I found the beautiful Agnus Dei which is sung in our parish during Lent.  From Hans Leo Hassler's Missa Secunda, it is a lovely, introspective few moments of prayer.  I wish we used it all year...but I suppose that would take some small bit away from the joy of hearing it for such a short time.

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I was chatting with a friend late last week and told her that I was preparing my meds for the coming weeks.  It occurred to me that she had no concept of what that entailed--in fact, for most people, "bead counting" bears no meaning whatsoever, unless one imagines jewelry or Rosary making or something along those lines.  But that's what I'm doing.  I took pictures to text to her.  She was absolutely dumbstruck at how involved it is.

I've been taking Cymbalta.  It's an antidepressant which is also sometimes prescribed for the pain that comes with fibromyalgia.  After being on it for 6 months, I had begun really not liking the side effects, and made the choice to go a different way to work on the pain I experience.

The problem with that choice is that Cymbalta is darned near impossible to stop taking.

You can't just stop.  You can't even just taper down by reducing the dose.  Lots of doctors think the way to help their patients stop taking Cymbalta is to tell them to take it every other day for a couple of weeks, and then go down a step, and take it every other day for a couple of more weeks, and then just stop.

Cymbalta has a half life of 12 hours.  And the cold turkey withdrawal effects are absolutely horrific.

Nope.  That's not an exaggeration.  It's truly horrific.

I started out on 30 mg each day, and within 2 months, I was taking 60 mg each day.  That seems to be about average for timeline and dosage.  And like I said, I was on it for six months.  I had no idea what the withdrawal would be like--but when I ran out of my prescription, I thought, "I don't need to pick up the refill.  I'm not really in need of this stuff anymore."

That lasted for four days.

By the end of four days, I thought I was going crazy from the outside in and back out again.  I was nauseous, dizzy, my brain was in some sort of fog that felt like I was trying to think through unspun wool.  And the worst parts: even just sitting, doing nothing, was excruciatingly painful, in addition to having "brain zaps" on a frequent basis.  I wanted to crawl out of my skin.  I couldn't breathe.  I was absolutely terrified.  The nightmares were so real I was waking up drenched in sweat--and that was on the nights I could sleep.  The headaches were blinding.  My Darling ended up racing to the pharmacy and telling me: "We need to find another way to get you off of this stuff."

Cold turkey is not the way to get off of this poison.  And the trouble with the way many doctors tell their patients to taper down is that it throws them into that same pattern of cold turkey withdrawal every other day.  That's a real problem.  And yet, the doctors do not seem to know the havoc which is wreaked on the minds and bodies of their patients by this awful medication.

But the maker of the drug....they knew.  They knew and they did not share that information, and there are ongoing lawsuits addressing this issue.

The only safe way to get off of Cymbalta--or it's generic form, duloxetine--is what I mentioned above: the bead counting method.

When My Darling retrieved my prescription, we found out that there had been something of a miscommunication.  I was out of 60 mg refills, but I had remaining 30 mg refills.  The pharmacist said I could get the next refill after 15 days rather than the 30 days it was "supposed" to be for.

Pharmacists.  They get it.  People forget how knowledgeable pharmacists are.

I had already done a bit of searching--mostly at that point, I wanted confirmation that I wasn't going crazy--I wanted to know that I was not alone in what I was feeling because of the withdrawal effects.

Oh boy, was I not alone.

If you go to your favorite interweb search engine and type in "Cymbalta withdrawal side effects," you'll get a real quick education.  And it's not a pretty one.

I spoke with the PA I've been blessed to see and he was fully supportive of my need to get off of this drug.  The doctor I've been assigned...not so much.  More on that later though.

So the bead counting.....here's the scoop.  Inside each capsule are tiny little beads.  There are either hundreds that are the size of nonpareils (those tiny little multi-colored bead-like cookie sprinkles) or several that are the size of dragees (the bigger silver or gold bead-like cookie decorations).  If they're the larger sort of beads, then the unfortunate individual needing to taper down has to contact a compounding pharmacy in order to do so safely.

But the tiny ones?  Those are relatively "easy" as it goes.  In my generic 30 mg capsules, there are 250 beads.  Two hundred fifty.  I know this because I removed six random capsules and counted. every. single. bead. in each one.  And being on 60 mg each day, that meant I was taking 500 beads per dose.  After doing some extensive reading (like, solid hours of reading each day over several days), I concluded that based on my dose and the length of time I'd been taking it, I was probably safe doing a relatively aggressive taper.  I decided I could safely remove 11 beads the first day, 22 beads the second day, 33 beads the third day, 44 beads the fourth day, and so on, increasing the amount removed by an additional 11 beads each day.  All of my reading told me that if I began to feel the negative effects of withdrawal, I could absolutely hold steady where I was until those effects faded, how ever long that might take.  The normal effects?  The ones that you just have to learn to cope with?  Intense muscle and joint aches.  Insomnia.  Vivid, strange dreams.  Equally vivid nightmares.  Headaches.  Mild brain zaps.  Mental fog.  Increased anxiety.  Panic attacks.  Those things are my constant companions.

It took me about 5 weeks to get down to one capsule.  I spent a few hours one night removing the beads from each capsule until I got more than half way through, then began removing all of the beads and counting out what to put back into the capsules.  And I saved the beads I removed in a plastic baggie.  It actually went pretty smoothly.  The insomnia is killer, but my anxiety has been minimal.  The aches....I really thought I would get used to them, but they're really bad some nights.  Doesn't make the insomnia any easier. 

In that second capsule, the day I got down to 117 beads left in the capsule, I started having some pretty bad withdrawal again.  It coincided with my needing to be on antibiotics.  Apparently the way antibiotics affect gut health also affects the way the body is able (or less able) to metabolize a chemical like Cymbalta.  I ended up having to hold steady at 117 beads for an additional ten days.

Last week, I was able to resume counting down.  On one of the many nights I couldn't sleep, I finished up.  I had pretty solid advice from my pharmacist (who also graciously supplied me with empty capsules so I could use up my saved beads, rather than filling another prescription) that I should be extra careful toward the end.

Here's what my night's process looked like.  First, I got everything I needed on my wooden lap desk.

I have my baggie of empty capsules, my multi-dose pill organizer, tweezers, two little glass dishes, paper and pen, and the all important beads of poison.

I start out by counting out ten beads into the glass dish.  This is what ten beads looks like, with the tip of my ballpoint pen next to them for reference.

 I count out loud--sort of.  I listen to music in my earphones while I count so that I don't get distracted by outside noises.  Then I make a mark on my piece of paper so that I know I've counted out ten.

This is the same piece of paper I used when I was counting out the 117 beads I was taking while on antibiotics.  This time I was doing several days in a row: you can see the numerical progression.  My first mark for the evening is beneath 106.

This is what 50 beads looks like:

 It really doesn't look as sinister as it is.  Evil hides in small places sometimes, I guess.

Here's the whole 106:

Truly amazing.

Even more amazing to me is the amount left in the little dish after I had counted out enough for THREE WEEKS:

I am so, so grateful that those things are not in my body.

And this is what the dish along with the remaining beads in the baggie look like:

And my little scrap of paper...I really slowed the taper down at the end, removing four, three or two some days and one on others.

I'm praying like mad that it continues to go smoothly, that I don't have to increase the number of beads in any of my capsules, and that I'm done counting for good.  I still have about 70 empty capsules left, along with those hundreds of beads...so if I need to tweak as I go, I certainly can.

I'm also thankful that I at least have access to the medication I currently need.  There are so many people who've had to go cold turkey off of this stuff because they completely lose their insurance or prescription coverage.

Please join me in prayer this evening for those who need medications that they cannot afford or have no access to.

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Please also join me in prayer this evening for the Spader family, especially Tony and Stephanie, and their dear, sweet daughter Rebekah.

Thursday thoughts

I've found it rather refreshing to be away from the facebook thing over the past week.  Though it wasn't specifically asked of me by Fr. Eric, I decided that a fast from something I spent a lot of time looking at was a good idea.  I do miss the interaction with my friends.  Facebook connects Mamas like me, who are home all day to school and raise up our families, with the outside world.  The added factor of living a fair distance from the main action means that I frequently feel isolated and lonesome.  I know there are other Mamas out there who will know just what I mean.  Although I am surrounded by my babies, I long for the conversation and company of other adult people, mostly other women.  I need the connection of hearts and souls that comes with the bond between women.

It's more challenging than one might think.  Trading child-minding with other Mamas is a good idea, but it falls more difficult for me.  My anxiety sometimes makes it difficult for me to prepare to leave the house, even for things I ought to look forward to.  And if it's a flare day for my fibro pain or my back, leaving the house can sometimes prove nearly impossible.  Sounds like a lame couple of excuses, I know, but it's what's put before me.

I continue to pray for so many friends.  I also continue to pray about just how much I can truly write here.  There are things which have happened that need to be thought out carefully and processed fully in my heart, but they are things which affect other people.  It's not always up to me what I can put down in my little space here.  Please pray for me in this.

For everything there is a season

I'm trying to ease back into the early morning rise routine.  It's actually been easier than I expected it would be, given that nights can be unpredictable and filled with many moments of staring at the clock, wondering when my little Gingersnap will allow sleep to be victorious.  What I've discovered, though, is that the waking up and getting up part is not the challenge: it's staying awake through the afternoon  that's giving me fits.

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This Wednesday will usher me into my 38th year, thanks be to God.  (Or for a more common way of putting it, I'll be 37, for Pete's sake.)  I thought I'd feel older somehow, though I'm not certain what that means anymore.  I do remember carrying my little Squash and really feeling like I could never have another baby--he was definitely my last baby!!  HA!  And look what God really had planned!

I have found that with each passing year I find more joy in this season.  The stunning colors peeking from every possible crevace absolutely thrill me in a smiliar way I once felt about fireworks.  And how could it not?  The carpets of muted golds and browns of the fields fairly glow when the sun hits them on the hills.  The velvety red of the sumac is my favorite, but the surprising colors on some of the trees are astounding.  Japanese maple leaves that turn purple at the edges and simmer into a golden syrup toward the center...the plum in my very own front yard which darkens and darkens, from a deep violet to nearly black...the brilliant gold of the birch leaves...the red of the ivy vines, climbing everything in sight and providing such an abundant variety of reds (and I know they're invasive and choking, but they are still quite lovely)...and the noble oak--dropping acorns and a veritable carpet of oranges, browns and persimmony orange leaves--which seasons such a scent into the air that it permeates every breath--how could anyone look upon these things and not be overtaken with praise and thanksgiving for the One who deems us worthy to behold them?

The Saturday morning cross country races have meant that we, as a family, rise very early in order to drive our runners to their venues.  And where we live, we go through very hilly country, providing incredible views.  The early mornings these days always mean sunlight filtered through fog (except for the couple of rainy race days in there for good measure).  It's been inspiring to have so many moments of such beauty before us.

One particular morning as we drove toward the southeast, I was drawn into something of a meditation.  There were layers and layers of fog settled over fields of corn, soybeans and wheat.  The trees still have enough leaves on them to give a full silhouette, and the profiles of houses, barns and silos were prominent in some places, and obscured in others.  The first layer was softened, as though peering through the screen of an open window.  The next layer was like steam-covered glass.  The next was even more obscured, like trying to look through tracing paper.  And the next was like parchment.

I thought how our souls see Heaven was so similar...we have an idea of what Heaven is--everyone has their own idea of what the Beatific Vision will truly be like.  We see in our mind's eye what we think it will be.  And as we learn more and more truth in what Holy Mother Church teaches us, we realize how far removed our ideal is, like the second and third layers.  What it will actually be is so far obscured, like trying to peer through the thick layers of fog.  We can sense the light through the parchment layer, but nothing can be clearly seen through these frail human eyes.

God is good.

Prayer intentions:

Please keep My Darling's Grandma in prayer.  She is old and tired, and some days would dearly love to go Home.  God's ways are the best ways; His timing is always perfect.

Please continue to pray for Joshua P.  He has had some extraordinary days of energy and healing and feeling really good, but then contracted a cold...which can be devistating, or even deadly.  Please continue to pray for miraculous healing, on whatever terms God wills for him, and for peace in the hearts of his family.

Please pray intently for our Holy Father, for our dear Bishop, and for an increase in vocations to the ordained and consecrated life.

And I humbly beg for your prayers for my own needs and intentions.

First things first

I absolutely must apologize for my extended absence. Suffice it to say it's been busy here, busy there, busier than I would have hoped, for Pete's sake.

Construction inside and out has been the order of the day, with camping and furious play interspersed. Our gas lines are being converted from old-style metal lines to new-fangled PVC. This means digging. And with digging must come pictures, because I have a three-year-old Monkey who grunts at the mere thought of big orange constructiony things.



And in the middle of it all--I have discovered an embarrassing but delightful truth: the tree in my front yard with beautiful pink flowers in spring and purple leaves spring, summer and fall is not a crab apple tree! Purely by accident, I happened to stoop down yesterday after retrieving the mail. There on the ground was a fruit of the tree, fallen from its stem, and split open. The juicy, sparkling fruit inside was certainly not crab appleish, and so I plucked one from the tree to take inside and bisect. Understand, we've lived here for years and never picked the fruit--because what in Heaven's Name would I do with crab apples?? I've left them for the appreciative winter birds, and have been completely unaware that my very own tree in my very own front yard is, in fact, a PLUM TREE!!!



I am now on the hunt for delicious recipes for my lovely plums, and shall be experimenting. Praise God!

The saga of camping deserves it's own entry, but I refuse. If I promise a story and one is not forthcoming, you'll be sad, and I'll feel guilty. So on we go.

We camped at a county park two hours north which was rumored to have several sites right on a lovely beach, sloping down to a clear lake with shallows going 50 yards out. Well, the beach part was true enough, but the clear lake left a bit to be desired. It had been drained (a year ago? two years ago?), and tall weeds have now grown throughout the shallows. The kids didn't care; they spent most of the weekend on the beach anyway, mucking in the weed sludge, frolicking in the water, and kayaking through the weeds pretending to be pirates. (Of course, pirates need good hiding places and don't care about mud and sludge, so they were happy.) They fished (with my Monkey hollering at one point, "Dad! DAD!! Something stole my worm!!") and we ate fish. They roasted marshmallows and ingested more sugar than a vendor could spin into cotton candy.



When we arrived to set up camp on Friday afternoon, the rain had just lightened into a sprinkle, and the weather in general was much cooler than we had expected. I kept my jeans on and my sweater close at hand. Even the work of keeping house didn't warm me into a sweat. My Darling popped up the camper, and I busied myself making the beds, spreading the the rugs, setting out pajamas, folding out chairs, and making sure that everything was just so. The kids ran off to explore the four adjoining sites and play with their cousins. It looked like a normal weekend of camping with My Darling's sisters, cousins, and all of their kids. Supper was a delicious fish fry, and everyone had more than enough to eat.

When bedtime rolled around, the Pickle headed to the tent he shares with the only other boy cousins there, and the girls and the Monkey settled into their beds in the camper. The Monkey fell asleep in the middle of our prayers, and the Reepicheep and Frog were not far behind. The Pudgy Bug snuggled in with me for her milkies and was soon snoring lightly. My Darling was sleeping almost immediately, because as we all know, his only requirement for sleep is to start out awake. As usual, I laid awake, with dozens of thoughts swirling in my mind like an eddy. As the minutes crept silently around, I began to hear gentle rolls of thunder far off in the distance. It wasn't until about midnight that I noticed lightning flashes. I counted the seconds between flashes and booms, applying the common rule of one mile for every seven seconds, and estimated that the storm was better than ten miles off.

By quarter past midnight, though, the storm had closed in to only about two miles away. I nudged My Darling awake and asked him if we were set for a thunderstorm. Not having television available anymore, I only had the internet forecast to rely on, and since we were two hours from home, I didn't know what was coming for the county we were in. He stepped outside to roll up the sides of our canopy and put the stroller underneath the bunk end of the camper to keep it dry.

We figured we were safe.

We were wrong.

Beginning at about 12:20 AM, there was constant lightning, thunder, and downpours of torrential rain. The let-ups, when they happened, lasted for five or ten minutes. And by one o'clock, everyone but the Monkey was wide awake. The Bug, wide-eyed, was snuggling with her Daddy. The Reepicheep and the Frog were playing notebook games with a flashlight. I was praying fervently, and worrying, as usual, about everything under the moon and stars, because goodness knows there was something I had forgotten to put away or that would be completely ruined by the rain. This time my neurosis wasn't too far off track, although mercifully, nothing was ruined beyond repair.

Around 1:30, we heard a crack of thunder accompanying a flash which seemed to light the sky more brightly than the sun. The explosion which followed rattled my teeth, and caused me and the girls to yelp as though in pain. It was the kind of thunder boom that makes you think you'll see a charred pit right behind your house. Again, we weren't too far off the mark.

The storm continued the entire night. It finally let up at around 6:00, leaving a stiff wind in it's wake to usher out the front. By this time, we were utterly soaked, the battered canvas having given way to the six hours of continuous rain. Our pillows, sheets and blankets were dripping, and the breeze was welcomed by everyone as we hung our bedding out to dry.

We gathered around the picnic tables to find breakfast, and heard the news shared by each family as to how they had weathered the storm. The Pickle and the boy cousins had found refuge in my sister-in-law's camper. My other sister-in-law reported that the three inches of water beneath the floor of her tent made it feel like they were atop a giant, tented water bed. Because there was little wind during the actual storm, there was no damage, really--nothing lost to the lake or blown over the fire (what little there was left of the coals)--but the rushing water was host to sand, seeds, sticks and general crud. Rugs from outside campers and tents were in need of a good hose-down. Shoes which had been left underneath campers--in otherwise safety--were completely soaked through. And my stroller had succumbed to the river of rainwater which had coursed beneath the camper, washing away the formerly solid ground and creating a mini mud slide. The stroller was on the ground, covered with clumps of dirt and sand, sopping wet, and looking pitiful.

The day remained cool enough that after hanging out items in need of drying, many from our group ventured out to see how the rest of the park fared.

About a half-mile down the road from our site, this was the view.



The crack which had shaken the earth beneath us was the result of an actual explosion. A forty-something foot tall pine tree had been split down the middle. The bark laid in strips as though a giant vegetable peeler had sliced down the length, exposing the smooth, wet wood beneath. The smell of raw pine and singed earth hung around the remains of the tree, and the thought that it could have been any tree in that park was the unspoken sentiment. Miraculously, though there were hundreds of people camping, there was no one on this particular site. The tree fell in shards and splinters all around, but no one was hurt. The people in the site across the road reported that their lips literally tingled in the charged air.

The sunset that night was gorgeous--a comforting reminder that all storms do, eventually, come to an end.



The gentle rain which fell on Saturday night was barely noticed.

I must say, we were all happy to camp together, but vastly relieved to be home on Sunday night. We even had enough time (and almost enough hot water) for everyone to have a shower before we went to Mass on Sunday evening. The laundry is all finished, folded, and put away, and the next camp out is being plotted.

Heaven only knows what weather adventures we'll face next time.

MishMash

It's been a week since I was here last. I think I see a few cobwebs in the corners of my little cyber home...so, housekeeping is on the docket.

Kathryn is home, praise God! I'll process that one in another entry. It'll be worth it.

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We found the camera. Seems that when the kiddos were playing in the addition, the camera was tucked safely out of the way, into a corner, behind the box which contains the tank for the laundry room/bathroom loo. Oops! It was a great hiding spot, obviously, as it maintained a high level of security until My Darling moved said box this afternoon in order to build the platform for the laundry appliances. At any rate--pictures of progress shall be forthcoming.

It's been an exceptionally busy week, not the least of which means I've gotten very little sleep. My mind has been racing at phenomenal speeds, and I have found myself more than once either reading or journaling into the wee hours. Tonight, My Darling and I were catching up on a web episode of one of our favorite shows, so the laptop is at hand. The hour is late, and yet here I am...I am bone weary, but until I empty my thoughts onto the screen, I know I won't sleep.

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Friday last was the final day of our satellite television service. We've had dozens of channels immediately available for about 5 years now, and recently we've watched less and less. I love this! We had locked out lots of networks--all of the music video channels, many of the "entertainment" special channels (like E!, Oxygen, Bravo--garbage, slop and bilge is more like it....), and most of our viewing was things like HGTV, TVLand (which has gone sordidly downhill since we first ordered satellite, for Pete's sake...what's happened to Mr. Ed? My Three Sons?? Gilligan's Island??? Gone, in favor of such rubbish as "The Cougar"--gag, puke!), TLC, and of course, EWTN.

About two months ago, the Pickle, good boy that he is, was using the yard stick to sweep things from under the TV cabinet. It's one of his chores--he gets things from beneath the living room furniture.


In the process of his sweep, the yardstick caught hold of the plug for the TV, rendering the poor thing impotent.

Ah! Blessed relief! The difference between quiet with a small bit of background noise which must be carefully monitored so that we don't miss hitting the mute button to block the ads, and Quiet--it's really quite astonishing.

I like Quiet. I think we'll save rather a lot of money, headache and squabbling without the Noisy Black Box going so often. I'd like to chuck it, really, but I don't mind the occasional video. Likely we'll assign it to a lovely corner, keep it mostly covered, and let it out on good behavior once a week or so. I think the curtains look nicer than a mute, blank screen.

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Things move along at a pace in the addition. As I mentioned above, My Darling is now in the process of building the platform for the laundry appliances to be moved to their new home. I am noticing two things. First, I am weary of laundry. Dare I give utterance to such a phrase?? Ah, but every housewife knows this fatigue! Matching little socks holds charm for only so long, for Pete's sake. Mind you, I do offer every task as a prayer. I do actually enjoy folding diapers, and I really don't mind doing things which sometimes seem menial. I love to serve my family. However, when the laundry piles up in the living room, it does, at times, take it's toll.

The appliances are to be moved from the main level, directly inside the back door (we so rarely use the front), to upstairs. Right round the corner from the laundry will be the Family Closet--and I cannot even begin to describe how this excites me. Ah, the steamy fantasies of a mother! Laundry on the same floor of the house where 95% of it is actually needed and used and stored?? Yes, Thank You!!! One central room for clothing storage within mere steps from the appliances?? Oh Certainly!!!

The second thing I notice is Just How Much Laundry We Have versus Just How Much We Really Need. As we transition from the current system--drawers, closets, each in his own room--typical of any American family, I think I shall also be paring down quite a bit. It will be far easier for me to manage the task of keeping track of who has what, who wears what, who needs what, and who can do without what. It's hard, I find, to keep myself from thinking that this, at last, will make me happy. But really, I think that it will go a long way toward keeping me at least a little happier--or at least more sane.

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Thursday, we gathered with many of our friends to celebrate the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass. Dear Fr. E. was there, as was my lovely friend Teresa--so together, we had both of the Bug's Godparents. The love was palpable!

We had Our Lord there on the Altar for us to adore; we had two beautiful priests available for confessions, and we had a lovely Mass, followed by the Litany of Jesus Christ, Priest and Victim. It was so beautiful, and my Little Bug was such a good girl that I only missed about 3 or 4 minutes.

After Mass, we all gathered for a meal together, which was long overdue! What a blessing to be together with dear friends and priests for good food and good conversation (two of my personal favorites...). It really was refreshing to be out and about, and with such a relaxed pace. God is good.

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My head is feeling much better, if not a bit emptier. I shall leave you with this delicious morsel I happened upon, thanks to Mr. H. E. Manning. (More information about Mr. Manning here.)

If the trials of many years were gathered into one, they would overwhelm us; therefore, in pity to our little strength, He sends first one, and then another, then removes both, and lays on a third, heavier, perhaps, than either; but all is so wisely measured to our strength that the bruised reed is never broken. We do not enough look at our trials in this continuous and successive view. Each one is sent to teach us something, and altogether they have a lesson which is beyond the power of any to teach alone.

(Click on this for your further enjoyment.)

Pray for the sanctification of priests!

Freezer Friday

Sounds catchy, doesn't it?

I'd love to have some kind of regular feature on this cyber-home of mine, but it's not too likely. I write as my mind goes, which is however the wind blows, for Pete's sake.

Freezer Friday. It's HOT. Steamy. Sauna. Humidwest. (Get it?) So I figure it's a great time to make cold stuff.

Mama Midwife and I received our strawberries, so it's time to make freezer jam. My Aunt M. has always made delicious freezer jam, so I e-mailed her to ask for her secret recipe. She said, "I just use the one on the SureJel package!" Easy enough! That will be tomorrow's task. I'm waiting for the heat to take a break before I fire up the stove.

So yesterday, needing something cold and sweet and different, I threw together a Lemonade Pie. I saw the recipe somewhere online. Upon searching for "lemonade pie," google gave me plenty of options, and they were all just about the same. I have no idea where it originated, but man is it good!!

Here's the dealio:

2 cans frozen concentrated lemonade, completely thawed (which took absolutely no time at all in my sauna on my kitchen table)
2 - 14 oz. cans sweetened condensed milk
1 - 16 oz, tub frozen non-dairy whipped topping (like Cool Whip), thawed in the fridge
3 - 9 inch graham cracker pie crusts

Now, all the recipes I saw said to fold the ingredients together. Baloney. I used my hand mixer on low. Folding is what you do with laundry. So. Mix ingredients together and pour as-equal-as-you-can amounts into each pie crust. Cover and freeze until set--about 4-5 hours.

I came to the amounts by accident. I like full pies, and the one-can-of-this and half-a-tub-of-that didn't quite yield two pies. So I doubled the cans and emptied the tub and I ended up with three nicely filled pies. Also, we took two of them with us to a meeting after they'd only been in the freezer for a couple of hours, and they were about the consistency of thick pudding. It was still really yummy, but probably would have been easier to serve if it had been a little more firm.

Anyway, this delicious treat is absolutely just the thing on a smotheringly hot day. It takes no baking, very little effort, and is a great combination of sweet and sour...not to mention, it's frozen!

What's your favorite cold treat on sticky days??

By golly, it's just been too darn hot.

Too hot to do much but sit, breathe, and take the occasional sip of my favorite beverage--water with lemon wedges. I'm particular about my water. I like it cold, but not with ice. I like three lemon wedges, squeezed into the glass, thunked into the bottom, and then the water on top. Filtered. From the fridge door. And then, upon refilling, I like one lemon wedge added to what's already there, squeezed, thunked, filled. Repeat. Repeat.

Then, when there are too many lemon wedges to leave room for much water, I dump the peels into the garbage disposal and run it with super hot water. Freshens up the disposal, makes the kitchen smell yummy, and makes room in my glass for more lemon water.

Yep.

When it's this bloody hot, there's just not much energy. We have three window air conditioners, one of which is on its last leg. Many fans are blowing in all different directions, doing their best to distribute what cool, dry air we can muster with our artifact, museum-worthy window units, which isn't much.

Delicious on a day like this? Watermelon. Hot dogs. Especially hot dogs with tomato wedges, diced vidalia onion, ketchup and celery salt. Oh, trust me. Try it--you'll like it.

Also delicious? The three pounds of fresh strawberries, picked by the Yoder family and sent via my dear friend Mama Midwife.

Kathryn remains in the hospital. It's probably ok, because in this heat, surely one so pure would just plain melt.

Keep praying.

The Celebratory Hundredth

...entry, that is.

I love that when I began this endeavor a little over a year ago, I had no idea that it would be so therapeutic, such a wonderful place for me to come to iron out my thoughts and find order in the things swirling about in my heart. Thanks for sticking with me.

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OK! Alright! Pictures it is! BUT FIRST!

Consider this: We found a vanity for the smaller bathroom, which will be "the kids' bathroom," but also the laundry room. Yes, the washer and dryer will be upstairs--where they belong, if you ask me--and I will be much happier for it! So vanity shopping went on, and I absolutely, positively settled. I settled because I liked the finish...I didn't particularly care much for the piece itself, but I figured I would just work around that. Hey, some things take time to grow on a person, and I thought perhaps this could be the case.

So, My Darling lugged the thing onto a cart and out to the van. I tried not to sigh too loudly. I probably failed miserably.

When we arrived at home, My Darling opened the package to inspect the parts, and lo! Behold! A crack in the top! Oh, woe is us--we'll have to take the blasted thing back! Uh, that is, rats. We'll have to take it back. What a shame. (Come on, I'm trying really hard to sound upset. Work with me.)

"Darling," says I, "I'd really like to go back to the second hand store and see if we can find another dresser. Something a bit smaller, perhaps less ornate. Similar style, I think."

"We can look," says he, "though that really was a lucky find."

I do not believe in luck. I believe in Providence.

As we headed into town, we discussed our options. I promised My Darling that if I didn't find something worthy at the second hand store, I would find something I liked at the home improvement store. As we turned from the county hiway onto the state road, I noticed that the farm on the corner was having a yard sale.

Now, I love a good yard sale. I absolutely long for garage sale season all winter long. It's truly pitiful, and no help for it. As we rounded the corner, I saw it.

"ARE YOU KIDDING ME??? It's a dresser! Baby! STOP THE VAN, for Pete's sake!!"

It was smaller. Not quite as fancy. Similar style. Perfect. It was marked seven dollars. Seven dollars!

We loaded it up, giddy with our find, and took it home. It currently resides in the bedroom (the new yet-to-be-finished one, where I work on these things), and I've already applied the goop to remove the finish twice. This one has a long way to go.

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By popular demand filling up my inbox, here are some before pictures of the Original Dresser:

The whole thing:


Close-up of the old fashioned stencil on the middle drawer:


Top drawer hardware:


Bottom drawers' hardware and corner detail/leg:


Inside the bottom drawer:


And inside the top drawer--with a spiffy little built-in pocket cup!


Finally, here I am applying the first coat of goop. The Frog is somewhat visible, as well:

As soon as I can manage, I shall post the "after" pictures--as well as pictures of the new dresser. (We seem to have misplaced the camera...) The work here took place beginning in the Family Closet, which is quite spacious, but also holds things like the tile for the bathrooms, the doors for the bedroom, lots of insulation, and all of the light and plumbing fixtures. We soon moved The Dresser into the much larger bedroom, where there is ample room to maneuver and plenty of light to work.

More to come........................................

Time for the soup....

Well it's definitely been a spell since I've checked in to write here.

The crisp autumn weather is definitely here to stay. It's nearly the time of year that I love best--namely.....Soup Season!

When I make soup, I use my huge stock pot. Why bother with small batches? Around here, we take our soup semi-seriously, and we depend on it to last through several meals. I use a screen strainer towards the end to make sure we get every morsel we can, and then I save the delicious stock to use with beef or pork roast, or as the base for other soups. And this time of year, it begins to stay cool enough that my stock pot can be taken out to the garage, set onto a crate to cool, and then left in my temporary "walk in refrigerator".

My favorite soup to make is chicken, whereby the entire chicken is submerged for an hour of boiling on my stove top, along with the seasonings that give it the characteristic flavor. The windows become misted with the steam, and I settle at the table with my cutting board and half the produce section, with the strains of Mozart keeping me company in the background. The peelings mound up, eventually making their way via ice cream bucket out to the compost bin. The big mixing bowls, usually in want of cake or muffin batter, begin to fill with their cheerfully colorful heaps of chopped potatoes, cabbage, carrots, celery and onion. The big pot on the stove rattles gently, as bits of savory steam escape and fill the whole house with the aroma of pure warmth.

Eventually, the chicken comes out of its bath to cool, while potatoes and cabbage boil, and onions, carrots and celery mingle together in olive oil in the big cast iron pan.

Then the time-honored process of removing the meat from the bones of the chicken--this never gets old for me. It takes about 20 minutes if I'm not interrupted, and it's an occasion to smile as my children seem to find their way into the kitchen again and again to snitch pieces of warm chicken from the bowl.

I really enjoy the therapeutic process of taking so many raw ingredients and allowing their individual flavors to meld together in something so comforting and nourishing as a bowl of homemade chicken soup. It is prayerful, in a way. Putting these things together is so reminiscent of the way God uses all of the ingredients and seasons of our lives to make our souls pleasing to Him.

My making soup has long been one of the ways I love to minister to my family, and anyone else who chances to place their feet under our table. The simple joy of cutting into a crusty loaf of bread to dip into the broth, the smiles of delight from my children as they feel the warmth of the soup fill their little bodies, the satisfied smile on my husband's face after he finishes a big bowl of hearty soup--that's absolutely one of the Basic Definitions of Home, for Pete's sake. I was blessed to have a bowl of homemade chicken soup served to me by My Darling while I labored with the Monkey. On such a long, cold night, it was like a benediction.

I love to fill canning jars with soup. I love to see the vegetables and meat settle into the bottom, letting the light shine through the clear amber broth. I love giving the jars of soup to friends and family, especially when there is the hint of a cold going around....few things work in a sick or tired body like homemade goodness. This past week, Reepicheep and I made a big double batch (thereby using both the stock pot and the canning pot). We took some to share at a meal after First Friday Mass, and then also sent six quarts to our dear friends who welcomed Baby Number Six on Wednesday, thanks be to God! (Pickle and Frog also made banana bread for them.)

I enjoy swapping soup recipes, so if you have a favorite, don't hold back! My recipe for chicken soup was taken from a magazine several years ago--by a friend, no less, who then came to my house and made the soup for me--what a gift!! I've altered it a bit, and generalized it a lot, so the fact that I've long since forgotten the magazine in question doesn't bother me too much. The recipe follows.........

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Place one large chicken, minus neck and giblets (and well-rinsed), in a large stock pot. Fill with as much cold water as you want broth in your soup. Add six-ish teaspoons "Better Than Bullion" (or six bullion cubes, but the Better Than Bullion is tastier and healthier), a teaspoon of dried sweet basil, 1/2 teaspoon poultry seasoning and a bay leaf. Bring to a rolling boil, cover, and boil gently for one hour.

In the meanwhile, prepare the vegetables: five large potatoes (whatever type you fancy...I use whatever I have on hand), peeled and diced, and two cups finely chopped green cabbage (once I thought I'd give the soup more color and character, so I tried red cabbage...it tasted absolutely delicious, but turned the broth an unsightly shade of grey....trust me--use the green!)--the potatoes and cabbage can be put together in one large bowl and set aside.

Then prep four or five large carrots, peeled and chopped into lovely round slices (great job for a child who is confident with a peeler and paring knife!), two or three stalks of celery, including the leafy bits on the ends, chopped into smallish pieces, and one large yellow onion, diced. Keep the onions separate, as they go into the frying pan first. Put the carrots and celery together in a large bowl and set aside. Small hands love to blend the two in a mixing bowl, and what a delight it is to watch the colors mix together!

Remove the chicken from the pot, and place it in a large colander over a pot or bowl to collect the juices (add the juices back into the soup later, along with the chicken and veggies). Set the chicken aside to cool. This means away from the edge of the table where curious pets like to wait.......or is it just mine?

Add the potatoes and cabbage to the stock, along with one tablespoon each soy sauce and Worcestershire sauce (which I unfailingly call "Lea & Perrins" because I hate trying to pronounce the other!). Sprinkle with freshly ground pepper (about a teaspoon) and sea salt (again, to taste--about a teaspoon--and I always add a dash or two of blessed salt as well!). Bring to a boil, then cover and simmer for an hour.

In a large, heavy frying pan, heat a tablespoon of olive oil, then add the onions. Saute until translucent; then add the carrots and celery. Cook over medium-high heat, covered, until the carrots and celery are fork-tender (about 20 minutes), stirring occasionally. I use a wooden spoon because of the next step...

While the carrots and celery are cooking, pull the meat from the chicken bones and cut or tear into bite-size pieces. Your hands will get very chickeny, so it's best to either ignore the phone or have someone else answer it for a while. That's ok; use the time for reflective prayer. :) Don't forget to stir the vegetables from time to time. Your chickeny hands will not bother the wooden spoon.

Add carrots, onions, celery and chicken to the soup when everything is finished. Bring to a boil and then simmer for about 10 minutes.

Enjoy the soup with crusty bread, slathered with lots of butter. The stock makes an excellent base for other soups, or for roasts. Sometimes I'm in the mood for an even heartier soup, so I'll use more carrots and potatoes. If I have something in mind that needs a good bit of stock, I'll use fewer veggies. I added noodles only once, because they have a tendency to get mushy with reheating. The soup (and stock) freezes very well, and reheats beautifully.

Let me know how you like this...and be sure to share your favorite soup recipe.

The First One

I guess this is the beginning. Genesis. The origin of musings yet to come.

I've been encouraged to begin launching my thoughts into cyberspace by several people, and have even begun once before only to fizzle into relative nothingness because I thought I didn't have anything to write about then. That was several years and one child ago, and perhaps I was just really too busy with three smallish children.

Now I'm busier. I'm a Catholic wife and homeschooling mom, and our family is involved with all kinds of activities...but with four children and one on the way, I really need a place to reflect, to connect, to find the timely wisdom that complete strangers can sometimes offer, and to use complete sentences with real grown-up words--and what a treat! Perhaps I'll receive nifty feedback or kind words or encouraging comments. One never knows.

So here I am. I hope to make a good run of it. Who knows? I might even have good stories from time to time.