The China Study: A Meaty Book

So Dr. Wildman showed up at Homeland as often happens on a Thursday. He made one comment about The China Study. "That's a meaty book you gave me. That's not light reading."

Learning

I've been challenged by a lot of things in the last two days, most of them interior. Or, maybe I should say, my limitations confronting the demands of the world.

I'm challenged by my temper. I'm playing around in my mind with the comment by a person who used to be my counselor, that anger = fear. I seem to have an ample amount of both anger and anxiety. So my challenge at work lately is my own temper. To be challenged by a note from the committee invested in responding to and preventing falls by residents at work: notes that appear to attack me personally. So I responded by grumbling which escalated to venting which gained volume to an inappropriate level. I was cautioned to keep my voice to an indoor level; also it was reported that I said, "Dammit." I'm thinking, "That's the only swear word I used? Oh, thank God!"

I'm challenged by being in three meetings, yet being given more paperwork, and being informed the charge nurses need to leave the desk periodically. What's wrong with this scenario?

I was challenged today by again needing to participate in a "status meeting" for a resident, without any particular prior preparation. I ended up facing about eight middle-aged children of a resident, all complaining that she oughtn't to be taking Ativan. Later I looked it up and realized, she has her own power of attorney, and can take whatever medications she agrees to. But I also charted that there are alternative medications she could take, or even have a mental health evaluation.

The high point of my day was seeing the charge nurse from Pink Wing confronting the receptionist [who publishes the census sheets for each hall] about our mutual desire to have the name of the MD for each resident listed on the census sheet. She stood up and said, "The charge nurses are responsible for running the unit and it's our decision to list the doctor's name on the census sheet." Her assertiveness blew me away.

Pomelos, Pomegranates, Bears, the Fire Tablet and The China Study

I dreamt about it all night, the visit to the doctor's office of the medical director where I work. "They like coffee and brownies," he'd said, when we set the time and date for the visit, which was set for this morning, "nine-ish." The idea was just to show each of the nurses at Homeland, in turn, around the office so we could see how things work in the office: the phone calls, the computers, emailing the MD with requests for orders or with problems with the residents. Dr. Wildman doesn't like faxes and, although at first I was sure that it was more efficient to fax doctors, now that I'm used to phoning for all issues, I actually like doing business that way better.

I said the Fire Tablet last night. I'd gone to the store and bought brownies, then a pomelo and a pomegranate as an antidote. I'd also bought a copy of The China Study because I've meant to give one to Dr. Wildman. The science of the studies is so credible, the logic of basing health on good nutrition is so fundamental, and yet it seems so contrary to conventional medicine. Also, obviously, for most people, switching to a whole foods, plant based diet is not a popular prospect. So I yearned to have Dr. Wildman read the book, but I had a lot of anxiety about giving it to him. I was afraid of indifference, ridicule, anger or opposition. So I read the Fire Tablet for extra courage.

In the morning I got out the fancy yellow paper platter and cut up a pomelo: I cut it in half and created sliced sections which I set in rows. The other half I cut off the bottom so it would rest flat on the platter and put the half face up on the platter on the side. Then I opened a pomegranate by slicing off the blossom end, slicing a cone-shaped opening in the pith in the center, making small slices on the edges so it would come apart easily, placed both thumbs in the center and gently pulled apart the pomegranate into sections.

I peeled the pith partitions off and trimmed off extra peel and removed the few brown berries at the edges. With the rows of lime green sliced pomelo and red sections of pomegranate berries glistening on the platter, the fruit looked beautiful. I prepared everything with love.

I drove to the office in the Allenmore "A" building and found the office, clutching the bag with the brownies, the bag with the platter of fruit, and the gift bag with The China Study inside; when I nervously entered the office I placed these in the break room for the nurses. It was great to meet the nurses in the office. I've spoken to each of them on the phone, and it was nice to put faces to the familiar voices. Some of them I'm quite fond of.

Dr. Wildman goes to Yellowstone National Park every year and has a passion for wildlife. There were about fifty various prints and photos of bears decorating the walls of the office. I spent about two and a half hours watching how they do things in the office: answering the phones, using the computers to enter the patient's chart as soon as the issue is brought up, and the nurses emailing the MD and the doctor emailing back with his reply. I learned that when the nurse phones the office with a particular issue, it's okay to say, "I need an answer by noon," or the end of the day, or whenever.

I got to see the nurse use a bladder scanner, a very expensive ultrasound device for determining the amount of fluid left in the bladder after the patient empties the bladder. So expensive, I'd never seen one before. This is wonderful, as it saves the patient from the invasive procedure of inserting a catheter into the bladder. Dr. Wildman says Homeland is going to get a bladder scanner next week, which is quite an achievement with this family-owned business.

At the end, Dr. Wildman asked me if I'd enjoyed the visit. Then he put on his coat and announced he was going for lunch with his son. Now or never. Quickly I gave him the gift bag with the copy of The China Study, explained that it was a thank-you gift; he said he'd look at it later. Out he went, and out I went, saying goodbye to the nurses. They said the fruit looked beautiful. And that was that. I guess it remains to be seen what discussions, if any, arise from The China Study.

"When the swords flash, go forward! When the shafts fly, press onward! O Thou Sacrifice of the worlds . . . Verily, I have heard Thy call, O All-Glorious Beloved; and now is the face of Baha flaming with the heat of tribulation and with the fire of Thy shining word, and He hath risen up in faithfulness at the place of sacrifice, looking toward Thy pleasure, O Ordainer of the worlds . . . Should all the servants read and ponder this, there shall be kindled in their veins a fire that shall set aflame the worlds."

~ Baha'u'llah

Plant-based Tamales At Last!

I learned to make tamales. Here is my plant-based recipe, adapted from a couple I found on the internet. I pared down the size of the recipe; I'm not feeding an army [okay, maybe an army of one.] After I made them I was trying to figure out what would work more easily for a steamer, as I used a kettle and the steamer plate from the pressure cooker set, set atop a ceramic bowl for added height. The tamales are supposed to steam vertically. Anyway, it just hit me. Of course. Steam the tamales in the pressure cooker. I'll have to figure out the time by more experimentation. So for this recipe one can just figure on a regular steamer and the long cooking time.

Plant-based Tamales:

Dough:
2 cups water
3 cups Masa Harina flour
1 teaspoon salt
1/2 cup oil

Filling:
2 cups cooked black beans
one baked yam, peeled and mashed
half an onion, diced
half a red bell pepper, diced
several cloves of garlic, grated
one small tomato, diced
several shakes green Tabasco sauce [to taste]
several shakes cayenne pepper [to taste]
a shake of ground cumin
a shake of coriander

[As you can see I didn't bother with cooking down tomatillos or any of that stuff; go for it if you have the time.]

The Process:
Soak several corn husks for about half an hour. Tip: separate the corn husks so they really soak well, instead of leaving them in a bunch the way I did until I figured it out. Take one of the larger husks and tear off quarter-inch strips for tying the tamales.
Mix dough with your hands, mix filling.

With tapered end of the corn husk facing you, take about 1/2 cup or less of dough and spread it across the top half of the husk. Add about a tablespoon of filling. Fold the right and left sides over, fold up the end and tie a strip of corn husk around the middle to secure it and place it in the steamer upright, with the open end up. Be sure there's plenty of water in the steamer.

Steam them all for about 1 1/2 to two hours. They won't overcook.

You could use anything for the filling; vegetables, spinach, whatever you like. Experiment and enjoy!

Compulsive Eating

I have more or less decided to enroll in therapy to more effectively deal with my compulsive eating. Last year when I made a pilgrimage to Mount Carmel in Haifa, Israel, and prayed in the Baha'i Shrines, one of the issues I brought up in my prayers was to finally identify the best, truest, healthiest diet. Well, I found the whole foods, plant-based way of eating, proven by solid scientific research, and it was like a tremendous stroke of lightning, lighting my way. The spark of truth, at last.

Even though I am clear about what foods to eat; even though I feel 100% better when eating a whole foods plant based diet; even though I feel committed to practicing this and have taken a powerful and informative online course on nutrition from Cornell University which has answered a lot of questions; and even though I have converted to home-cooking most of my meals and learned and created dozens of satisfying and delicious meals, I still have difficulty with compulsive eating under certain conditions. Like the child said to the ice cream cone, God willing I will lick this.

The Awful Waffles

I share this sad experience so no one else will have to travel the same lonesome path . . .

My circumstances being that I am changing to a whole foods, plant based diet, and that I love to experiment with cooking, most of what I make lately is an experiment. Not all my experiments work out. That's just basically the law of averages. I've created some incredibly good recipes, mostly soups. But. I'm not going to hit 100%.

We went to the Second Sunday Devotional with Waffles [conventional egg and milk waffles, well-made and delicious] this morning. Fired up by the new lectures I've been studying online by eCornell, especially by Dr. Caldwell Esselstyn, Jr. and Dr. John McDougall on reversing coronary artery disease with a strict plant-based diet, I decided to bring an alternative waffle batter.

I started with a cup of buckwheat* pancake/waffle mix, added a cube of Mori-Nu tofu which in some dishes substitutes very well for eggs. [Both are white, mushy and full of fatty acids.] Then I goofed around by adding about a cup of applesauce and one cup dry oats cooked in soy milk: see, we are already getting way too moist. I added a squirt of agave syrup, and about a tablespoon of grape seed oil because I was hoping to avoid having the batter stick to the waffle iron, which belonged to the host. Thinned out the batter with soy milk. And about a tablespoon of ground flax seed for the health of it.

Okay, first of all, eggs are a binder, sticky, and cause the batter to keep sticking together as the heat coagulates the eggs and cooks the waffles. No eggs, less sticking-together. [On the other hand, we don't want the inner aspect of our arteries sticky, either, which is what eggs and dairy fats accomplish efficiently.] Second of all, buckwheat is not like wheat: it does not have the same level [if any?] of gluten, another sticky, binding quality. Third, too much moisture, so the waffles were never going to cook all the way through. Fourth, the agave syrup, similar to honey, caused a tendency to burn on the outside, while the inside was still uncooked.

We coated the waffle iron surface with olive oil, although we know it breaks down under high heat, but it was healthier than butter. We also added some frozen blueberries, which delay cooking time. After about five or ten minutes the waffler signaled that the waffles were as done as they were going to be. Although we didn't have the scenario of the waffle sticking inside the pan and creating a horrible mess, it took some careful extraction with a plastic spatula to remove it. The exterior was very dark, with an odd, waxy texture. The inside was barely cooked.

While I was fooling around with my initial waffle, my daughter was happily eating those provided by the host; by the time I extricated it from the waffle iron, most guests were moving on to the scrambled eggs and yogurt and working their way out to the living room to visit.

Okay, I thought, this batter won't work for waffles. Too friable. Let's see if it's still fryable. So I tried making pancakes. [I have made successful pancakes in the past with tofu instead of eggs, but I was using wheat, not buckwheat.] Same difficulties, but easier to get the pseudo pancakes to turn in the skillet. Pretty much a failure all around. Here's reason # 437 I'm in love with my husband. He's so positive. Even though, waiting for these monstrosities to emerge from the kitchen, he had to be pretty hungry, he stayed positive. "They could probably have cooked a little more, but they're delicious."

My plans for the leftover batter: see if it will cook up into muffins. Never say die.

Actually, I had fun with all of this. The only truly painful part was that, while I was still struggling with the vaguely pancake-shaped objects in the kitchen that burned on the outside while refusing to cook on the inside, was this: missing the puns I could tell were emanating from the living room. The most unkindest cut of all.

Next time I will bring potatoes.

*Buckwheat, despite the "wheat" in the name, is not related to wheat and not a grain. It is an ancient variety of grass. That makes the cooking properties different.

Principles In Practice

Dropped everything and went to Pierce County Feast, where there was a potluck. I hadn't prepared or brought food, and even though I had some pea soup before I left, by the time consultation was over I was hungry. Every entree had chicken or beef or cheese in it, but I picked at a few tablespoons anyway. Meanwhile I was telling the hostess, since she asked, about the Plant Based Nutrition online eCornell course I'm taking. I got all the way through my China Study Conversation, and suddenly she jumped up. "I forgot! I need to put out the whipped cream for the pie!"

Later we went to Ruby Tuesday where I ate a salad without dressing for the first time in my life, counting various "diets" in the past. I also ate a half baked potato nude except for salt. [It's going to take awhile to get rid of the salt.]

We went grocery shopping, kind of dicey this time as circumstances have made me low in cash. I bought an entire shopping cart full of groceries for less than $100 because, with a few exceptions, I was buying all dried beans and oats, etc, and vegetables. It reminded me of when I was Pearl's age and I rode my bicycle, tricked out with folding pannier grocery baskets, to the neighborhood market and kept a running total of my purchases as I selected groceries, because I was paying with cash.

I'm planning to try out ground flax seed on my oatmeal instead of crushed pecans. The soy milk stays, for now.

Hello Again

Guess I'll visit my blog again, huh. Another week blenderized with 12 hour shifts and it isn't enough to pay my mortgage and I keep freaking out about it. Meanwhile I'm on the third in the eCornell online course Plant-Based Nutrition, Principles in Practice, and the lectures are more and longer and some more boring and some more opinionated, even if they are right . . . and in the middle of it I lost internet connection for a day and freaked out about that, but I returned from work and it was back. And I'm needing to be more and more assertive at work, which is good for me but stressful to learn.

Yesterday was my daughter's birthday and her big gift to me was to still be here alive on this planet. Pearl is growing and changing and practicing her driving. So it was a fluke last night that I left my cell on as I listened to an interminable lecture on supplements online and she called at 12:30 having gotten lost on the way home from the Regal Cinemas. Some kind of grace that I had a Tacoma map in front of me and helped her find her way back onto the main street home. The dome light in her car isn't working and she forgot she had a flashlight in the glove box. Besides, I think she gets overwhelmed driving around disoriented and just needs to stop and say, "help!"

Happy Birthday, Pearl, thanks for being here!

Four Days Later

Here I am four days later. I was scheduled to work twelve hour shifts on Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday, then I also agreed to work today [Friday] 12 hours also. A marathon. It's also like time travel through the week. When all I do is work, and sleep, and spend 30 to 60 minutes each night on my eCornell course, the rest of the world slips by and I sort of wake up at the end of it disoriented to any events which may have occurred as I passed by.

One of the nurses at work, her ex-husband was one of the police officers slain recently in Tacoma. I don't know what to say on the card.

Where's My Mind?

My mind these days is generally absorbed by two things: working 3 12-hour shifts per week, and studying my online eCornell course on plant-based nutrition. It is supposed to be able to be absorbed in 3 hours a week, but really there is too much information for me to truly assimilate that fast. Also the discussions are extensive.

I'm in the middle of the middle class, "Diseases of Affluence," and the course content is getting pretty serious. Read up, if you will, on Dr. Caldwell Esselstyn and his work on reversing heart disease through diet. Heavy stuff.

Anyway, I don't have so many neurons available for blogging. Bear with me.

The Source

I think I want to start a new blog i.e. rename my blog. I noticed from Sitemeter that a lot of people are ending up at this site looking for information about wiener or weaner pigs. I feel a little sorry for them. What a cruel joke, to look for something serious like how to raise pigs, and end up with this nonsense! ; >

I would call the new blog The Source and it would be a synthesis between two of my favorite interests, faith and religion. The Source spiritually because of God being the source of life. The Source physically referring to the sun as the source of energy, which is utilized by plants during photosynthesis, which makes the energy, along with all the protein, vitamins, minerals, fiber, antioxidants, carbohydrates and oils we ever need, available to us by eating them.

I have heard, "eat close to the source", i.e., eat foods still recognizable, whole foods. The source being the sun.

Whenever I can figure out how to link this site to the next, and design my new blog, I'll be set to change.

Trip to Pullman, Part 2

So we drove to Elberton and my brother John and wife Sally and the dog and the well-upholstered cat and the wood stove and the cheese and crackers and pickled green beans and two kinds of bread, and visiting. On the walls are several Appalachian dulcimers and other instruments my brother has made, with beautiful cut-outs and inlays of his design.

Then we drove to Pullman and visited Mom at Glen Haven adult family home, this very stellar institution. I don't think I've ever seen an AFH west of the mountains to match it. Glen Haven is run by people in long term care who bought a large house, made it into 6 bedrooms, with paneling and wood ramps and railings, and decided to do it right.

Several days ago they had rearranged Mom's room for easier transfers, and with her memory loss she no longer recognized her room. She thought she was in the hospital. So they wheeled her back into the living room, quickly rearranged the room the way it had been, circled her around in a Politically Correct Fire Drill and brought her back into her room. "Oh, thank heavens I'm home again!"

I gave Mom a stuffed woodpecker which makes a recorded "flicker" sound, a sprig of dried elderberries and one of rose hips, and a dried leaf, and photos of Jerusalem, the Jordan river, Haifa, and Pearl and me camping at Neah Bay. Pearl sang "What A Wonderful World," and we sang the Persian birthday song: "Mubarak, mubarak, tavalud-at mubarak . . . "

My sister Carol and her husband Perry from Bend were there, also. My sister Jean and her husband Kris and their son Andrew from Bellingham arrived, also. Then we all went to make the best of a restaurant with "Grill" in the name; a salad with black beans but denuded of its chicken and cheese; and a baked potato.

During the dinner we ended up discussing end of life issues; a family in Margaret's neighborhood: the wife with Alzheimers and the husband with cancer, and their return to Japan so relatives could care for the wife on his passing. Hospice cases I have known, including one where Grampa died on Grandson's birthday, and I suggested that it was also Grampa's birthday [into the next world] and how this comforted them. We had an incredible talk.

In the morning John and Sally arrived, also, and after a group cluster f*** getting Mom into a car, went to the Hilltop Restaurant, where we met my lovely cousin Bob [in my mind, always "Bobby"] and his wife, and my also lovely aunt Ginny. I took some photos, and Margaret and Pearl, Enayat and I drove back early, leaving them to their whatever-they-ate-and-talked-about.

We had a great drive to Seattle and a great drive to Tacoma, I thawed out some soaked beans, and I made beans and rice which I ate all week at work.

Trip to Pullman, Part 1

Last Friday I worked 12 hours and didn't have time to thoroughly plan our trip to Pullman and Mom's 90th birthday [and Enayat's 25th ; > ] So Saturday morning I planned to take the train over, and our plans changed as time went on and we talked about possibilities and discovered whether Enayat could be ready in time to meet us, as he really did want to come.

My sister Margaret offered to give us a ride from Pullman to Seattle on Monday, which opened up everything. So we all [Pearl, Enayat and I] drove up to Seattle to the King Street Station and took the Amtrak to Spokane, having a wonderful ride, and ending up in the Days Inn overnight. My plan then was to find a rental car to travel down to Pullman via Elberton, the tiny ghost town where my brother and his wife live.

Finding a rental car available for a one-way trip to Pullman from downtown Spokane on a Sunday--ah, there's the rub. After a lot of calling around it boiled down to either waiting until 5:45 PM and taking the bus down to Pullman, missing a lot of visiting, and still not having a car when we arrived, which was affordable. Or, spending $233 for a rental car from the Spokane Airport [plus taxi fare] for a car overnight to Pullman. $233, I kid you not. Train fare for one person from Seattle was only $46. Good grief!

I fell into despair. My lack of planning. We were lost. Pearl was rubbing my back and telling me everything would be okay; sang me "What A Wonderful World," and I made a decision. We were there to visit. I would bite the bullet and hire the rental car, which I did. I called a cab, and was brushing my teeth, and the cab was pulling into the parking lot, when my sister Margaret called from Othello, wondering how we were getting from Spokane to Pullman, and she could come to pick us up in Spokane.

A miracle.

Empty Tamales

Last week at work one of the young ladies took orders for fresh tamales made by her mother for $1 apiece. I asked if they could be made without meat; sure! So I actually ordered ten, as I'm crazy for tamales but commercial ones all seem to have meat, and I certainly don't know how to make them.

Came Friday, and by pure luck or the grace of God I'd brought a ten dollar bill with me, because I'd completely forgotten the day of the tamales. So in comes Lia with the steaming, warm bag of fresh tamales, and I'm thinking, "Oh, boy!"

At lunch I get out the first tamale and open up the corn husk wrapping. Corn meal, delicious, warm, and wrapped around . . . nothing. No beans, no sauce, no vegetables, zippo. I guess she figured that if no meat, I didn't want anything in them.

I was telling the other nurses about this later in the day, and we started to wonder about Lia's mom, making ten empty tortillas, one after the other, and imagined what she must have been thinking. "What kind of a moron wants ten empty tortillas? Oh, well, these vegetarians . . . eight, nine, ten . . ." We laughed so hard I almost peed my pants.

Plant-Based Nutrition at eCornell

I'm taking my first online college course at eCornell, Plant Based Nutrition based on The China Study by T. Colin Campbell. There are recorded lectures by the author, which so far have covered the same material as the book. The great, stimulating part of the course are the online discussions. Whoo! It's exciting to read people's history, many have been eating just plants for a long time and have lost a lot of weight, reversed diseases, e.g. migraines, and so forth, and are very fit.

I feel kind of bad that I'm kind of fat and slobby in contrast, but that's where I am. I did have an agency nurse that saw me for the first time in several months notice weight loss I hadn't noticed. The concensus I'm hearing is that the more you avoid certain foods such as meat, dairy foods, and fats, the more you lose your taste for them, and that they can actually be physiologically addictive.

Great quotes: 1] "Spaghetti is easy. Cancer is hard." Dr. Michael Greger. 2] "You don't see a lot of lions sitting around eating canned rabbits."--Emel, class participant.

We See Vancouver

My husband and I drove to Vancouver, BC Canada Sunday and drove back Monday evening, partly so he could buy the ultimate Persian-to-English dictionary and better translate his poetry, and partly to visit his cousin Mitra and her husband Zia. We had a great drive up to North Vancouver Monday and a ramble through a Persian-type store neighborhood, visiting an Iranian market where two years ago he bought two hundred audio cassettes of Persian music.

Next we walked up and down the sidewalk in the rain to find a second-story Persian bookstore. Too hard to find it from the car, as the sign was small and in Farsi script. But what fun when we found it. Books, CD's, santurs and Iranian guitars. Let's just say, Enayat's upcoming birthday is covered. I wish some time we could spend more time with leisurely shopping in various neighborhoods.

The drive home in the rain, with several multiple lane closures on the freeway, was grueling. What finally saved the day was Enayat singing his songs, many of which are my favorites although I do not know the words, and him tapping and snapping his fingers on the wheel, and me trying to get him to keep his hands on the wheel . . . I'm just glad to be home again.

Tomorrow I start my eCornell online course on plant-based nutrition, based on the China Study.

Solitude Versus Alienation

Direct teaching two weeks ago to people I haven't met before stretched me so far out of my comfort zone, my subsequent severe cold seemed doubly intense with the reaction of alienation from people, and my need for solitude. I actually felt emotionally cold inside. I not only needed to be alone, I didn't feel emotionally connected to the world.

Over the last decades I've come to accept that I seem to be wired as a loner. I like to come out of the cave and play, meeting others and socializing as long as I feel comfortable, and it recharges me. But at some point I really need to recharge by being alone. As a child I think this need for solitude got all mixed up with my deplorable social skills and the alienation I endured in the presence of other children. So every time I needed solitude I thought I had to hate the world at the same time.

Last week I kept peering into these cold, dark depths, meditating on whether I am truly meant to be a loner to some degree, or whether a truly spiritual being would tolerate constant socialization. Sometimes I really feel cut off, angry and sad. I think those feelings are just related to the stress that I feel in my life and work lately.

Pearl and I just watched "Frost And Nixon." I grew up absolutely loathing Nixon and all the corruption and abuse of power he seemed to stand for. Hearing his resignation speech brought me back to my mother's kitchen. At the end of the film, Nixon asks Frost about all the parties and events he attends, and whether Frost enjoys being with people? Nixon indicates that he himself does not. I felt a weird sort of kinship with that revelation, and almost forgave Tricky Dick. Almost.

A Pearl By Any Other Name

"O Brother! Not every sea hath pearls. Not every branch will flower, nor will the nightingale sing thereon."

~ Baha'u'llah

I just finished three days disappeared from the world, three twelve hour shifts at work. Even if I go to sleep at midnight, I wake up-bing!- at six most mornings. Many things about the team-building at work are rewarding. Most are stressful. I came home last night from 13 hours of work, tired and stressed, to hear my daughter's outgoing message as I called to check up on her. "Hi, this is Jake--or as some of you call me, Pearl."

In that stressed and alienated frame of mind, I thought it was all about Me, Al Franken, and some kind of rejection of her given name and me. It turns out it's short for Jakob, as in Jakob Grimm.

Huh.

I guess I can adjust. Most of my friends, even me, change their names from time to time.

The Unquantifiable Universe

My husband always wants me to say how much I love him, as if love were something you can quantify in specified amounts. Finally I said, "As much as an atom; as much as a drop. [Look it up in the Kitab-i-Iqan.]"

"How resplendent the luminaries of knowledge that shine in an atom, and how vast the oceans of wisdom that surge within a drop."

~Baha'u'llah

Girls' Night Out

We had a good day today, Pearl and I. We picked up her car from being repaired within an inch of its life, just short of totaled from her hitting a pole on one of her first expeditions after getting her license. Her car wouldn't start. There wasn't a drop of gas in it. If she hadn't hit a pole she would have run out of gas. We had to buy a container, fill it and learn how to fill the tank with the complicated spout.

Tonight we went to Benaroya Hall for the Seattle Symphony showing of "Psycho." I went to Value Village, hoping to find one of those animal noses, but what I did find was a pair of leather mules with a spotted animal print, which I took home and used the tops to make a pair of cat-like ears. These I sewed onto a scarf which I tied behind my head [I left my latest felt hat at Supercuts or I would have used that.] Then we used long-lasting reddish brown lip color to make a nose and black lipstick to draw whiskers, art by Pearl. A fun and minimalist costume.

She used green, then white makeup for a zombie effect; then added a bar code and the number 5, a fake bruise, red around her lips, and a realistic patch of green circuitry revealed by a bite. [The girl is good.] Then she dressed in white shirt, black vest and pants, a black bowler, carried a black umbrella, and went as a zombie android sort of deal. Very cute.

We met my sister at a great Vegan Thai restaurant called Araya on 45th Street in Seattle's University District. Imagine: an entire menu available to plant-based diners! And all delicious.

Psycho at Benaroya Hall, with the Seattle Symphony playing the score, was a hoot. About a third of the audience was in costume. A lot of men were dressed as women; not just dressed as any woman, but dressed as a woman in costume. So late in the 1960 film when the psychologist is giving his psychobabble speech and mentions transvestites, there was a roar of laughter from the audience.

Two cute coincidences: the opening date on the screen is December 11th, my daughter's birthday. And Marian Crane buys a 1957 Ford [my birth year.]

What Happened to Arlene?

I know I've been off the blog too long when I have to enter my password!

I had intended to join the morning teaching events on Hilltop this weekend, but didn't show up.

I got sick! I was starting to sniffle and sneeze and blow my nose the 17th & 18, during our teaching weekend on Tacoma's Hilltop; then took off Oct 19th and 20th from work for the anniversary of the Birth of the Bab; then Oct 21st for our second anniversary.

About 4 AM the 22nd it hit. High fever, really not feeling well. But I was scheduled to work a twelve-hour shift Thursday, so I did, going through a box of tissues and a container of that horrid alcohol gel which I applied after every sneeze and nose blow, getting sicker and sicker. After whining about my schedule and being assigned to work this weekend so I wouldn't lose my house, I ended up taking this weekend off anyway. I still have a fever but the running nose is now only jogging, and the sneezes have stopped.

I tried to go to the Doc-in-the-Box today but they wouldn't take my insurance, which is one of the major companies. I have Peach, they only accept Mango. I thought they were pretty much two sides of the same coin, but not according to their contract. So I decided since I'm not dead yet, I'll just wait. I'm not working until Tuesday, anyway.

I'm watching videos with my daughter.

Business People

Saturday while we strolled through the Hilltop neighborhood, I was partnered with a gentleman from Bellevue and I asked what his wife does. After a thorough explanation, my previous observation was confirmed: the strong possibility exists I am just not intelligent enough to understand business. I've already proven I'm not smart enough to understand Stephen Hawking. But I'd rather try to explain a quasar than any aspect of business.

Years ago I used to walk along the Tacoma waterfront on Ruston Way, trying to figure out my nursing career which was always crashing and burning. I was watching for rainbows and trying to manage my weight [ha!] I used to see them on Ruston Way: Business People.

They trade their spike heels for chic walking shoes and glide out from their offices in pairs, crisp in black business suits, sliding narrowly past the stroller pushers, dog walkers, and fat, desperate housewives. The speak a staccato dialect from another planet, possibly B9 Business 1138.

I want to approach timidly in my Birkenstoks, "I come in peace." But I know they live and work and have their being in a different world from mine.

Love and Compassion, Part 2

The Bab said that people ought to love God because they love Him, not out of fear of hell or desire for paradise.

He also said, "The path of guidance is one of love and compassion, not of force and coercion." The Baha'i agenda is not to coerce people to seek God out of fear; it is to attract people's hearts which are already yearning to connect with their creator. I think the sea change I sensed this weekend in the Hilltop neighborhood is that, when we use the language of community-building, people sense the love and compassion and the lack of coercion, so there is no reason to feel threatened.

People we approached were friendly; I was fearful because at heart I am a hermit. I am always attracted in two directions: to associate with people and enjoy the fellowship, love and friendship, and to seek solitude and rest.

This weekend was very convivial, gathering in homes to pray together, team up and go out into the world to meet people, return and share out stories. Every year there is an event called the "Black Men's Gathering" where, being neither male nor black, I can only guess that they get together and enjoy being black men together. Anyhow, they came to participate in our teaching event this year. We also had visitors from Boise and from Salt Lake City.

Sunday morning there was a devotional meeting which included the people from the Black Men's Gathering, bringing drums and music and we had stories from the early days of the Baha'i Faith, more prayers and music, and it was fun and moving and enlivening. Then we ate waffles. After the devotional gathering I went back to the house where the teaching was going on, and joined the friends who were staying there and praying.

The whole weekend was social, convivial, joyful, full of friendliness, fellowship, love and unity. I was exhausted. I came home at 6 PM, crawled into bed and slept until 2 AM.

Love and Compassion, Part 1

I associate activities intended to save souls as having a coercive agenda. This is because at heart, Christianity as currently taught by some Christians, involves the doctrine of original sin. As I understand it, there were two people in the Bible, Adam and Eve, that failed to follow the commandment of God, and for some reason, some type of twisted genetics, everyone else who followed [being their offspring], inherited the quality of being inherently sinful.

The corollary to this situation, the way I have been taught by some Christians, is that since humanity are all sinners, we are all automatically consigned to the flames of hell unless we are saved.

How do we get "saved?" By reciting words to the effect that, "I believe that Jesus Christ died on the cross to save me, and I repent from my sins." Something like that. Now this, as any child can see, is a no-brainer. If the clear choice is to go to hell or to recite whatever you think God wants you to recite, why not recite the words?

The trick, as I figured out as a child, is to be sincere. How can you know you were sufficiently sincere to keep you out of the flames of hell?

Coming to a Neighborhood Near You

Baha'is went out in the rain and sunshine Saturday and Sunday to meet people in the neighborhoods and facilitate involvement in community-building activities such as devotional meetings, holding children's classes in their homes, and assisting middle-school age youth to devote their energies to their communities.

Personally I was never receptive to having religious people approach me at my house because experience has proven that they are almost never receptive to hearing what I truly think and feel, their agenda is to change me and save my soul, and they are never receptive to the message of Baha'u'llah.

On the other hand, when I meet people in their home or on their porch, I am interested in them, and I have no interest in changing them.

Surprisingly the people in the neighborhood of Hilltop in Tacoma which we visited were friendly, approachable, and receptive to having people stop by. Whether or not they were interested in what we had to say, they didn't seem hostile or alienated in any way to have us in their neighborhood, and many people were very receptive to meeting us.

Be Thankful In Adversity

Things to be grateful for:

a glorious sunrise
onions
a framed copy of a picture I admired, by & from a friend
Feast
a wonderful gathering at Gig Harbor Saturday
doing two admissions and still getting off work on time because there are two of us
apologies accepted
pressure cookers
having an efficient way to cook beans [at last] [see above]
people who care whether I attend events
still having a daughter
Baha'u'llah
Enayat's hands and heart and voice and spirit
liking my cooking better than the average restaurant's
having someone to clean the kitchen for
having a chance to revise my lifestyle while I still can

A Unity Bhajan

October 11 on Baha'i Views there is the most exquisite Unity Bhajan by Vivek Nair [a video of a song.] It looks as if it is performed at possibly one of those large conferences that were held last year all over the world. I only discovered it this morning before work. With 12 hour schedules I get behind checking my favorite blogs.

This is incredible. My husband showed up just before I got home from work tonight, talking about being approached in the Burger King for resembling a Sikh in his bushy beard, which reminded me again of this performance, which we watched together.

I can't get enough of it. I will ask my daughter if it is possible for me to load this in my iTunes. Also planning to see if there are CD's of this performer.

What Do You Chart When . . .

Mr. Fizzel might actually be or have been a nice person, socialized to treat other people with respect, and understanding normal boundaries. Currently it's difficult to tell, with his dementia. He has been continually entering other residents' rooms without permission, seeking the exits in the facility, and taking what the staff considers an unreasonable amount of attention to redirect him. He is not very redirectable. He sometimes requires one-to-one monitoring, and the staff for that is not readily available.

The other night, the medication nurse approached me in a rather excitable state and described Mr. Fizzel attempting to place his hand on another resident's breast. It was clear to her that the destination of his hand was mammary gland, and only her physical intervention prevented this purported grope.

This type of situation is very difficult to deal with in a politically correct manner. The professional is wrong no matter what you do. It feels like moving through a swamp.

All staff members who witness an event where there is any question of suspected abuse or neglect are considered "mandated reporters" who are required to call "state," the 800 number provided to initiate an investigation. But we are cautioned not to call state unless we have a plan for intervention. Confusing.

Also confusing are the guidelines for charting in these situations. I charted that Mr. Fizzel's hand was outstretched, palm open and fingers extended in the direction of another resident's breast, and that contact was prevented by the nurse. The director of nursing removed that page from the chart, making it necessary to chart again according to her guidelines. The use of the word "breast" was objectionable, and the assumption of the destination of his hand was objectionable, although, from the nurse's description, any fool could see what was transpiring.

The bosses were friendly about it. I emerged from an hour-long meeting [sleep-deprived] more confused than when I went in.

The usual rules of charting are clear: be specific. I love to chart about wounds. Describe the dimensions of the wound, the color of the wound bed, describe the wound edges and surrounding tissue, the color, consistency and [sorry!] odor of the fluid emerging from the wound, and the treatment, all in full living color. Wallow in it.

Rules for charting an interaction between patients: vague. "The resident reached in the direction of the other resident's left upper trunk." Period.

Argh!

The Freeze Dried Brain

I worked 36 hours in three days. I have absolutely nothing clever to say. Twelve hours at a time of continual human interaction and information processing. Usually about a third to halfway through the day my brain just sort of goes, "crunch." Suddenly my memory span is very short. I stop being able to process information.

To be fair, a lot of this is sleep deprivation. My car was finally ready after being vandalized, and the best time to pick it up seemed to be yesterday at 8 AM after going to sleep after midnight, so I woke at 0645.

A pharmacy calls to say that such and such medications are not covered by Medicaid. I am unable to hear the caller well enough to understand when she recites the medication so quickly, so she spells it, equally quickly. My ears are hearing but I just can't follow it that fast. I have her talk to the medication nurse. This decreased ability is terrifying.

My head feels as if the strands of my thoughts become tangled. I used to think I was eating and reading at the same time merely because it is soothing. But there is something about that activity that puts my mind in a trance-like state and enables the tangles to comb out again. Even though I have provided myself with ample plant-based, whole delicious foods, I find myself craving candies and natural Cheetos puffs and so forth. Not out of hunger, but out of trying to operate with a freeze-dried brain. And stress.

My plan is to find a way to detangle and unstress my brain in a healthy and efficient manner.

One triumph: I found a setting with the tape recorder at work which is sensitive enough to pick up my voice, so recording report went much smoother last night. Yay.

Days Off

Our first two twelve hour overlapping charge nurse shifts went pretty well at Homeland. Busy, if you read the stories. I stopped by tonight after three days off to get organized for the next three shifts, and one of the new nurses on this side said, "I don't know how you did it all with just one nurse!" I said, we were really jumping.

My first day off I chilled out, bought groceries and did errands, then went to Eatonville late in the day. Early Sunday we went to Baha'i Convention at Clover Park College, Lakewood, at the uncharitable hour of 8:30 AM--kind of rough for people living 45 minutes away. I left my lights on, had to jump-start the car when we left at about noon, then we picked up food at Greek To Me restaurant and went to Wright Park, sitting in the sun at a picnic table.

Enayat always has felafel; I had a "veggie gyro." We shared side orders of their roasted potatoes and their green beans. I wish I had the recipes; the potatoes are soft and flavorful and tender, and the green beans meltingly soft. Enayat fed the seagulls and crows. I said he was encouraging mendicancy.

We drove out to Eatonville in time to spend sunset at my new favorite place: the balcony at the huge barn he refurbished by his farmhouse, surrounded by trees and pastures. There is such a feeling of peace there. Always, in clear weather, a slow and beautiful sunset. Grazing horses, prowling cats, passing small planes, distant gun practice at a gun club, but no traffic noise. If you stay late enough there are bats. A new "happy place" ; >. When we went out to the other barn where we have an apartment, we drove out to Ohop lake which borders the land. Elks were in the field. I called out, "Elks!!" very excited and he thought there was an emergency.

Today I had a quiet day at Eatonville, washing up from the delicious pasta dish I made last night. I had some [unfortunately white] garlic sourdough I used for garlic toast; some whole wheat penne pasta; a jar of Prego with mushrooms; and vegetables--leeks, mushrooms, a small yellow summer squash, garlic, and a bag of spinach. [Yes, in my book, garlic is a vegetable.] Yum! Very filling.

For once I requested a Persian movie, one about a shah being shot in the mosque, as Nasirih-Din Shah was, although they didn't use his name. Which they also made him a nice guy.

Owners of pit bulls, et al, always say "he won't hurt you. He's nice." What they don't realize is that, yes, the dog is nice to them. But not to other people. Kind of like Nasirih-Din Shah.

Stories From Homeland, Part 3

Mrs. Diaphanous went to the hospital with severe atrial fibrillation and an ejection fraction of 18%. Her heart is not working well, and her condition is fragile. She is just barely stable. She is alert and oriented, and walking with a steady gait. Naturally she has agitated to return home since she was admitted to Homeland several days ago, and likewise agitated her daughter.

Returning from visiting her cardiologist, who thought it would be fine to go home, she expected to just pack up her bags and take off right away. However, she is being followed at Homeland by Dr. Wildman, who needs to give his permission for discharge. That's how it works in a skilled nursing facility. Whichever doctor follows the residents here has to give the okay for any orders that consulting physicians give.

This happens frequently with people who have fractures. They work with the physical therapist, who remarks that they are doing well and should be ready to go home soon. Then they go out to the orthopedist, who says, "Okay, I think you're ready to go home now." The next the nurses hear of them is when the family member leans up against the counter, saying, "My wife went home; doctor Jointz said it was okay. Is there any paperwork you want me to sign?" "Only the AMA form."

So no one in the facility has done thoughtful discharge planning yet or completed the time-consuming paperwork needed for discharge, and Mrs. Diaphanous expects to go home this minute. I phone Dr. Wildman, expecting to just get a telephone order, but it's necessary to fill out the right paper requesting discharge and fax it over.

In the meantime I fill out discharge instructions and ask the daughter which pharmacy she would like me to phone the medications over to. While I work on the paperwork and wait for the doctor's faxed order, the daughter has approached the desk three times in twenty minutes, asking what we want her to do while she waits.

"Play cards?" I want to suggest.

She cut short my discharge instructions on taking the medications, saying the pharmacist would go over all that with them.

Coda: two hours later she was back, asking to clarify the discharge instructions. "I know you couldn't wait to get rid of me," she begins.

Stories From Homeland, Part 2

Mrs. Mold, it turned out, had a bladder infection, with greater than 100,000 Aphus Glaphusiosa, according to the lab report. Dr. Bludgeon was visiting patients and charts at the Green Wing nurses station, and ordered Gentamycin via injections, dose to be calibrated by Evilgreen Pharmacy. I faxed off the order to the pharmacy, which called me and asked what the resident's last BUN and Creatinine labs were, which reflect kidney function.

Last such labs were done in June. Unacceptable. I pick up the phone and am in the midst of ordering a stat or ASAP lab draw when I remember that Mrs. Mold is currently out with her daughter, Isabel, dancing. I leave a message on her daughter's cell phone explaining the necessity of returning so the labs can be drawn.

A few hours later Isobel is standing at the nursing station counter. "I want her to have a urine dip!" We explain that this is not necessary, as the urine has already been cultured and proven to have this particular bug. "How do we know this was not contaminated?" "Because there is only one species of bacteria, not a mixture of normal flora." "Why can't I have her urine dipped? How do we even know this is her urine, not mixed up with someone else's?"

This is the great advantage of having several nurses present; my negotiation skills are very poor. At last Isobel accepts that yes, this infection exists, and we can move on. We call the lab back and they are now reluctant to come out for the draw, but eventually show up. After the results are in, the pharmacy can set the dose and finally the antibiotic will be started, but not within the usual four hour window of time required.

Intelligent minds may wonder, if the patient was out dancing, how sick is she anyway. In the world of nursing, required to follow doctor's orders unless really contraindicated, inquiring minds will just have to wonder.

Stories From Homeland, Part 1

With the new 12 hour charge nurse schedule, there is no more reporting in person to the night nurse, so the powers that be brought in a new Radio Shack tape recorder with voice activation, for recording report. The first night I couldn't make it work, and left my written notes. Last night I made it work, sort of.

I guess my voice is quiet for voice activation, so I had to hold the machine under my nose and practically shout. With even a nanosecond lull, the machine would stop recording [one can see the wheel turning when it's recording, much like a nurse deep in thought.] With all these technical challenges, my report came out kind of rough.

"Hello, this is Arlene reporting for the evening shift on, hello, are you working? October second. In room 201, Mr. Feebel has a Foley, what the hell, are you on? catheter which was leaking. We changed the catheter and, oh, bloody hell, now what? it has been patent. In Room 202, Mrs., hello, okey dokey then, Rheinland is on Keflex for pneumonia . . . "

Too Many Garbanzo's

Started new 12 hour schedule at work this morning. Tuesday I thought I was working Wed, then having several days off, so I scheduled car repair status post break in for Thursday morning, 7:30 AM. Was up late, woke up at midnight, woke at 5 AM, dropped car off about 8 AM, went to work at 10, just got home. Night of the living nurse.

Yesterday [my one day off, after schedule revisions] my husband showed up at Tacoma, having had an appointment downtown. I had just made some garbanzo beans so he had some. Later we went to dinner with Pearl at the Indian restaurant, Sumay. At the end of the evening, Enayat confessed that he had a dish of garbanzo beans downtown at the India Mahal, then my garbanzos, then more Indian food. We had a good laugh over that.

Festival of Rats In Tupperware

Pearl is adopting a young rat on Monday, a hairless male.

I took Pearl yesterday to the Rat Show in at Scopes Auction off Mullinex Road in Port Orchard. For an aspiring new rat adopter, it was a great place to learn, and the perfect day for Pearl. It was fascinating. They had a little track and tiny trainers ran around the track next to each rat while the MC listed the particular fine points of the animal . . . no, wait, that's with dogs.

Actually, it was pretty low key. A dollar admission honor system, a couple of tables for judging set up in front of the bleachers. In front of the judges the rats for each category [solid or marked, satin, shaded, dwarf, etc, as well as two hairless] sat in individual clear plastic boxes with colored lids, like giant Tupperware containers, for viewing. Judges took out each rat in turn, handling them, assessing body and head shape, ear and tail formation, color, markings and temperament.

Several ratteries had tables with displays and cages for their pets. Yes, ratteries. There are rat fanciers and fancy ratteries. I was surprised to see similar facial features: wide, deep-set eyes, recessive chins, long, pointy noses. Unconsciously I was applying the idea that pet owners tend to resemble their pets.

Pearl came back from a shopping spree with some toys and articles, including one of those hollow balls for rats to run around in safely while you clean the cage.
I said, "You already have a ball."
"I actually was offered a second rat, the brother to the original rat."
"When were you planning to tell me this?"
"I was working up the courage."

Then I just had to mention this: "At least you'll have a spare rat when the cats eat one . . . come on--three cats and one rat--who do you think will win?" At this I happened to glance over and see a stare of pure, appalled hatred on the face of one of the judges who had overheard. I just kept smiling. I already know my humor is pretty cold.

We learned lots about proper rat diet and how to handle the rats to socialize them right away. I saw more rats in one day, being petted and snuggled, sitting on shoulders, poking very cute little noses out of sweater sleeves, than I have in a lifetime. I guess having a rat in the house is not the end of the world. I almost want one. And, hey--no annoying barking, howling, or meowing.

Anyway, Pearl had a great time.

The Place For God's Creatures

There's a really cute T-shirt I've seen twice in the last few days, with the caption, "There's a place for all God's creatures--right next to the potatoes and gravy."

I'd like to make a shirt that says, "There's a place for all God's creatures--in your coronary arteries, your adipose tissue, your liver, your pancreas . . . " I'm not sure about the graphics, but there are a lot of gruesome possibilities.

Raised By Wolves

Driving back to Tacoma from Eatonville this morning I saw a bumper sticker, "Forgive me, I was raised by wolves." There was another one about being naked but I couldn't get close enough to read it.

The 24 or so hours I spent on my second day off in Eatonville, my husband was glued to Radio Sedaye Iran on the internet, listening to endless Farsi commentary about Ahmedinijad's speech to the UN. Apparently he wound it up by promising a return of the Mihdi and of Jesus. He didn't say whether or not they would be the same person, or even be in agreement.

Tuesday Pearl took her test and got her drivers licence, so we were very celebrational. Interestingly, I was also 21 when I got my license. I'm making up for it now, driving everywhere like crazy.

This afternoon my car was vandalized for the third time. The first time several years ago someone broke a window and stole a briefcase with nursing supplies; two years ago someone tried to steal my catalytic converter. This afternoon there was evidence that initially they tried to jimmy open the drivers door lock, and got it too messed up to use my key; then they broke the drivers side back window. I guess they must have been interrupted, because they didn't disturb the inside or steal my CD's or recyclable grocery bags. Probably they were planning to steal the car.

I'm getting pretty cynical about this. Just sort of the cost of driving a CRV. I have a police case number but it was too late in the evening to contact my insurance agent. Then I remembered my daughter's car, which I can drive until this one gets fixed.

Sigh.

Yippee Ki Yo Captain Hook

The original unabridged Peter Pan is a wonderful read. Moving quietly through the forest on his way to rescue the Lost Boys and Wendy, kidnapped on the Pirate Ship, Peter Pan passes the crocodile and starts ticking. [The crocodile, if you remember, has swallowed a clock in the past.] He continues ticking for so long that it becomes automatic. When Peter comes up the side of the pirate ship, still unconsciously ticking, he wonders why Captain Hook and the pirates have fled the deck, hearing the sound of the crocodile.

He remembers he is ticking and figures it out. "Oh, the cleverness of me!"

I watched Die Hard again for the first time in several years, as the character John McClane hunts bad guys through the jungles of a building under construction, eventually calling out the Chief Bad Guy--Snape--"Yipee Ki Yo, chickenplucker!" What an elegant Captain Hook is the Chief Bad Guy, and what a gleeful Peter Pan is John McClane.

I'm just saying.

How To Justify Your Existence

Today the DNS offered me the new, revamped charge nurse position, which I cheerfully accepted. Someone at work mentioned that this practice has become common; of requiring people to reapply for positions when the terms are changed. I guess I should have been more confident about the process.

Isaac Asimov wrote stories about a men's club called the Black Widowers which had periodic dinners. New prospective members were always put on the spot and required to speak on one specific topic: "How do you justify your existence?" Now I know how they felt, or would have felt had they been actual people instead of fictional characters.

I'd like to go back and reread those stories. I might get some new ideas.

The new staffing schedule won't start until about October. In the meantime I am allowing my native early morning waking pattern to gradually reassert itself. I'm also planning to spend some time getting organized so my extensive cooking is done on days off and I won't need to cook at night or go out to eat too much. I might use the slow cooker over night and make items that freeze well.

Today I carried out my plan to try making "Mushrooms and Dumplings" in lieu of "Chicken and Dumplings," which I miss. The mushrooms were good, and the vegetables and broth were good. I used miso as the main broth ingredient, and lots of garlic and onions, as well as sauteed mushrooms, and the dumplings were good. But [as meat-lovers would predict] it just wasn't the same. Score one for chicken afficionados. Score zero for the chickens.

I haven't yet thrown in the towel. I doubt that would add the right flavor. I'm just going to have to let my ideas simmer for awhile.

Liberty, Equality, Fraternity

The motto for the French Revolution. Too bad some of that fraternity didn't extend to the people under the guillotine.

Liberty: tonight my schedule of working every other weekend revolved a little more, possibly due to a month with five weekends. For the first time in about a year I was able to attend the gathering at Gig Harbor tonight, on the second Saturday. I've missed that house, the people, that fellowship so much.

Two youth played guitar and sang prayers and Baha'i writings. Suddenly I found myself transported back to the house in Pullman where I used to hang out with the Baha'is, and the first time I experienced that particular, indescribable feeling of fellowship and unity. Naturally I fell in love with all the Baha'is. I guess that happens a lot.

Liberty: yesterday I interviewed with the Director of Nursing for the Charge Nurse position at work; one that I already hold but which is being revamped. I felt it went astoundingly well, and was able to talk about many challenges I had faced that turned out well in the end. The DNS mentioned that she liked my Letter of Interest [which I have to say was elegant but blunt. (Previously posted.)] I no longer feel that my job is so threatened. I have felt so supported by everyone's friendship and prayers. So that's a feeling of release.

Liberty: tonight I mentioned my stress level during the eating and chatting portion of the gathering, and some of us spoke about the concept that what we think determines how we feel. If only my thoughts were fewer and simpler, and it was easier to root out which thoughts or assumptions were at the cause of which feelings. My thoughts tend to whirl around as I imagine my life as I know it swirling down the drain. But I have a place to start, anyway.

"The reality of man is his thought."

~'Abdu'l-Baha

P.S.: Chris, I found my wallet in my car.

Baha'i' Men

This poem came to mind after returning home from Feast yesterday evening. I've known so many wonderful Baha'i men most of my life. I also think of the Black Men's Gathering, which, being neither black nor male, I don't have the privilege to attend, but which, if you listen to their recordings, reflect some of these qualities.

The poem is not to imply these qualities are not found in people of other religions or no religion, or that Baha'is are superior in any way. Practicing the principle of gender equality seems to make people more whole and balanced. Spiritually focused people, however you define that, tend to be more whole, more alive. Knowing them is such a gift.

For some reason, when I wrote the last line, I burst into tears.

Baha'i Men

Baha'i men--
They are lighthearted,
They take nothing lightly.

Baha'i men--
They laugh out loud.
They laugh with their wives,
They don't laugh at them.

Baha'i men--
They pray, play music, cry,
Write poems, camp out, sing out,
Build fires.

Baha'i men--
They bring their children
Home.

Friends and Food

About 20 years ago we became friends with another couple from our birthing class. The husband was a vegetarian, and they used to have us over for dinner and cook wonderful vegetarian food. One evening I had them over for a Greek-type dinner with lentil soup, hummus and Greek pita bread, and so forth. When we sat down the husband asked me if I used beef broth in the soup, which I had to admit I had. I was so chagrined, though he was very kind about it. To cook like a vegetarian, it's necessary to, at least temporarily, to think like one.

Tonight I was speaking with two sisters at Feast, who seem to take medications for a variety of ailments. I informed them [kindly] that it would possibly ease some of their symptoms to avoid animal-sourced foods such as meat and dairy products. I referred them to The China Study by T. Colin Campbell. They said the very thing I said the night before I gave up animal sourced foods: "Oh, I'm too emotionally attached to meat! I could never give it up!" I said, if I could give up animal sourced foods, anyone can.

About ten years ago my former husband stopped eating my chili when he read the label on the package of chorizo. Today I looked at it in the store to refresh my memory. Chorizo contains:
pork salivary glands, lymph nodes, fat, cheeks, tongues, vinegar, pork, salt, spices and sodium nitrite. The beef is the same, only with beef.

I'll have to look up Soyrizo for comparison next time I see it.

Smiling . . . Or Not

My father did not believe in God. It was his assumption that belief in God robs people of personal responsibility. I don't agree, but I respect his opinion.

My father and I were not very close. It's hard to get close to someone when you are poised to run for your life. His personality was powerful and he was physically large. I've had more leisure, since his passing, to reflect on and recognize our similarities. As I age I'm getting in touch with my inner crank.

At the devotional meeting yesterday, a wonderful little lady related her experience as a smiling, happy person; she just feels better when she's happy. I may have had some spontaneous joy as a child but I learned to suppress it. I was surrounded by very intelligent people. Critical thinkers tend to be critical. I formed the opinion that happy people are shallow and artificial. Realistic people realize that there isn't too much to be happy about in the world.

When Peg commented on happiness, I thought of a nurse at work who was a barmaid for many years. Now she spends a lot of time hugging and kissing on residents in a more or less revolting way. Some she treats as a sort of pet. I want to say, we're not in a bar any more. But her outstanding quality is that she seems sincerely happy and there is always a smile on her face.

When I come to work my extreme level of focus shows as a frown. Under what circumstances would a smile come naturally to my face?

Basic Beans and Rice

I cooked some brown rice today and ate it with the black beans I made previously, with cumin, coriander, basil, dill and sea salt stirred into the beans, which I heated in the microwave. I added raw sliced tomatoes and chopped onion on top of that. It makes a good, basic hearty legume and grain dish. The chopped raw tomatoes and onions are something my husband puts on top of his rice and lentils. [He also adds quantities of olive oil. When it comes to excessive oil you can just leave me out.]

I'm pondering signing up for a Cornell University online class based on the book The China Study by T. Colin Campbell.

With prayers and with support from friends at work I'm feeling less like a target is on my back with this planned rearrangement of hours and duties of the charge nurses, and having to reapply for my own job. I'm realizing it may not just be about Me, Al Franken. I'm not crazy about it, and I don't know what will happen next, but I'm not being assassinated by my own adrenaline.

This sounds silly, but I bought a coloring book [adult level] the other day.

What's wrong with the world when the word "adult" has lost its innocence and has come to mean "pornographic" or "virtually pornographic'? A perfectly good adjective has become unavailable, hijacked by the entertainment industry.

Also studying the Kitab-i-Iqan with a study guide.

Lentil Soup Recipe Featured in Lentil Festival Cookbook

My entry in the National Lentil Festival cook-off did not get first or even sixth place, but was published in the Cookbook [pulse@pea.lentil.com]. There it is under soups, "Stealth Soup", the idea being that it might qualify for the special "I Hate Lentils" category, as the lentils are pretty difficult to detect in the smooth, rich, creamy soup.

First place went to the "Animal Cracker Dip (Fudgy Chocolate Frosting)" recipe filled with cocoa and butter, vanilla, powdered sugar and, incidentally, lentils. To crib from T. Colin Campbell, worms and cardboard would taste good with butter and cocoa.

Anyway, a lot of the recipes look pretty good and some are even made sans animal-sourced products. It was worth it to participate. It made me happy.

Weird Foods But No Chicken Feet

For the first time in the years since I noticed its existence, yesterday I went to the Tai Li Asian foods grocery store. I found pre-fried tofu, not wanting to try frying it myself as I haven't figured out the proper technique. I was looking for Kombu, the sea vegetable mentioned in cookbooks for making cooked beans come out tasty and tender.

There was a surprising number of varieties of dried seaweeds available, as well as dried chilies and dried sea creatures, and so on. I asked the proprietor for Kombu, but he did not recognize the name. I did buy a package I found towards the back, which answered the description of flat leaves. When I took it home and showed Pearl she said, yes, that's Kombu. Yes!

Just cooked some beans in the pressure cooker, still a relatively new process to me, and working on some beets [they're off the heat.] Will see if the beans taste any differently with the Kombu.

The first time I went to an Asian market in my old neighborhood, trying not to look like the curious white geek that I am, the gross-out item was chicken feet. I learned many years later that in China, at least, they are fried and sold on trains [along with duck feet] as a snack, similar to the pork rinds concept.

One year we took our troop of Junior Girl Scouts on a field trip to the Lincoln District of 38th Street in Tacoma, looking at Weird Asian Foods such as little packages of wet jelly-like candies and so forth. We ended up at the Vien Dong Vietnamese Restaurant eating egg rolls; both recognizable and affordable for a troop of girls. I think it was one of the best activities we did with them.

Later yesterday as I shopped at the Fred Meyer in the Natural Foods section, reading labels and seeing that the interesting chik'n [fake chicken] patties actually contain egg yokes, I felt like a foreigner in my own land. [When the Cambodian refugees first arrived, unable to read English, they had to wonder what was sold in jars with pictures of babies on them.] I conceived the idea of an alien confronted with the odd concept of eating animal products. They're so pervasive. I'm not "there yet" but the idea of eating meat and dairy products is becoming progressively stranger as time goes by.

Coda:Leeks All Week/ Soup For Sniffles

I didn't have that much of a runny nose, but I liked the alliteration.

I ate that Aphus of the Glaphus soup all week. It kept getting better; by the end of the week I was adding a carrot, mushrooms, and stirring in an entire bag of spinach [funny how spinach just melts into a soup] and adding lime at the end, even sweeter than lemons. I was using not just 3-4 but eight or nine cloves of garlic. And kept on with the delicious buckwheat noodles. Just better and better. Grating all that garlic and chopping all those onions cleared out my sinuses well.

Enayat loved it too.

Back to work with only a weaker voice than usual, still a bit feverish, a few sneezes, but not such a sore throat and less of a cough.

Don't worry, it can't be caught online.

Hot Aphus of the Glaphus Soup

Felled by a cold. Yesterday I worked sick. I slept in too late to give two hours notice calling in, and knew that staffing is hard anyway on a weekend. So here I am sick on my day off. Phooey.
Whenever my maternal grandfather was ill he had "some kind of aphus of the glaphus."

I made soup with all the best healing ingredients: garlic, onion, lemon and so on.

Hot Aphus of the Glaphus Soup:

3-4 cloves garlic, grated--as much garlic as you can stand
1 cubic inch ginger root, grated
one entire onion, chopped
one leek, chopped
a sprinkle of dill, coriander
two tablespoons miso
two bundles of Japanese wheat and buckwheat noodles
5 cups water
juice from one lemon
salt to taste

Saute the garlic, onion, and ginger root in olive oil, then add water [gently] and leek. Bring to boil, stir in dill and coriander, miso and noodles. Simmer until noodles are soft. Turn off heat and stir in lemon juice, fishing out the lemon seeds that fall in. Salt to taste. Good for what ails you.

Me and Rosie

Two major triumphs for my blog, for a technosaur such as myself: Pearl helped me load photos from our trip to Neah Bay onto my computer, and place the photo of Arlene with Rosie the Sekiu Salmon as my photo. No more shadowy head profile! She also helped me complete the process with sitemeter which will now show accurately my adoring hundreds or thousands ; > of readers, rather than periodically sending me an email with "visits to site: 0," which was somewhat disheartening.

I'm considering actually posting photos, which I have mixed feelings about. I like my text to speak for itself, but photos do add a lot of richness and I know lots of people like to see colors and images on a blog. I remember my initial disappointment with adult books which were not illustrated, until I realized that the images I formed in my mind were pretty good, too.

Guess I'll think about that on the rest of my second day off.

Yay for Pearl!

Leaves and Branches

We attended Feast yesterday evening at Jefferson Park in Tacoma, in the traditional south end of the park beneath the two trees. Usually at least once every summer, Feast, usually held in homes, is held in this park. The Bulletin advertised this as a potluck, so I tried out my pressure cooker to make beans and a dish called Coriander Carrots, from the cookbook by Lorna J. Sass, which I served together over brown rice. I was the only person who knew it was a potluck.

The weather, which has been warm all summer, turned cool and breezy last night, so that by the end of Feast we were quite chilled. I was happy to have a nutritious dish to serve, along with the hostess' nutritious and delicious zucchini bread.

We sat in a circle of chairs, reading from Baha'i Writings and prayers, people I have known for many years, and some I have just met, a circle of unity. Then I looked up and saw the branches of the trees intertwined overhead, so that it was impossible to distinguish which branches and leaves belonged to which trees, although the trunks were far apart on the ground.

It seemed to me that this was our unity, that we "eat with the same mouth"; the unity of the early believers in Iran who never knew whose cloak or shoes they donned before going out of the house to teach.

I'm Here, Aren't I

One of the techniques in long term care for administrative staff to keep "control", consciously or not, is to keep staff off balance by making changes and threatening people's positions. "Homeland" just announced a "Staffing Model Adjustment." Currently there are a charge nurse and two medication nurses [plus a treatment nurse straddling both shifts] for both day and evening shift. The plan is to have two charge nurses work twelve hour shifts together during the day, and leave the evening shift after 8 PM [a busy time] bereft of their charge nurse.

It was also announced that current charge nurses, such as myself, are required to reapply for their positions. For nearly four years I have worked my tail off perfecting my skills, and getting the work done as efficiently as possible. It would seem I have proven myself in this position. Now I am required to reapply.

I asked the DNS if she was trying to get rid of me, and what reapplying would look like, and was instructed to write a "letter of interest." Here is my letter of interest:

"At 'Homeland' the charge nurses are privileged to work with the finest professionals in the field, and the bedrock of nursing care--our nursing assistants. We also serve together with some of the most caring, passionate, experienced and well-trained nurses in Pierce County. We are all selflessly devoted in our service to one common cause: the comfort, healing, recovery and wholeness of the residents and families entrusted to our care.

This is my Letter of Interest: that I am here.

'Let deeds, not words, be your adorning.'

~Baha'u'llah.

Sincerely,

Arlene Sobhani,
Registered Nurse"

Immerse Yourselves

United Spiritual Gathering Councilfire Part 3:

Part of my attraction to the ocean, the reason I don't want to live in Montana or somewhere away from the ocean, is looking out to an apparently infinite horizon. It's very relaxing. I also, though not a great swimmer, like to wade in up to my waist or so and let the incoming waves hit me. I got to wade in the ocean on Saturday at Neah Bay.

The ocean is cold, and wading out takes some fortitude, but in about ten minutes my legs become numb, and I can stay out for awhile, letting the waves come in. [Later I need some hours to thaw out, sitting in my great solar collector, the car, or in the tent.] There's a sense of purification about the waves. Usually any emotional pain I've been having comes to the forefront; this year I wasn't feeling so much. I'm speculating that, rather than some deep well of emotional pain that I carry sloshing around, pain is something that used to be continually created by bad relationships.

Another person was out in the waves a few yards away. I saw her turn her back, and was thinking that I wouldn't turn my back to such a powerful force. I would be focusing my attention on it. This led to a meditation on devoting myself to Baha'u'llah in whatever occupation I find myself.

"Immerse yourselves in the ocean of My words, that you may unravel its secrets, and discover all the pearls of wisdom that lie hid in its depths. " ~ Baha'u'llah

A Scrap Of Paper

United Spiritual Gathering Councilfire Part Two:

Here is a story concerning the Baha'is currently imprisoned in Iran for their leadership role as a group; although they were obedient to the dictates of the restrictive laws against assembly by Baha'is, they have been in prison without due process for over a year. I will relate the story as I remember it:

A Scrap of Paper:

One of the women imprisoned in Evan Prison in Iran for serving the Baha'i Faith as a leader, asked her sister when she visited to write for her a certain prayer which she was having trouble remembering. The sister found a scrap of paper and wrote down the prayer from memory, but the guard would not allow it to be given to the inmate.

This is the banned prayer:

"I have wakened in Thy shelter, O My God, and it becometh him that seeketh that shelter to abide within the Sanctuary of Thy protection and the Stronghold of Thy defense. Illumine my inner being, O My Lord, with the splendors of the Dayspring of Thy Revelation, even as Thou didst illumine my outer being with the morning light of Thy favor."

~ Baha'u'llah.

What came to my mind was that Baha'u'llah has said that every spot "where mention of God hath been made, and His praise glorified," is blessed. So, with the prayers said there, even Evan Prison is blessed.

The Wren and the Elk

United Spiritual Gathering Councilfire Part One:
We drove to Neah Bay Friday afternoon, spending the morning packing for camping and food prep, etc. I let Pearl drive from just before the Hood Canal Bridge to Port Angeles, then let her rest, then around Lake Crescent to just past Sekiu. She was doing fine, but being the responsible person in the passenger seat puts me in a wearying high state of vigilance.

After worrying about rain, as in recent years there has been a lot of bucketing rain, we never had a drop of rain the whole weekend. Sunday the sun even came out.

The United Spiritual Gathering Councilfire has been held on the Makah reservation on Hobuck Beach Campground for over forty years, I believe. Participants are guests on the reservation. We feel welcome and honored to be there. Here is a story as I remember it, told by Scott Tyler:

The Wren and the Elk:
The Small Forest Animals enjoyed singing, but they had a problem. Whenever they sang in the forest, along came the Elk, tall and imposing, calling out, "Who is singing in the forest? Stop singing or I will stomp on you!" Then all the Small Forest Animals would immediatly stop singing and scurry away into the woods. Finally, having had enough of this, all the Small Forest Animals met and consulted about what to do about the Elk.

They chose the very Smallest of the Forest Animals, the wren, to perform a special mission. They began their song, and sure enough, here came the Elk, stomping up. "Who is singing? No singing in the forest! Stop at once or I will . . . " and at that point the Wren flew up the nose of the Elk. The Elk began to sneeze. He sneezed so much that he fainted away and fell down, vanquished. The Wren emerged, showered, and all the Small Forest Animals gathered again for their song.

Jammin'? Too Bizarre!

Jam N Tube Part Two:

A jam tasting is always an elegant affair, but the setting on Sunday was informal. In the spirit of Unity in Diversity there were jams brought in from everywhere. A true variety of jams, of course tasted on the premier of toasts--a good, basic whole wheat bread with just a hint of butter, not to obscure the delicate flavor of the jam. There was a modest gooseberry, a robust strawberry, quite a few middle-of-the road raspberries, a succinct currant jelly [brought in just in time] and rather a pretentious huckleberry, as well as a good spread of basic marmelades.

Ah, the art of jam tasting! A bracing Earl Grey tea to cleanse the palate. An appreciative sniff, a tentative lick, then to roll the whole bite of jam and toast around to savor the essence of all the delicate flavors. A devotee of jam can divine the year the preserves were put up, the county of origin, and a real expert might identify the actual patch where the berries were picked. Jam tasting can be truly an exquisite experience.

There was some music playing nearby, but I was too involved with the jam to really appreciate it.

Not everyone attending the Jam N Tube on Sunday may have noticed the Jam Tasting, but I had a wonderful time.

The Couch Tuber

Pearl, Enayat and I went to the Jam N Tube Saturday, a fundraiser for the Chilean Temple, for the Baha'is, and a secular fund-raiser as well. I dithered all day about whether to go tubing and finally decided to go for it, wearing my swimsuit, lightweight cotton pants that I expected to dry easily, and a life preserver provided by the Lo's, surprisingly one my size. Fred towed us around the bay, out by their waterfront house beyond Purdy.

We had a sort of tube/inflatable raft with a spot for three passengers. I was expecting speed, but my ordinarily sedentary body and brain were startled and completely unprepared for the up and down, sideways movement of bumping along the choppy water, and by crossing the boat's wake. My partners in the raft, fit thirty-somethings, were having a wonderful time. I was in mortal terror.

Reason, which told me I was quite safe with a very low center of gravity, and handles which my arms are still sore from gripping to save my life, but reason fled, and my brain stem was immediately concerned with imminent death. We had prearranged signals for "speed up", "slow down", and "stop!!" Unfortunately, making a signal involved releasing my death grip on the handles.

At last I made the throat-cutting gesture to stop, and transferred to the boat, feeling the great euphoria of having survived--euphoria which is the bread-and-butter of amusement parks. I am easily amused. Pearl, who was riding in the boat, transferred into the tube, and had a great time.

The outcome? A lot of fun, a new appreciation of the silliness of most anxiety, sore muscles everywhere, and a sunburnt left knee.

My Daughter's Back ["What About My Back?"]

I'm a'going fishin' all of the time, baby's going fishing too.
Bet your life, your sweet wife is gonna catch more fish than you.
Sayin' many fish bite if you've got good bait,
Here's a little something I would like to relate,
I'm a goin' fishing, yes I'm going fishin' and my baby's going fishing, too.

It feels like I have my daughter back. It feels good to spend time together. In December when we visited Bellingham with my daughter and her husband in back, one big heap of sullen mope between them, I thought, "I'm never taking them on a trip again." I just didn't know how bad it was with them, how depressed Pearl was. Now we're planning the trip to Neah Bay, and I mentioned the Jam N Tube-- "sounds like fun!" I've been taking her for private drive lessons at 911 Driving School and she's actually driving on city streets and doing well. Smiling, revamping her novels she wrote growing up, doing her art.

On my last day off, Nick showed up and Pearl drove us to Titlow Beach Park, [in her youth, the "Park With The Three Slides"] where we walked the trails and watched the sunset, the rising near-full moon. "I see the moon and the moon sees me, down through the leaves of the old oak tree. Please let the light that shines on me, shine on the one I love." "Shine on, shine on harvest moon, for me and my gal. I ain't had no loving since January, February, June or July."

One Week To Neah Bay

I just switched my Weather Street link over to Neah Bay, WA, watching the weather for the United Spiritual Gathering Councilfire August 14, 15, 16. Looks a bit rainy in the coming week. Hope it clears up next weekend. I'm going, and I don't want to be drenched. Pearl's coming, too.

More later: must go mind my cream of yam soup.

The Garden Kitchen

For many weeks I've been pondering how to make a tapestry [pictorial quilt] on the subject of whole-foods, plant based eating. Visually, vegetables are beautiful, but just a series of vegetables & fruits would be boring. There needed to be a story.

Mentally this morning I was writing to my mom, and thinking how to talk about the diet thing, and came up with some whimsy which might work well for a quilt. It also has kind of a children's book sound.

In The Garden Kitchen
We Eat:

Avocados, not Armadillos
Beets, not Bears
Cherries, not Camels
Dandelions, not Duckbills
Escarole, not Escargot
Figs, not Flamingos
Gooseberries, not Giraffes
Huckleberries, not Hedgehogs
Ices, not Iguanas
Jam, not Jellyfish
Kale, not Koalas
Lettuce, not Llamas
Mushrooms, not Mice
Nectarines, not Newts
Onions, not Owls
Peaches, not Pandas
Quinoa, not Quail
Radishes, not Rhinos
Squash, not Snakes
Tomatoes, not Turtles
Watermelon, not Walruses
Yams, not Yaks
Zweiback, not Zebras
Violets, not Vultures

and I challenge anyone to come up with an edible starting with U.

Pearl likes the idea, and I set her to doing the artwork.

It's What You Do That Matters

In the last week or two of sweating, sweltering heat, multiple admissions at work [which is only air conditioned where people walk in, but not where they live], and other draining things, I've been mulling over this wonderful monologue from Baha'i Views, "How To Tell Someone That What They Said Sounded Racist."

It isn't the are you/aren't you a racist part that I was thinking about, but the clarity of the underlying principle: it isn't what you are, it's what you do, that one can be held accountable for.

This helps me a lot. I feel as if I'm on stage because I'm blogging about my choice to start eating plant foods only. Today I took my daughter to breakfast after her driving lesson, and being Saturday morning in the very popular Hanger Inn in Puyallup, the only table available was smack in front of the door, in the way of the servers, and basically on stage for diners entering and exiting. "Boy, those are big pancakes!" "Thanks, I ordered them myself."

On stage. I use the label "Vegan" a lot online when I search for recipes and support, but I've decided that is not what I am. True Vegans avoid products with glycerin, leather, and every kind of sneaky animal-sourced materials which find their way into our food and so forth, which makes them very picky. I love leather. I love the way it smells and feels: Vegans would say, so did the cow/deer/elk/horse/pig/sheep.

I'm not a "Vegan." I'm just a person who mainly eats just plants.

Just Don't Do It

Don't eat the last juice sickle and put the empty carton back in the freezer. Just don't do it.

Some Sort of Succatash

Last night I was given great quantities of zucchini; this morning I hurried up to Tacoma from Eatonville with less than an hour to make lunch: succatash. At least, a dish reminiscent of what we called succatash.

Succatash

One ample zucchini [1-2 lbs], diced
two slices onion, chopped
two medium fresh tomatoes, diced
one ear of corn, divested of the kernels [put in the kernels]
sliced mushrooms--I forgot to put these in, but they would have been good
one can beans such as pinto or kidney beans, drained & rinsed
Seasonings: about an ounce of grated turmeric root, two cloves garlic
A shake each of cumin, coriander, dill
leaves from a sprig of fresh basil

Place virgin olive oil in bottom of wok [I never mentioned this, but I make most dishes in the wok]
Saute seasonings in olive oil. Stir in zucchini, corn, tomatoes, mushrooms, onion & stir fry until beginning to soften. Before they brown, stir in one cup water, basil and beans, cover and simmer about ten minutes. Serve with slices of polenta sauteed in olive oil and seasonings of choice.

Yum!

One Day Off

One day off is not enough.

I had my day sort of planned, had my rolled oats, ground up pecans and raisins soaking in soy milk ready to nuke for oatmeal, and was getting psyched up to exercise, when my husband called from downtown Tacoma, inviting me to lunch at the India Mahal buffet on Pacific and Ninth. I ate the oatmeal anyway, then headed down town, as that was an offer I couldn't refuse. [I never did get around to the exercise.]

My husband lives in Eatonville and I live in Tacoma, where my work and my house are, as I've never gotten around to moving, so we sort of see each other on dates.

We were sitting enjoying the vegetarian buffet food, talking about many things, and wound up on the subject of "All You Can Eat." I remembered a fictional cop show episode where a man was rolling on a stool up and down in front of an all-you-can-eat salad bar with a fork, rapidly eating directly from the bar, shoveling in astonishing amounts of food. I think this was before sneeze guards. The restaurant called the cops, and was told, "hey, it's all you can eat."

Enayat remembered a Hari Krishna buffet restaurant that said, "All You Care to Eat." That makes much more sense, putting your brain in between your mouth and your stomach. This American "eat all you can eat" thing can go too far. We started laughing about how the restaurants ought to make you pay up front in case, in the course of overeating, you expire!

Later I went to McLendon's Hardware for items to assemble a bricks-and-boards bookshelf. The pressed-board shelves were expensive, and there were no bricks per se. [I was thinking of these tall terra-cotta deals.] I ended up buying pairs of large flowerpots and about a 12-foot naturally purple board which I had them cut up; at home I stacked up the shelves by placing pots upside down in pairs and placing the boards on top. Weird but decorative. [I just didn't want to worry about assembling or transporting a conventional bookcase.]

Spent some time at the Thursday devotional meeting talking about [among many other things] fractals and spirals inherent in nature. That is, to me, mathematics and therefore the expression of mathematics in equations, [i.e. the equations giving rise to fractals and the Fibonacci Number System graphed as a spiral] as well as the physical form which those mathematical equations represent, and physical flora and fauna reflecting those shapes, are all a part of the natural world. I found that the new participant, Lee, and myself, were equally passionate and fascinated with this subject.

"How resplendent the luminaries of knowledge that shine in an atom, and how vast the oceans of wisdom that surge within a drop." ~~ Baha'u'llah

One day off is not enough.

Cream of Spinach Soup

The other night I found some leftover soup with carrots and potatoes and a soy milk base in the fridge. Although it did not look familiar, I'd been away for a couple of days and thought I'd made it before and forgotten about it, so I heated it up and ate it. It was pretty good. Today Pearl told me that she'd made the soup, and regretted to inform me that there was beef broth in it. I said, oh, well, it won't kill me outright, and anyway, caveat emptor.

Pearl's friend Nick was over and informed me that by watching me, he's become inspired to cook with vegetables a lot more, and described some roasted vegetables he made. I need to get the recipe.

Today I had some oatmeal, exercised, showered, and decided to use up my two bags of spinach, since I haven't had leafy greens for a few days.

Cream of Spinach Soup

Grate up two large cloves of garlic, some turmeric root, and ginger root; chop up a couple slices of onion, and saute them in some extra virgin olive oil [on medium heat because of the olive oil.]
Throw in two bags fresh spinach leaves and a cup of water, cover and come back and stir it in about five minutes, after the spinach softens up. Stir in about a pint of soy milk, and add a healthy shake of nutmeg and another of coriander, simmer to blend flavors.

Belly Laugh

I've made it a goal to try to have at least one good belly-laugh a day, in the interest of better mental and physical health.

Last evening at work we were expecting one admission for sure, and another tentatively. So while I was assessing our first admission, and away from the desk, one of my medication nurses left me a note that the second admission was not coming in.

This morning I had a call from my supervisor asking if I was planning to come to work today? They had found a post-it note floating around the nurses station with the following scribbled on it:

Arlene
not coming today.

The New Moon

What were you doing on July 20, 1969?

I was watching TV for the first time in our house. My parents, born in 1919 and 1921, growing up in the country during the depression, saw no need for television. They didn't really talk about it much, but they probably just thought that with silly commercials and generally a lack of intellectual content, and their goals of teaching their children to read, who needed it?

To tell the truth, I grew up knowing there is no better entertainment than a book, and no better toy than a stick or a cardboard box. Add in a tree to climb, and we were rich. Even better: a long rope swing, with a seat of plywood cut in a circle, tied high above to the limb of a tree, so we could swing in great circles.

Anyway, my parents broke down and bought an eleven-inch black and white TV so my father, who had, not only numerous posters of rocket launches, but even a barometer in his room, could watch humans take their first steps on the moon. The reception was terrible, and in grainy black and white it was hard to discern the appearance of moon dust, or even the outline of the lunar module as it sat on the surface, but we were all thrilled.

I remember thinking that looking up at the romantic moon would never be the same, now that we had walked on it.

How strange it was in a college class circa 1990 when a young student piped up with the certain knowledge that the moon landings had all been elaborate fakes. I didn't know which was weirder: her opinion, or the fact that a child born since the moon landing was old enough to be in college.

Health Care For Caring People

I just have to say this. Leave behind political parties, stop pushing for one point of view to prevail. We're talking about taking care of people here:

Why is it okay to pay to educate our neighbors' children; why is it okay to pay to put out the fire in our neighbors' house; but it's not okay to pay for our neighbor to visit the doctor?

Moving On

I know, the Weanerpigmobile crashed, but actually I moved on down the road. Stress, heat, a chaotic day at work and the prolific abundance of foods I had stayed away from for quite awhile temporarily overcame my commitment to health. At work it isn't easy to find a calm place, or the time, to renew one's spiritual and emotional strength and center. Excellence, not perfection. So, onwards.

I'm still feeling tired and sluggish from whatever animal fat, sodium, nitrites and so on were in those hot dogs. I used to feel that way all the time. Now I don't have to. Yesterday I went back to rice and lentils; today I opened the day with an orange-flesh honeydew melon, supposed to be cleansing. Then I spent some time exercising.

I made a porridge with red lentils, a yam and oatmeal, plus the usual seasonings. It turned out thick and almost burned on the bottom, so I placed the ok part [most of the porridge] into another bowl, cleaned the burned part out of my wok where I cook most dishes, replaced the porridge and thinned it with soy milk.

Now to try to replace two hours of sleep I missed by waking early this morning.