Rough Days

Today was a rough day. I was tired and sleepy (still am) and so dizzy that I feel like I've put my head on a bat and twirled around for 20 seconds. My eyes won't focus on the same thing and that drives me nuts because it makes it hard to read or use the computer. I cooked supper but it wasn't quite a success. The food was great, but the fact that I almost burned my fingers and turned on all the wrong burners despite the fact that they are labeled specifically for me was more than I could handle. It ended in tears. But Joel was there to comfort me and remind me that it is toxins in my brain making me do things like that. He got me a Coke (my love language) and assured me it would all be okay. I know it will be okay, but sometimes in the thick of things it feels like it won't. Now I'm attached to my faithful IV pole to try to get rid of some of those toxins. Here she is: Hopefully I will feel better tomorrow, but if I don't, I'm just gonna go sit outside because for some reason I'm not dizzy our there. It is my oasis, a special blessing. And even if I can't sit outside, I'll be okay because of what it says in Lamentations 3:22. "Because of the LORD's great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness."

My First Rooster

I thought I would introduce you today to the first rooster I raised. His name is Gus and he is a beautiful Americauna/Easter Egger rooster. I suspected that he was a rooster the day I got him. He was only 2 days old. He was twice the size of all the chicks and he was fat. Very fat. For that reason, he reminded me of Gus Gus the mouse in Cinderella. I named him Gus and decided that if he turned out to be a she, I would call him Augusta. My initial suspicion was correct... He started crowing and grew up to be a handsome, but loud, lad. Gus was a fabulous rooster, always protecting his ladies. The problem was that he was also trying to protect them from me. When he was away from the hens, he was an absolute gentleman. I would sit on the coop floor and he would stare in my eyes and let me pet him as long as I wanted to. He let me carry him around. But he gradually got more aggressive. I didn't think it was too bad, but with a central line in my chest for the IV treatment, I couldn't take a chance. After he seriously injured my other rooster who wasn't the least bit aggressive toward me, I decided to re-home him. I still wish he lived in my backyard, but I do have a great rooster named Adah and he is the sweetest roo I know. I'll introduce you to him later.

Lyme Disease Awareness Month

     The month of May is Lyme Disease Awareness Month. I love Black  History Month, but other than that I don't keep up with what awareness month it is. I can barely keep up with which month it actually is anyway. This year, however, Lyme Disease Awareness means a lot to me because I am doing IV antibiotics after having Lyme Disease for 16 years. 16 years is half of my life. I used to be able to control the Lyme with oral antiobiotc treatment every few years. In the past year or two, however, the Lyme had become so bad that it was seriously affecting my digestive system. Without a properly working digestive system, I couldn't take tons of pills (my stomach couldn't digest them), and my intestines wouldn't absorb them even if they were digested.
     Last fall, Joel and I realized that something had to be done. And I was TERRIFIED. I didn't want to do IV therapy. We knew that the insurance company wouldn't cover it and that we would have to pay for all of it ourselves, but we also knew that there weren't any other options for us. Joel let me make the decision. He was okay with whatever I chose. That was scary too. He left the choice to me because I would be the one who would deal with all the side effects the medicines would throw at me.
     It took months for me to think about whether I wanted to do the treatment or not. I was too scared to pray about it. Then, at the Christmas social for my Tuesday morning Bible study, I shared with the other women that I was too scared to even pray about. So, instead of telling me to get over my fears, they prayed for me. That one night was such a blessing for me. For just a few hours I was freed from my fears and I prayed hard, knowing that the fear would try to regain control of my life. On the 45 minute drive home, I pray that God would give me wisdom and a clear indication as to whether or not to pursue the IV therapy knowing that it would cost us tens of thousands of dollars.
    That night God's answer was clearly "Yes." I opened my Bible to read when I got home and the passage was the transfiguration of Jesus in Matthew 17. The Bible says that Jesus took Peter, James, and John up to a mountain with them. There, he was transformed-his face was radiant and clothes became pure white. In essence, he became the image of the glory of God. The disciples (like me) were terrified, but Christ was comforted them. Matthew 17:17it says: "But Jesus came and touched them. 'Get up,' he said. 'Don't be afraid.' When they looked up, they saw no one except Jesus." I felt like Christ had just spoken those very words to me. I knew that if I looked only at Jesus through this crazy journey, I could make it to the other side. I didn't know how it would all happen, but when Christ speaks, you move. You are willing to do crazy things that you don't know how you will pay for. I agreed to do a treatment that would make me oh-so-sick before I ever got better. I agreed to let God handle the money for us. I agreed to let God walk us through this for his glory, because without him I just couldn't make it.
    This is the short version of what is going on. Not all posts will be doom and gloom (though today and yesterday sure felt like it). Please forgive this English minor's grammatical errors. Forgive the spelling errors. The treatment really muddles my brain, but I can explain that later. It has been humbling for me to suddenly not be able to do things that I took pride in before I started treatment. It's been humbling, but I am learning that a humble place is a great place to grow in God.  
     

Pimento Cheese

I was talking to my best friend about a week ago-this is how it went:
Crystal: "What are you doing?"
Me: "Fixin' to make pimento cheese."
Crystal: "What?"
Me: "I'm fixin' to make pimento cheese."
Crystal: "Allison, I can't understand what you are saying!"
Me: "I am going to make pi-men-to cheese."
Crystal: "What in the world is that?"

For those of you who have been deprived and have never tried pimento cheese, I thought I'd give a recipe!

First you need a block of cheddar cheese. I prefer mild, but some people prefer medium or sharp cheese. Grate it into pieces as small as you want (this is not an exact science!).


The second ingredient is diced pimentos. You will add half of the pimentos to the cheese. Make sure you drain them well.


Third, add about 1/4 cup of mayonnaise, preferably Duke's Mayonnaise.



Stir well and you have homemade pimento cheese!


Pimento cheese is best served on crackers, celery, or spread in between two pieces of white bread! It is a great snack or shower food.

Persimmons

I gathered these wonderful persimmons while in Virginia last month. After 24 hours of travel, including a hotel stay, they weren't beautiful, but I loved them anyway. This is the American persimmon and they can grow wild on the edge of the woods. That is where we found these. They are smallish, maybe the size of a half-dollar. I tried to make persimmons preserves and failed, but I am determined to try again. They really are quite beautiful before they get all squishy...I wish I had taken a picture. However, I wanted to share this beautiful poem. I read it for the first time about a year ago and I still love it. The persimmons mentioned in this poems are the much larger ones native to Asia.

Persimmons

by Li-Young Lee

In sixth grade Mrs. Walker

slapped the back of my head

and made me stand in the corner

for not knowing the difference

between persimmon and precision.

How to choose

persimmons. This is precision.

Ripe ones are soft and brown-spotted.

Sniff the bottoms. The sweet one

will be fragrant. How to eat:

put the knife away, lay down newspaper.

Peel the skin tenderly, not to tear the meat.

Chew the skin, suck it,

and swallow. Now, eat

the meat of the fruit,

so sweet,

all of it, to the heart.

(Omitted stanza is not PG)

Other words

that got me into trouble were

fight and fright, wren and yarn.

Fight was what I did when I was frightened,

Fright was what I felt when I was fighting.

Wrens are small, plain birds,

yarn is what one knits with.

Wrens are soft as yarn.

My mother made birds out of yarn.

I loved to watch her tie the stuff;

a bird, a rabbit, a wee man.

Mrs. Walker brought a persimmon to class

and cut it up

so everyone could taste

a Chinese apple. Knowing

it wasn’t ripe or sweet, I didn’t eat

but watched the other faces.

My mother said every persimmon has a sun

inside, something golden, glowing,

warm as my face.

Once, in the cellar, I found two wrapped in newspaper,

forgotten and not yet ripe.

I took them and set both on my bedroom windowsill,

where each morning a cardinal

sang, The sun, the sun.

Finally understanding

he was going blind,

my father sat up all one night

waiting for a song, a ghost.

I gave him the persimmons,

swelled, heavy as sadness,

and sweet as love.

This year, in the muddy lighting

of my parents’ cellar, I rummage, looking

for something I lost.

My father sits on the tired, wooden stairs,

black cane between his knees,

hand over hand, gripping the handle.

He’s so happy that I’ve come home.

I ask how his eyes are, a stupid question.

All gone, he answers.

Under some blankets, I find a box.

Inside the box I find three scrolls.

I sit beside him and untie

three paintings by my father:

Hibiscus leaf and a white flower.

Two cats preening.

Two persimmons, so full they want to drop from the cloth.

He raises both hands to touch the cloth,

asks, Which is this?

This is persimmons, Father.

Oh, the feel of the wolftail on the silk,

the strength, the tense

precision in the wrist.

I painted them hundreds of times

eyes closed. These I painted blind.

Some things never leave a person:

scent of the hair of one you love,

the texture of persimmons,

in your palm, the ripe weight.

Of Human Bondage

Early this summer while I was stuck at home with a cold and poison ivy, I had the wonderful opportunity to read as much as I wanted. I had stumbled across a practically new copy of Of Human Bondage by W. Somerset Maughm at a thrift store downtown. It had recently been proffered as a suggested read for the Meredith College Alumni Book Club. I voted for it, but alas, it was not chosen. So, being stuck in bed, I decided it was the perfect time to read a 600 page classic. And boy did it end up being good! The story is about a young orphan named Phillip who is left in the care of his aunt and uncle after the death of his mother. He is sent to boarding school where he is made fun of for having a club foot. He is churlish and mean and leaves school early to travel abroad. He searches for the meaning of life; he becomes obsessed with a woman named Mildred. Phillip returns to her every time she casts him aside. I fully expected to hate Phillip throughout the course of the book, but he grows as a person as the book progresses. He learns to empathize with the poor and, most importantly, he learns to give and receive love. I liked Of Human Bondage much better than The Painted Veil by Maughm. There was a recent article in the NYT about Maughm that essentially labeled him a second class writer. I have to disagree. I thought Of Human Bondage was great!

Movie Review: The Book of Eli

I bought Joel a movie for his birthday-one that he had been raving about and had to own. Normally he won't watch a movie more than once in about five years, but he wanted to re-watch this one as soon as the credits ended. The movie was The Book of Eli. He told me the plot line as soon as he got home, which was fine since I don't normally watch rated R movies. This one, however, sounded interesting. Picture post-apocalyptic America (imagine the TV show Jericho 30 years on) and you have the idea. An unnamed man (Denzel Washington) is traveling west through the country with only a sack on his back. He has some essential weapons and a book which he fiercely guards. He comes to a town that is run by a power-seeking despot (Gary Oldman) who is searching for books, one in particular. He evenutally finds out that the traveler has a book in his possession and sets out to retrieve it at all costs. I can't say any more without giving away essential information-you'll have to watch the movie. It is a fabulous. There is language and violence (hence the R rating), but provided you are a mature adult it is a must-see. Denzel Washington is, as always, an amazing actor. If you don't watch it for his performance, though, watch it so that you can see Michael Gambon (a prolific British actor) play a country/Western post-apocalyptic American. I think it is the funniest and most unusual role I have ever seen him in. Though never touted as a Christian movie, it will build your faith and leave you pondering what is really important in life.