After that Melvin asked, “Where next?” I replied that I had always wanted to see Virginia, so how about we go there? We greatly enjoyed Virginia, especially me. Then Melvin said since we were this close, he thought I should see the ocean, being the only person in the family that had not done so. We went to Virginia Beach, Virginia. It was a gray, cloudy day, and you could hardly tell the difference between the sky and the ocean. But I was glad I got to stand there on the beach and see that great expanse of water. On some point along the east coast we got to tour a large military ship and that was something too. The two guys really liked that. Years later I saw the ocean in Florida, a beautifully blue sea and sky, with lots of sunshine. But that first glimpse of that gray ocean at Virginia Beach was a special thrill.
Now, it was time to think about which route we would take to go back home. Our teen age son spoke up and said, “Since we’re this close to Washington, D.C., I think we should go there and take a look at the White House.” We drove to D.C., visited the Capitol Building, saw the Washington Monument, Arlington and so on. We drove by the White House, stopped and looked around. Unfortunately, we only got to see the outside. It was Monday, and the White House was closed to visitors that day. Even so, I was glad our son suggested it, because that was the only time I got to visit the nation’s capitol.
Swinging westward, we drove through Pennsylvania, stopping overnight at a motel where the altitude was rather high, with red water in the faucets, and clouds you could almost touch. From there we made our way home. A thoroughly satisfactory vacation.
We did some exploring in the area. Then my husband said he had an old army friend in South Carolina, he always wanted to look up if he was ever there, so how about we extend the trip to South Carolina. We found Melvin’s friend; they invited us for lunch, and we had a very nice visit.
After that Melvin asked, “Where next?” I replied that I had always wanted to see Virginia, so how about we go there? We greatly enjoyed Virginia, especially me. Then Melvin said since we were this close, he thought I should see the ocean, being the only person in the family that had not done so. We went to Virginia Beach, Virginia. It was a gray, cloudy day, and you could hardly tell the difference between the sky and the ocean. But I was glad I got to stand there on the beach and see that great expanse of water. On some point along the east coast we got to tour a large military ship and that was something too. The two guys really liked that. Years later I saw the ocean in Florida, a beautifully blue sea and sky, with lots of sunshine. But that first glimpse of that gray ocean at Virginia Beach was a special thrill.
Now, it was time to think about which route we would take to go back home. Our teen age son spoke up and said, “Since we’re this close to Washington, D.C., I think we should go there and take a look at the White House.” We drove to D.C., visited the Capitol Building, saw the Washington Monument, Arlington and so on. We drove by the White House, stopped and looked around. Unfortunately, we only got to see the outside. It was Monday, and the White House was closed to visitors that day. Even so, I was glad our son suggested it, because that was the only time I got to visit the nation’s capitol.
Swinging westward, we drove through Pennsylvania, stopping overnight at a motel where the altitude was rather high, with red water in the faucets, and clouds you could almost touch. From there we made our way home. A thoroughly satisfactory vacation.
A Child's Prayer
Many of us are probably aware of the nightly prayer that goes thus: “Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take.”
I’m sure this prayer was meant to ensure a sense of security in a child while he slept. And the sense of knowing our soul would be taken to be with the Lord would be reassuring to someone older as well. However, when my children became old enough to say nightly prayers, one line of this prayer bothered me, where the children were concerned. I did not want the thought that they might die while asleep to be last in their minds. Yes, it could happen, but I did not want that to be a source of concern for them.
About this time I had found, and bought a big, thick story book that was filled with short stories and poems for children.That's the book that one of the girls left lying in the floor, and their Dad stumped his big toe on it one night, when walking around barefoot in the dark. A very big ouch! [Sorry, kids; I don’t know what happened to that book. We had it for many years; it lost both front and back covers, but eventually disappeared.]
Among all those poems and stories was a child’s prayer, similar to the one quoted above, but with a variation. This one went like this: “Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep. When in the morning light I wake, Help me the path of life to take.” With this prayer the Lord would keep them through the night, and go with them through the coming day. As one of my little brothers used to say, "It was more better." I liked it better for the children, and it is a pretty good prayer for adults too.
I’m sure this prayer was meant to ensure a sense of security in a child while he slept. And the sense of knowing our soul would be taken to be with the Lord would be reassuring to someone older as well. However, when my children became old enough to say nightly prayers, one line of this prayer bothered me, where the children were concerned. I did not want the thought that they might die while asleep to be last in their minds. Yes, it could happen, but I did not want that to be a source of concern for them.
About this time I had found, and bought a big, thick story book that was filled with short stories and poems for children.That's the book that one of the girls left lying in the floor, and their Dad stumped his big toe on it one night, when walking around barefoot in the dark. A very big ouch! [Sorry, kids; I don’t know what happened to that book. We had it for many years; it lost both front and back covers, but eventually disappeared.]
Among all those poems and stories was a child’s prayer, similar to the one quoted above, but with a variation. This one went like this: “Now I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep. When in the morning light I wake, Help me the path of life to take.” With this prayer the Lord would keep them through the night, and go with them through the coming day. As one of my little brothers used to say, "It was more better." I liked it better for the children, and it is a pretty good prayer for adults too.
Saturday, August 22, 2009
Trekking Again
Yesterday’s trek didn’t include as many stops as the earlier one I wrote about. This time only three places to go. My computer keyboard wasn’t working properly, so I had switched to one that was from an older computer. The older one, though it had seemed like a soft touch when I used it before, had a much harder touch than this newer one, which didn’t actually last very long. The older keyboard made my fingers sore, so I decided I had better buy a new one.
First stop - The computer store. I found a ‘wireless’ keyboard for about $40. There are no wires leading from it, or to it; but there is a wire from the device that plugs into the USB connection on the computer box. I also bought some DVD disks to back up my computer and for file storage. I wanted to take some pictures off my old computer, store them on the DVD, to use with the newer computer. So far, the old computer doesn’t recognize the DVD, though that drive is supposed to be for both DVD and CD. I haven’t installed the new keyboard yet, because I wanted to get those pictures first. So much, for well laid plans.
Second stop - lunch. I had intended to stop for tacos while I was out, but as I went by in the mall, I passed another restaurant. I hadn’t been there, or hardly anywhere else this past year, so decided I would eat there instead. The lunch was very good, even better than I remembered. The service was slooow. The waitress asked me if she could get me something to drink. I said, yes, but I could go ahead and give her my lunch order too, since I knew what I wanted. I had certainly had plenty of time to study the menu.
The waitress took the order and I waited for my coffee. She was in and out among the tables she served, but never brought the coffee. I saw other customers come in, get their drinks, and have their food orders taken. Some were helped a bit by someone, apparently from the hostess crew. Perhaps the server had too many tables to cover; however, others were being served, while I waited and waited. Finally, she walked near my table on her way to the pickup area, and looked my way. I asked her if I could have my coffee, please. She said, “Sure.” I waited another several minutes, and then finally, she brought the coffee, along with my food order. No coffee refill was needed, since I got my drink so late.
I didn’t say anything about waiting to bring the coffee with the food. If that was the server’s assumption, then I hope she learned to ask, not assume. Even though I’ve given my drink and food order to servers at the same time, many times, I’ve never had this happen before.
I think watiressing is a hard job and I usually tip rather generously. I was not feeling too kindly disposed towards the server at the moment. Though I didn’t say anything unkind to her, her tip might have been better, had she behaved differently. But, as with the previous trek, I learned something too. In the future, if I give a server, drink and food orders at the same time, I will add, “I would like my drink now, please!”
Last stop - grocery store. Just routine, folks. Actually, I suppose the last stop was home, or at least the place where I reside.
First stop - The computer store. I found a ‘wireless’ keyboard for about $40. There are no wires leading from it, or to it; but there is a wire from the device that plugs into the USB connection on the computer box. I also bought some DVD disks to back up my computer and for file storage. I wanted to take some pictures off my old computer, store them on the DVD, to use with the newer computer. So far, the old computer doesn’t recognize the DVD, though that drive is supposed to be for both DVD and CD. I haven’t installed the new keyboard yet, because I wanted to get those pictures first. So much, for well laid plans.
Second stop - lunch. I had intended to stop for tacos while I was out, but as I went by in the mall, I passed another restaurant. I hadn’t been there, or hardly anywhere else this past year, so decided I would eat there instead. The lunch was very good, even better than I remembered. The service was slooow. The waitress asked me if she could get me something to drink. I said, yes, but I could go ahead and give her my lunch order too, since I knew what I wanted. I had certainly had plenty of time to study the menu.
The waitress took the order and I waited for my coffee. She was in and out among the tables she served, but never brought the coffee. I saw other customers come in, get their drinks, and have their food orders taken. Some were helped a bit by someone, apparently from the hostess crew. Perhaps the server had too many tables to cover; however, others were being served, while I waited and waited. Finally, she walked near my table on her way to the pickup area, and looked my way. I asked her if I could have my coffee, please. She said, “Sure.” I waited another several minutes, and then finally, she brought the coffee, along with my food order. No coffee refill was needed, since I got my drink so late.
I didn’t say anything about waiting to bring the coffee with the food. If that was the server’s assumption, then I hope she learned to ask, not assume. Even though I’ve given my drink and food order to servers at the same time, many times, I’ve never had this happen before.
I think watiressing is a hard job and I usually tip rather generously. I was not feeling too kindly disposed towards the server at the moment. Though I didn’t say anything unkind to her, her tip might have been better, had she behaved differently. But, as with the previous trek, I learned something too. In the future, if I give a server, drink and food orders at the same time, I will add, “I would like my drink now, please!”
Last stop - grocery store. Just routine, folks. Actually, I suppose the last stop was home, or at least the place where I reside.
Friday, August 21, 2009
Shingles: Update
When I saw the doctor recently, she smiled and said she had no magic pill for me. Ah, if only! She told me that this enduring pain from shingles could last for years. Naturally, that is not what I wanted to hear, though I already knew it was possible. I accept it as a fact, but I do not live with that expectancy. I live with the expectancy that each day may be the last day of pain, and that tomorrow might be the day that I wake up, with no more shingles pain.
I have plans for the first day of no shingles pain, and when it happens, I would like to shout it from the rooftops. If ever I was going to dance on a table top, that would be the day. Since I can’t dance on the floor, the table tops are safe. I’ve told some of my neighbors, here in the senior community where I live, that I will put an announcement on the bulletin board to let them know that what I refer to as the dratted shingles is finished with me. They won’t need to ask how I am anymore, except as a polite greeting.
I have another plan that involves singing. Anyone who knows me, knows that I cannot sing anymore, if ever I could. Sometimes it is a struggle to talk, and some days, I do more squeaking than speaking. Inflammations brought on by second hand smoke, and other pollutants, have done well their damage to my vocal chords.
I’m having fun with this blog which I recently started. Along with other things, it helps keep my mind occupied, so I can sublimate the shingles pain - somewhat. To all who suffer so much more than I do, you have my prayerful thoughts; I wish you surcease from your discomfort. May spiritual sunshine imbue your entire being.
I have plans for the first day of no shingles pain, and when it happens, I would like to shout it from the rooftops. If ever I was going to dance on a table top, that would be the day. Since I can’t dance on the floor, the table tops are safe. I’ve told some of my neighbors, here in the senior community where I live, that I will put an announcement on the bulletin board to let them know that what I refer to as the dratted shingles is finished with me. They won’t need to ask how I am anymore, except as a polite greeting.
I have another plan that involves singing. Anyone who knows me, knows that I cannot sing anymore, if ever I could. Sometimes it is a struggle to talk, and some days, I do more squeaking than speaking. Inflammations brought on by second hand smoke, and other pollutants, have done well their damage to my vocal chords.
I’m having fun with this blog which I recently started. Along with other things, it helps keep my mind occupied, so I can sublimate the shingles pain - somewhat. To all who suffer so much more than I do, you have my prayerful thoughts; I wish you surcease from your discomfort. May spiritual sunshine imbue your entire being.
Thursday, August 20, 2009
There Is An H In It
I will say in advance that I do not pretend to perfect grammar. Still, there are idiosyncrasies of speech that sometimes irks me. A case in point is pronouncing white as wite. It is particularly annoying to me, to hear the White House called the Wite House.
Some years ago, one of the TV game shows, I think it was Jeopardy, had a category like: spelled differently, but sounds the same. Two of the words used were whine and wine. The person who made up the category may have pronounced whine as wine, but the pronunciation is not the same for the two words. Wine is wine; whine is ‘hwine.’
If someone were told to stop wining, I would think he/she was being told to quit drinking. If I heard them say, “Stop whining,” I would think they were trying to stop a fussy complaint. [Oh, am I whining here?] If you say wite for white, do you say wat/wot for what? What about which; do you say which, or witch? Do you say wen, for when? If you can say what, you can say white. Don’t take my word for it. Look up the pronunciation key in the dictionary for these WH words.
If we speak of our country’s official home for our president and family, past or present, let’s remember, that our presidents and their families, live in the WHITE HOUSE. We’ve probably all heard, at some point the phrase, "get the H out" of something. I want to put the H back in those WH words, where it belongs.
Some years ago, one of the TV game shows, I think it was Jeopardy, had a category like: spelled differently, but sounds the same. Two of the words used were whine and wine. The person who made up the category may have pronounced whine as wine, but the pronunciation is not the same for the two words. Wine is wine; whine is ‘hwine.’
If someone were told to stop wining, I would think he/she was being told to quit drinking. If I heard them say, “Stop whining,” I would think they were trying to stop a fussy complaint. [Oh, am I whining here?] If you say wite for white, do you say wat/wot for what? What about which; do you say which, or witch? Do you say wen, for when? If you can say what, you can say white. Don’t take my word for it. Look up the pronunciation key in the dictionary for these WH words.
If we speak of our country’s official home for our president and family, past or present, let’s remember, that our presidents and their families, live in the WHITE HOUSE. We’ve probably all heard, at some point the phrase, "get the H out" of something. I want to put the H back in those WH words, where it belongs.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Carolyn's Work Place
Along with everything else she does, Carolyn has two or three blogs to keep up with. Try the following URL to see what she has to say.
http://wwwefusjon-life-carolyn-lynnked.blogspot.com/
http://wwwefusjon-life-carolyn-lynnked.blogspot.com/
Monday, August 17, 2009
Chicken ‘n Dressing – From Leftovers
I’ve heard various people say they don’t like leftovers. That’s okay; I don’t like some leftovers either. But, I do try to make good use of leftovers when I can. And they don’t always have to be just heated in the microwave. Sometimes they can reappear as something else. Most of the time, I deliberately cook, so I will have leftovers. That way, when I don’t want to cook, and don’t want to go out and get something, I can have something ready to eat in a few minutes – no extra cost.
The first bit of advice I received, about using leftovers, was many years ago, when reading a column by a psychologist. I don’t recall all of it from this distance in time, but I believe he was advising people with limited incomes, on making the most of what you have. In that instance, it was leftover mashed potatoes. He said that you could put a little butter, along with a small amount of milk; heat and stir as they warmed up, and they would taste as good as new. I tried it and they were pretty good. More about this later; today is about chicken.
I live alone, so there is only me to cook for. A grocery store near my home has a very good deli. Sometimes I buy a whole, small broasted chicken, which for one person, with my-sized appetite, means several meals. That was among my purchases on my last shopping trip. I prefer the white meat, but I take off the thigh and drumstick portions, which will be two more meals later on. I put these in the freezer so I can take them out one at a time, when I want to. I do notice that my blood pressure goes up ‘a little’ when I eat the dark portions, but since I only do this occasionally, I think I can get by with it. I stick them under the broiler, either with or without barbecue sauce, in my counter top broiler-oven. No extra preparation to speak of.
I had already had two servings of the white meat, but still had some left. The notion struck me to make a chicken ‘n dressing dish for my dinner. I took the bony parts, along with a couple of chicken bouillon cubes, about one/fourth small onion, covered with water; and cooked it for 10 to 20 minutes to make stock. I had some leftover Italian bread that was beginning to dry, so used that.
We have traditional sage dressing, or at least traditional for our household, at Thanksgiving and Christmas. Rarely is it ever made at other times. The kids know how they want it made, and how it should taste, with no variation. But, in the years since my children left home and there was only my husband and myself to cook for, I have occasionally experimented with chicken and dressing in the same dish. Since I only have myself to please now, as far as cooking is concerned, I used the leftover white meat chicken, the drying Italian bread, chicken broth, eggs, a small amount of milk, onions and sage as usual; but added some chopped broccoli florets [not a lot, but enough to say: vegetable included], and a small amount of chopped celery. I made just enough for an 8 inch square pan. Baked at 350 degrees about 35 minutes or so; began checking at 30 minutes. [My oven temperature is not always reliable.] A bigger pan and more dressing would change the cooking time.
I want to tell you, family and others, to my taste buds; that was the best dressing I ever made. The extra vegetables, not usually included, did not change the basic taste of the dressing. I had it again for lunch today, this time warmed in the microwave, and it was as good as it was yesterday.
The first bit of advice I received, about using leftovers, was many years ago, when reading a column by a psychologist. I don’t recall all of it from this distance in time, but I believe he was advising people with limited incomes, on making the most of what you have. In that instance, it was leftover mashed potatoes. He said that you could put a little butter, along with a small amount of milk; heat and stir as they warmed up, and they would taste as good as new. I tried it and they were pretty good. More about this later; today is about chicken.
I live alone, so there is only me to cook for. A grocery store near my home has a very good deli. Sometimes I buy a whole, small broasted chicken, which for one person, with my-sized appetite, means several meals. That was among my purchases on my last shopping trip. I prefer the white meat, but I take off the thigh and drumstick portions, which will be two more meals later on. I put these in the freezer so I can take them out one at a time, when I want to. I do notice that my blood pressure goes up ‘a little’ when I eat the dark portions, but since I only do this occasionally, I think I can get by with it. I stick them under the broiler, either with or without barbecue sauce, in my counter top broiler-oven. No extra preparation to speak of.
I had already had two servings of the white meat, but still had some left. The notion struck me to make a chicken ‘n dressing dish for my dinner. I took the bony parts, along with a couple of chicken bouillon cubes, about one/fourth small onion, covered with water; and cooked it for 10 to 20 minutes to make stock. I had some leftover Italian bread that was beginning to dry, so used that.
We have traditional sage dressing, or at least traditional for our household, at Thanksgiving and Christmas. Rarely is it ever made at other times. The kids know how they want it made, and how it should taste, with no variation. But, in the years since my children left home and there was only my husband and myself to cook for, I have occasionally experimented with chicken and dressing in the same dish. Since I only have myself to please now, as far as cooking is concerned, I used the leftover white meat chicken, the drying Italian bread, chicken broth, eggs, a small amount of milk, onions and sage as usual; but added some chopped broccoli florets [not a lot, but enough to say: vegetable included], and a small amount of chopped celery. I made just enough for an 8 inch square pan. Baked at 350 degrees about 35 minutes or so; began checking at 30 minutes. [My oven temperature is not always reliable.] A bigger pan and more dressing would change the cooking time.
I want to tell you, family and others, to my taste buds; that was the best dressing I ever made. The extra vegetables, not usually included, did not change the basic taste of the dressing. I had it again for lunch today, this time warmed in the microwave, and it was as good as it was yesterday.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Barb On The Go
Barbara:
If you want to know what Barbara is up to check here:
http://bjcondra.blogspot.com/
You can get a glimpse of her life when she has a moment or two at the computer. Her blog is new, too, and she had a busy several weeks right after she began it. She has posted some interesting family events from this summer and has just done a new post on a study they will be having at their church titled, "What If You Had Only One Month To Live?" Sounds interesting. More to come, I'm sure.
If you want to know what Barbara is up to check here:
http://bjcondra.blogspot.com/
You can get a glimpse of her life when she has a moment or two at the computer. Her blog is new, too, and she had a busy several weeks right after she began it. She has posted some interesting family events from this summer and has just done a new post on a study they will be having at their church titled, "What If You Had Only One Month To Live?" Sounds interesting. More to come, I'm sure.
Gypsy Wanderers
In the blog about my Dad, I mentioned the man who lived in a house by the side of the road. Where we lived, the road in question was Missouri State Highway Number Eight. Actually we lived in three different homes by the side of that road, and each has its own story. The gypsy story came about when we lived in the first of those three houses.
There were several acres attached to the house, and a long grassy strip ran between the house and the road, probably extending three or four acres in length. The time period was the 1930s, and at that time, No. 8 was still a gravel road. Trucks and cars traveled the road, but there were also people going by in horse-drawn wagons. I do not recall, for certain, the vehicles the gypsies drove; but I believe they were older model light trucks.
It was not unusual for gypsies or hoboes [another blog later on?] to travel this road. However, their reputation was not the best. It was said they had a knack for picking up anything that was loose, if you weren’t looking. I don’t know if that was true, or blown out of proportion, as things sometimes are, because someone had a bad experience. It is not my intent to malign them, but merely to recount the incident, to give you an occasional glimpse of our lives at that time. The spokesperson for the group asked Dad for permission to camp overnight on that ideally long, grassy strip of land. What else would the man who lived by the side of the road do, but say yes? Although we were, by Dad’s example, taught kindness to others, we also were taught to keep some wariness of strangers, and look out for ourselves. I’m sure some of the neighbors thought Dad was crazy. He wasn’t; he was simply a good man.
Dad went out and talked to the people, while they worked, to get an idea of who his overnight guests were. They built a camp fire, cooked their supper, and invited us to come visit around the campfire, after they finished their meal. Dad sent word to the neighbors. The parents didn’t come up, but they allowed their children to visit. The youngest child was a girl about 10, my friend, a year or so older than I was. The ages of her brothers and sisters, ranged probably from the early to late teens.
As so often happened in those days when a group of people got together, the time around the camp fire was spent in story-telling and singing. One of the songs frequently sung when people got together was, “Froggie Went A Courtin’.” I only remember the chorus of that song. And “Where Have You Been, Biily Boy,” although I am not sure of the title of that song. That may be just the beginning line. Another favorite was “Red River Valley.”
We, perhaps, were a bit edgy with this new experience, but we were enjoying ourselves also. They encouraged us all to participate. One of the girls sang a song that had a line saying, “You can’t go to heaven taking a chew.” She got a bit nervous thinking she might have offended some of the men who were chewing tobacco, and was afraid to sing anymore.” If they noticed the implication, it was ignored, and I only recall having a good time listening to the stories, and the tales the gypsies told of their nomadic life.
There were several acres attached to the house, and a long grassy strip ran between the house and the road, probably extending three or four acres in length. The time period was the 1930s, and at that time, No. 8 was still a gravel road. Trucks and cars traveled the road, but there were also people going by in horse-drawn wagons. I do not recall, for certain, the vehicles the gypsies drove; but I believe they were older model light trucks.
It was not unusual for gypsies or hoboes [another blog later on?] to travel this road. However, their reputation was not the best. It was said they had a knack for picking up anything that was loose, if you weren’t looking. I don’t know if that was true, or blown out of proportion, as things sometimes are, because someone had a bad experience. It is not my intent to malign them, but merely to recount the incident, to give you an occasional glimpse of our lives at that time. The spokesperson for the group asked Dad for permission to camp overnight on that ideally long, grassy strip of land. What else would the man who lived by the side of the road do, but say yes? Although we were, by Dad’s example, taught kindness to others, we also were taught to keep some wariness of strangers, and look out for ourselves. I’m sure some of the neighbors thought Dad was crazy. He wasn’t; he was simply a good man.
Dad went out and talked to the people, while they worked, to get an idea of who his overnight guests were. They built a camp fire, cooked their supper, and invited us to come visit around the campfire, after they finished their meal. Dad sent word to the neighbors. The parents didn’t come up, but they allowed their children to visit. The youngest child was a girl about 10, my friend, a year or so older than I was. The ages of her brothers and sisters, ranged probably from the early to late teens.
As so often happened in those days when a group of people got together, the time around the camp fire was spent in story-telling and singing. One of the songs frequently sung when people got together was, “Froggie Went A Courtin’.” I only remember the chorus of that song. And “Where Have You Been, Biily Boy,” although I am not sure of the title of that song. That may be just the beginning line. Another favorite was “Red River Valley.”
We, perhaps, were a bit edgy with this new experience, but we were enjoying ourselves also. They encouraged us all to participate. One of the girls sang a song that had a line saying, “You can’t go to heaven taking a chew.” She got a bit nervous thinking she might have offended some of the men who were chewing tobacco, and was afraid to sing anymore.” If they noticed the implication, it was ignored, and I only recall having a good time listening to the stories, and the tales the gypsies told of their nomadic life.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Time Saved, Time Lost, Lesson Learned
Two weeks ago Monday I picked up several books from the library. Thinking ahead, I got a couple of more books than I thought I would read. It seems I outsmarted myself. My plan was to renew them online, saving myself a trip, and still have plenty of reading material until I was ready to take them back. They were due Monday of this week. Late afternoon, I went online, checked “All Books;” then checked "Renew all.” Up popped the message, “Can’t renew. Book has been requested.” That has never happened to me before in all the times I’ve renewed books here. When I did go to the library, I had several errands planned for that direction. I wasn’t ready to do that yet. I wanted to go to Dierberg’s, which is in the opposite direction, so I could replenish some of their deli foods. I didn’t feel like going anywhere yesterday, so put it off. Today, I thought I’d better get over there and drop off the books, so whoever was waiting for the one on request could have it.
I didn’t want to do all the errands I had planned today, but that would mean I would just have to make another trip that way soon. I decided I would go ahead and do all the errands in that direction anyway, and then on the way back, pass up my street, then on to Dierberg’s. When you don’t want to cook for just one person, it is nice to have some ready-cooked food on hand.
First I drove to the library. These were all right turns on the way out. Coming back, I made three left turns and two right turns to get back home. After I left the library, I stopped at the gas station to fill up my gas tank for the first time in just under a year, by me; and by anyone, for more than seven months. I had my son-in-law fill up the tank for me, when they were here at Christmas 08, so I could take advantage of the cheap gas price at that time. I didn’t think ithe price would stay that low very long. Today the gas was not cheap! Next I drove to City Hall to pick up “Blue Bags,” the city’s recycle bags for paper, plastics, cans, and bottles. Coming back, it was a straight shot down Mexico Road to Salt Lick to go to Dierberg’s, where I spent too much money. I left home just before 12 noon and got back home about 1:30 p.m. By that time I was ready for lunch, and then some.
When I turned in the books, I told the librarian, I had tried to renew that one book too, but couldn’t because it had been requested, so it was overdue a couple of days. After all that, as she checked in the book, she told me that it had been released from the request. Apparently another book had come in, or perhaps from another library. So, I wouldn’t have had to go in that direction after all today. I could have gone to Dierberg’s late morning, so the deli foods I wanted would be ready, and have done a more leisurely junket for all the other errands [no doubt more would have been added later] at another time. NEXT TIME, I’ll call and see if the book is still on request, so my conscience will rest easy, and I won't have to make an unnecessary trip.
I didn’t want to do all the errands I had planned today, but that would mean I would just have to make another trip that way soon. I decided I would go ahead and do all the errands in that direction anyway, and then on the way back, pass up my street, then on to Dierberg’s. When you don’t want to cook for just one person, it is nice to have some ready-cooked food on hand.
First I drove to the library. These were all right turns on the way out. Coming back, I made three left turns and two right turns to get back home. After I left the library, I stopped at the gas station to fill up my gas tank for the first time in just under a year, by me; and by anyone, for more than seven months. I had my son-in-law fill up the tank for me, when they were here at Christmas 08, so I could take advantage of the cheap gas price at that time. I didn’t think ithe price would stay that low very long. Today the gas was not cheap! Next I drove to City Hall to pick up “Blue Bags,” the city’s recycle bags for paper, plastics, cans, and bottles. Coming back, it was a straight shot down Mexico Road to Salt Lick to go to Dierberg’s, where I spent too much money. I left home just before 12 noon and got back home about 1:30 p.m. By that time I was ready for lunch, and then some.
When I turned in the books, I told the librarian, I had tried to renew that one book too, but couldn’t because it had been requested, so it was overdue a couple of days. After all that, as she checked in the book, she told me that it had been released from the request. Apparently another book had come in, or perhaps from another library. So, I wouldn’t have had to go in that direction after all today. I could have gone to Dierberg’s late morning, so the deli foods I wanted would be ready, and have done a more leisurely junket for all the other errands [no doubt more would have been added later] at another time. NEXT TIME, I’ll call and see if the book is still on request, so my conscience will rest easy, and I won't have to make an unnecessary trip.
Saturday, August 8, 2009
Pennies to Dollars
We all know grocery costs have gone up considerably in the recent past. Prices have increased on many items. There are some things you can do to cut costs when you shop for food. One of these is the use of coupons. Do you use them? I do, sometimes. There are many coupons that come here, through the mail and in the local newspaper. Many of them are for items I know I won’t purchase, so are of no use to me. When I find a coupon for something I do use, I clip the coupons, but I’m careless about it. I forget to take coupons to the store with me. I let them expire, which annoys me with myself. I do manage to take advantage of some of them.
There are also coupons you can find on the Internet and print for your use when shopping. This morning I saw an ad for Boost on someone’s web site. Boost is my favorite of the convenient energy drinks available, so I clicked on the URL to see what it was about. On the Boost site, they had a coupon you could use towards the purchase of a Boost Multipack. The coupon was for $2.00. That is a good savings, so I’m going to be sure I don’t let it expire. I also plan to be on the lookout for other coupons that might be useful to me. Good luck with your shopping – and saving.
There are also coupons you can find on the Internet and print for your use when shopping. This morning I saw an ad for Boost on someone’s web site. Boost is my favorite of the convenient energy drinks available, so I clicked on the URL to see what it was about. On the Boost site, they had a coupon you could use towards the purchase of a Boost Multipack. The coupon was for $2.00. That is a good savings, so I’m going to be sure I don’t let it expire. I also plan to be on the lookout for other coupons that might be useful to me. Good luck with your shopping – and saving.
Thursday, August 6, 2009
Seeding: A Follow Up
What I said about our parents allowing us to go to the church we chose to was true. My memories of this period are from when I was about five years old, and while we lived in the small town of Leadwood. Before five, I have just a few scraps of memory. A couple of years or so later, we moved a few miles west of Leadwood to a rural community. There were only two churches available: A Baptist Church and a Pentecostal Church. The Baptist Church did not yet have a building. That came later, and Dad was instrumental in getting it built. I’m not sure if the Pentecostal Church was there already, or built not long after we moved to the area.
At that time, we children mostly attended the Baptist service, but occasionally went to the Pentecostal Church also. After my parents became Christians, they united with the Baptist Church. My mother’s parents [mother and stepfather] were Baptist, as was Dad’s mother. Mother told me that Dad’s parents attended the Baptist Church when she knew them. Years later, Dad told me that his mother was a Baptist, but “Pa” was a Methodist. I found out in my genealogy searching that both Grandpa Bowen’s grandfathers were circuit-riding Methodist preachers. When my parents became members of the Baptist Church, we attended that church as a family. However, we were free to go to services at the other church if there was no service at the ‘home’ church. A revival might find us at either church.
I have no memories of my Grandmother Bowen because she was buried the day I was born. Grandpa Bowen left us when I had just turned seven. I have a few good memories of him, but he left us much too soon. He and Dad were at Grandma Bowen’s funeral when I was born, and they came home to find that I had arrived while they were gone. As a result, Grandpa Bowen and I had a very special bond. As a small child, I missed him terribly, when he died.
Mother’s stepfather was as exemplary a Christian as I have ever known, and he was a wonderful grandfather. He and Grandma were active in the small rural church they attended near St. James. I was told in later years, by some of the people I met in my genealogy research, that Grandpa Stricker was a lay preacher at the church, when no ordained minister was available. He was a man who lived his faith. If all we Christians put our faith into practice as he did, what would the world be like? Pardon me, if I sound like I'm preaching. I blame it on the genes passed down by those old Methodist preachers.
At that time, we children mostly attended the Baptist service, but occasionally went to the Pentecostal Church also. After my parents became Christians, they united with the Baptist Church. My mother’s parents [mother and stepfather] were Baptist, as was Dad’s mother. Mother told me that Dad’s parents attended the Baptist Church when she knew them. Years later, Dad told me that his mother was a Baptist, but “Pa” was a Methodist. I found out in my genealogy searching that both Grandpa Bowen’s grandfathers were circuit-riding Methodist preachers. When my parents became members of the Baptist Church, we attended that church as a family. However, we were free to go to services at the other church if there was no service at the ‘home’ church. A revival might find us at either church.
I have no memories of my Grandmother Bowen because she was buried the day I was born. Grandpa Bowen left us when I had just turned seven. I have a few good memories of him, but he left us much too soon. He and Dad were at Grandma Bowen’s funeral when I was born, and they came home to find that I had arrived while they were gone. As a result, Grandpa Bowen and I had a very special bond. As a small child, I missed him terribly, when he died.
Mother’s stepfather was as exemplary a Christian as I have ever known, and he was a wonderful grandfather. He and Grandma were active in the small rural church they attended near St. James. I was told in later years, by some of the people I met in my genealogy research, that Grandpa Stricker was a lay preacher at the church, when no ordained minister was available. He was a man who lived his faith. If all we Christians put our faith into practice as he did, what would the world be like? Pardon me, if I sound like I'm preaching. I blame it on the genes passed down by those old Methodist preachers.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Benefits of Sleep
Want to Control Your Weight? What to do First?
Would you believe? See that you regularly get a good night's sleep!
Except for the occasional sleepless night, and the difficulties in sleeping caused by what I call "The Dratted Shingles," I usually sleep seven hours or so. I have some pounds in some places I'd like to shed, which I will get to another time.
We've long been told that a good night's sleep is essential to good health. Our bodies, minds and emotions need the rest 'from our labors' that provides the restoration we need to meet the next days challenges. I've recently heard an emphasis on the relationship of sleep to weight gain or loss. So, I set out to see what I could find. It is said that a continuous lack of sleep can throw the metabolism out of kilter, which can lead to difficulties in maintaining healthful weight, as well as other problems, and can lead to very serious consequences. Some of what I found is below. I am surprised that this is not a new study. It is dated 1999, but it seems someone has awakened and begun to emphasize the relationship of sleep and weight.
The following is one of the headings:
Lack Of Sleep Alters Hormones, Metabolism, Simulates Effects Of Aging
If you want further information, more of this article can be found at:
http://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/1999/10/99/99102507/5844.htm
The above URL is where I found the article I mentioned. I clicked on it to see if the URL took me there. I got the sciencedaily page, but it said the page I wanted was currently unavailable, even though I was able to go back to the page again. If you are interested in this specific article, and can't find it, I found it by typing in "metbolism, weight loss or gain."
Good luck, and good health!
Would you believe? See that you regularly get a good night's sleep!
Except for the occasional sleepless night, and the difficulties in sleeping caused by what I call "The Dratted Shingles," I usually sleep seven hours or so. I have some pounds in some places I'd like to shed, which I will get to another time.
We've long been told that a good night's sleep is essential to good health. Our bodies, minds and emotions need the rest 'from our labors' that provides the restoration we need to meet the next days challenges. I've recently heard an emphasis on the relationship of sleep to weight gain or loss. So, I set out to see what I could find. It is said that a continuous lack of sleep can throw the metabolism out of kilter, which can lead to difficulties in maintaining healthful weight, as well as other problems, and can lead to very serious consequences. Some of what I found is below. I am surprised that this is not a new study. It is dated 1999, but it seems someone has awakened and begun to emphasize the relationship of sleep and weight.
The following is one of the headings:
Lack Of Sleep Alters Hormones, Metabolism, Simulates Effects Of Aging
If you want further information, more of this article can be found at:
The above URL is where I found the article I mentioned. I clicked on it to see if the URL took me there. I got the sciencedaily page, but it said the page I wanted was currently unavailable, even though I was able to go back to the page again. If you are interested in this specific article, and can't find it, I found it by typing in "metbolism, weight loss or gain."
Good luck, and good health!
Monday, August 3, 2009
Pillows for Our Heroes
I saw an appealing story on television this morning. A woman, who teaches young children at a craft school, heard that soldiers in Iraq had no pillows to sleep on. They folded their clothing to put under their heads. She decided to make a small pillow for them, each pillow having a different patterned fabric. The pillows had been sewed on three sides, leaving one end open. The children stuffed the pillows, and then stacked them, to wait for an adult to make the final seam. The pillows were sent to the soldiers, and the class had received a number of thank you letters from them. One Thank You letter, with a picture of the soldier, who had received a pillow, hung on the wall. As the teacher read from the plaque, towards the end, a male voice joined hers: the soldier who wrote the letter, walked up behind her. I tried to find this story on the web; I thought you might want to see it for yourself, but so far have not located it. Perhaps it will be posted later.
I don’t recall the teacher’s name; but what did she teach, in addition to crafting? How many expressions of love were displayed in the making and distribution of the gift pillows? How many people were, or will be, influenced by her act of kindness? I believe she is an exceptional person; someone who would be a delight to know. I also believe there are other exceptional people in our land, doing good things, that we just haven’t heard about yet.
I don’t recall the teacher’s name; but what did she teach, in addition to crafting? How many expressions of love were displayed in the making and distribution of the gift pillows? How many people were, or will be, influenced by her act of kindness? I believe she is an exceptional person; someone who would be a delight to know. I also believe there are other exceptional people in our land, doing good things, that we just haven’t heard about yet.
Saturday, August 1, 2009
Shingles
We have probably all heard the phrase, “What I got for Christmas.” In this instance, I’m referring to, “What I got for Thanksgiving.” In a word, Shingles. Why am I writing about this? Because I want you to know, if you don’t, what I didn’t learn, until too late. There IS a vaccine for Shingles. I usually pick up on things like that, which are beneficial to life and health, but somehow I missed out here. Now, I know it has been available for several years. I’ve been told that they can’t guarantee that you won’t get shingles, if you have the vaccine; but if you do, it shouldn’t be as severe.
I had a doctor’s appointment around the first of October; the next scheduled visit was in late December. Between these two appointments, I learned about the shingles vaccine. I intended to ask the doctor about it when I next saw her. Meanwhile, ‘up jumped the devil,’ that was shingles. If you haven’t heard that expression, neither have I for quite some time. I heard it fairly often in earlier years, which was meant to describe an unpleasant, or unwanted happening.
If you have had chicken pox, you could get shingles, and our vulnerability to them is said to increase as we get older. A bad thing about this, is that having shingles doesn’t give you immunity from them. You can have them again and again, I’m told. It seems they can range from mild to pretty awful. I had, an apparently quite severe bout of shingles, and am not free of them yet. I am now into the ninth month of this. Believe me, you don’t want that. From the way my back looked, at its worst, the pain could have been even worse; but it was bad enough as it was. I can’t tell you how grateful I am that it wasn’t worse!
Unfortunately, my shingles began on my back; at my right shoulder [a part of the body not frequently in your visual field, as a rule]. As I found out later, if they can treat you within 72 hours, they have a better chance of limiting the effects. By the time I knew about the rash, I was well into the 72 hours, and Thanksgiving Friday, the doctor’s office was closed, as is usual. The first indication of anything wrong, was a sore spot below my shoulder blade, the day before Thanksgiving. I thought I had pulled a muscle, or bumped into something that I paid no attention to at the time, and had perhaps left a bruise. Thanksgiving evening, while talking to my second daughter on the phone, I said, “Ouch,” as I moved in the chair, and felt a stab of pain. She asked what was wrong. I said, “Nothing, I suppose I’ve done something that has made a sore place on my back. I’ll check to see if I can see anything there, when I get ready for bed."
Later, I checked out my back, with the aid a hand mirror. I saw a rash marching down, and across the right side of my back, from my shoulder to within an inch or so from the bottom of the shoulder blade. And across from my spine to my arm. A couple of days later, rash appeared on my right chest. In another two days, a rash appeared on the back, and under side of my right arm, from my body down to the wrist. The rash may lead to blisters, then scabs as the blisters dry up. About a two to three inch wide area, angling from my spine over to my right side, had the worst part of the blister-scab part of it. The chest blistered, but the scabbing wasn’t as bad. The arm only had rash.
The intense, searing, stabbing, pulling/twisting pain in my chest was the worst, even though it didn’t look as bad as my back. At times, it felt as if something had hold of my chest and was trying to rip the skin off my body. The back pain was intense and constant, with some of the stabbing, but not the searing, pulling/twisting of the skin on my chest. The arm, even though it only had rash, rivaled the other two places for the intensity of pain. The skin on each of those places was extremely sensitive [still is], and my back had a special don’t-touch-me attitude. It still does, but the pain is not quite so intense. My clothes touching my body, at times, has been torture. It is still a problem, but not quite as bad.
The first three months were pretty bad. I felt awful in general, and thoroughly miserable in the areas affected. At the end of the three months, someone drove their car into my living room, and I can tell you, that didn’t help at all. The pain isn’t as bad now, but it is still here. There hasn’t been a day yet free from pain and/or discomfort The severity has lessened, but it has never stopped. Sometimes when I sit in a chair reading, and don’t move at all for a few minutes, I don’t feel it. But, it is there, just waiting for me to move, so it can let me know that it is still around.
Sleeping was difficult, with maybe 20 to 30 minutes at a time. An hour’s uninterrupted sleep was a good stretch. Being so uncomfortable, you didn’t always go back to sleep right away, so you might get 2 to 4 hours sleep in all. There were several nights when the sleep total was zero hours. After a couple of months, the time gradually increased; moving more toward the four hour level, and began working upwards, but was still in broken snatches. Or perhaps long periods of wakefulness, until your body finally surrendered to exhaustion, before sleeping.
I am describing what happened to me in detail, so you will know what shingles can be like. Some people have it worse than I have. How I feel for them!
I’ve heard people say that Medicare doesn’t pay for the vaccine, and that it is expensive. Some have mentioned $200. And others have said about $300. If it would have prevented the pain and discomfort, of these last months, which was extreme at times; I would gladly have paid that, whatever it took.
I’m not suggesting that you get the vaccine. It’s not my place to do that. That’s for you and your doctor to decide. I’m just letting you know the vaccine is available. How I wish I had known about it a couple of months earlier!
I had a doctor’s appointment around the first of October; the next scheduled visit was in late December. Between these two appointments, I learned about the shingles vaccine. I intended to ask the doctor about it when I next saw her. Meanwhile, ‘up jumped the devil,’ that was shingles. If you haven’t heard that expression, neither have I for quite some time. I heard it fairly often in earlier years, which was meant to describe an unpleasant, or unwanted happening.
If you have had chicken pox, you could get shingles, and our vulnerability to them is said to increase as we get older. A bad thing about this, is that having shingles doesn’t give you immunity from them. You can have them again and again, I’m told. It seems they can range from mild to pretty awful. I had, an apparently quite severe bout of shingles, and am not free of them yet. I am now into the ninth month of this. Believe me, you don’t want that. From the way my back looked, at its worst, the pain could have been even worse; but it was bad enough as it was. I can’t tell you how grateful I am that it wasn’t worse!
Unfortunately, my shingles began on my back; at my right shoulder [a part of the body not frequently in your visual field, as a rule]. As I found out later, if they can treat you within 72 hours, they have a better chance of limiting the effects. By the time I knew about the rash, I was well into the 72 hours, and Thanksgiving Friday, the doctor’s office was closed, as is usual. The first indication of anything wrong, was a sore spot below my shoulder blade, the day before Thanksgiving. I thought I had pulled a muscle, or bumped into something that I paid no attention to at the time, and had perhaps left a bruise. Thanksgiving evening, while talking to my second daughter on the phone, I said, “Ouch,” as I moved in the chair, and felt a stab of pain. She asked what was wrong. I said, “Nothing, I suppose I’ve done something that has made a sore place on my back. I’ll check to see if I can see anything there, when I get ready for bed."
Later, I checked out my back, with the aid a hand mirror. I saw a rash marching down, and across the right side of my back, from my shoulder to within an inch or so from the bottom of the shoulder blade. And across from my spine to my arm. A couple of days later, rash appeared on my right chest. In another two days, a rash appeared on the back, and under side of my right arm, from my body down to the wrist. The rash may lead to blisters, then scabs as the blisters dry up. About a two to three inch wide area, angling from my spine over to my right side, had the worst part of the blister-scab part of it. The chest blistered, but the scabbing wasn’t as bad. The arm only had rash.
The intense, searing, stabbing, pulling/twisting pain in my chest was the worst, even though it didn’t look as bad as my back. At times, it felt as if something had hold of my chest and was trying to rip the skin off my body. The back pain was intense and constant, with some of the stabbing, but not the searing, pulling/twisting of the skin on my chest. The arm, even though it only had rash, rivaled the other two places for the intensity of pain. The skin on each of those places was extremely sensitive [still is], and my back had a special don’t-touch-me attitude. It still does, but the pain is not quite so intense. My clothes touching my body, at times, has been torture. It is still a problem, but not quite as bad.
The first three months were pretty bad. I felt awful in general, and thoroughly miserable in the areas affected. At the end of the three months, someone drove their car into my living room, and I can tell you, that didn’t help at all. The pain isn’t as bad now, but it is still here. There hasn’t been a day yet free from pain and/or discomfort The severity has lessened, but it has never stopped. Sometimes when I sit in a chair reading, and don’t move at all for a few minutes, I don’t feel it. But, it is there, just waiting for me to move, so it can let me know that it is still around.
Sleeping was difficult, with maybe 20 to 30 minutes at a time. An hour’s uninterrupted sleep was a good stretch. Being so uncomfortable, you didn’t always go back to sleep right away, so you might get 2 to 4 hours sleep in all. There were several nights when the sleep total was zero hours. After a couple of months, the time gradually increased; moving more toward the four hour level, and began working upwards, but was still in broken snatches. Or perhaps long periods of wakefulness, until your body finally surrendered to exhaustion, before sleeping.
I am describing what happened to me in detail, so you will know what shingles can be like. Some people have it worse than I have. How I feel for them!
I’ve heard people say that Medicare doesn’t pay for the vaccine, and that it is expensive. Some have mentioned $200. And others have said about $300. If it would have prevented the pain and discomfort, of these last months, which was extreme at times; I would gladly have paid that, whatever it took.
I’m not suggesting that you get the vaccine. It’s not my place to do that. That’s for you and your doctor to decide. I’m just letting you know the vaccine is available. How I wish I had known about it a couple of months earlier!
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