Things I learned from this weekend

This weekend was an exercise in cooking gluten free while also cooking within my own allergies. I am that rare person who is allergic to all grains except wheat and rice. As a result, when I was asked to make something without wheat, it limited my playing field severely. I searched the internet and found a few rice based recipes, but when I compared the shopping list of what needed to be purchased, with purchasing something pre-made, well the difference was immense for ingredients that I probably would not use again before they expired. On top of that, I was also searching for a means to make my recipes work for a gluten intolerant person. So that meant no fillo dough, no wheat based pastry, and no homemade bread in my kitchen. Some would say at this point that I could still bake using gloves, but truthfully, I couldn’t. For me to bake with anything outside of wheat or rice was to basically make myself ill for the next 3-5 days depending on how much of the ingredients I inhaled.

So the hunt was on for creative ways to make my recipes still work. Luckily, I found a fellow blogger who posted a recipe for Kibbeh using Quinoa. That worked wonderfully since the event was about the “Crossroads: Silk Road” from the medieval perspective. I then found rice crackers and experimented with them for a crust for my vegetable tarts. I found that if I put two crackers down and added a piece of cheese between them that the bottom cracker remained crisp while the top on joined with the veggie tarts. Another friend suggested a watermelon based salad. So I hunted around for different recipes and wound up ditching almost all of them for my own concept of watermelon, mint, feta, and a raspberry vinaigrette.

I was still stumped for the bread, though. I kept looking around. I ran into many different wraps, etc, but nothing truly looked appetizing. The wraps I found looked bland and tasteless. I finally settled on a rice based bread that did the trick. So my question for those of you who are gluten intolerant, do you have a tasty recipe for a wrap that I can add? I wanted to make a pita or a wrap, but never did find a good one. If you do have a good recipe for one, please post a link below.

Kitten Wars 9/17/14 The Pounce is Strong in This One

I came home to one very playful kitty (Cleo) and one very affectionate cat (Teeny). Now, Teeny has only recently become an affectionate every day cat. For the last week she has begun waking me at 6 AM, whether I want to get up or not, by coming up to my face, bumping it, purring, and prrruupping at me until I either get up or move her away. If you haven’t had a determined cat before, well, let me tell you, moving Teeny away is no easy feat. Oh, you can pick her up and place her off the bed, on the other side of the bed, etc while remaining under the covers. This does not deter her in the least when she wants you to get up. She knows when my alarm should go off and is determined that I get up out of my cozy nest of blankets. No amount of moving her, removing her, or discouraging her work other than placing her on the other side of the bedroom door. But, then she begins scratching at the door until you let her back in. So its either get up or have one affectionate cat all over you until you do get up because you simply cannot breathe with all of her bunny fur in your face.

But, I digress. Cleo was in a very playful mood when I got home and was gleefully pouncing on everything that moved and some that didn’t. If a shoe lace fell, Cleo attacked. If the shadow moved, Cleo attacked. If Teeny shifted her eyes, Cleo … attacked. When Teeny first came into my home in June, she was a grumpy grande dame who generally hissed at anything that she didn’t like. There were days when I believed that all she knew how to do was hiss and spit, run and hide. Those days, I am glad to say, are long gone. When Cleo attacked Teeny, rolling her over, Teeny rolled over and continued walking over to get her rub. Cleo attacked again, pouncing over Teeny this time and was completely ignored by the cat on a mission.

So, Cleo changed tactics. Instead of wrestling and pouncing, she decided to batt at Teeny’s ear tufts. Maybe this new maneuver would gain her the attention she craved. Teeny leveled a look on Cleo that any teacher would have been proud to own, stuck her paw on Cleo’s head and pressed down much in the manner of the Pope when he is blessing someone. I got the feeling she was telling Cleo something important. So Cleo backed up a tiny bit to rethink what she was doing, but when Teeny prepared to leap up to the bathroom counter, she just couldn’t control herself any longer. As Teeny’s back hips quivered in the “jump ready” stance, Cleo pounced for all she was worth. The two wrestled for a few moments, then Teeny, pinned Cleo with her paw and put her nose on Cleo’s, looking her directly in the eyes. Momentarily mesmerized, Cleo lay there just long enough for Teeny to make the leap to the counter to get her rub.

Kitten Wars: Of Night Humans and Morning Cats …. 9/14/14

This morning I learned the difference between the Night Human and the Morning Cat. I went to bed sometime after midnight or closer to one after napping on the couch a bit. Teeny does not usually bother me on the couch other than to lay within hand’s reach for the occasional pet and scritch. However, when I went to bed well, that’s another matter. You see, my grande dame considers my bed hers. Actually I believe the bed is split into sections. The dog has the foot of it. Cleo sleeps under it. Teeny has the top when she deigns to sleep there.

But last night, I did the unthinkable. I put away all kitty food. That meant NO early morning snacking for the cats. Oh, wow, that was not the answer on the morning that I wanted to sleep in. At 4 or 5 Teeny decided to tell me all about it through and intense drum session in the litter box. Calling her name forcefully was not nearly threatening enough to get her to stop. I had to get up, out of my warm nest of blankets, and stand in a relatively cold room before she raced out. We went through a few of these over the next hour before the sleepy human realized that she could lock the cat out of the room. Well, that was not a kosher idea according to the cat.

She just started soft paw clawing at the door once she realized that the door to her domain was shut! So I reached around my door and blocked her stretching post (door frame) with the laundry basket. Unable to make the wond’rous sounds that she knows drives me nuts, she started her soft purr-meow which got Cleo to come out from under the bed to then soft paw the door from the inside. I think by this time it was close to 7 AM. I gave up and opened the door for the cats. They left the room and began playing somewhere else. Thank goodness Cleo distracted Teeny!

Photo: The morning cat, herself.

The Rights of a Child

At what point does an adolescent lose his individuality, his family, and his being to become one of the masses, the nameless homeless? A student of mine passed last week. Because both of his parents were in jail and no one had been formally assigned guardianship or foster care, he was declared homeless by the nameless government, cremated and ashes sent off to be “taken care of” with no care taken to look to find out if anyone would have been willing to do anything else for him. The students and teachers who loved him were not given the opportunity to have closure.

The funeral home was called repeatedly. They were expecting his body to come their way, but it never showed up. Finally, the coroner was called, but they were too late. My student’s body had already been cremated. No family was contacted because according to them, he was homeless. He had local family, but they were not close. He had friends who would have raised the money. He had teachers who would have footed the bill, but as a whole, no one was contacted because someone in authority declared him homeless.

Today, I’ve been going in and out of outrage, depression, and shock at what just happened to a child. At what point did we as a society declare that it is acceptable to throw away our children, even if it’s only their remains?

The Next 9 Minutes

Some days I crack my eyes and wonder

Why is this thing yelling at me?

Telling me to rise ,

Get out of my warm, cozy nest

Go to work!

Then my hand finds the snooze

…Bliss…

For the next 9 minutes.

Happiness is ….

I had the sweetest wake-up this morning. Teeny, my affectionate on her own terms cat, was curled up next to me purring softly as my eyes opened. I reached down to stroke her bunny fun gray tabby coat as her purring got louder. After a minute or so, she decided to walk up to me to rub noses and bump faces before tapping my face gently with her paw. She can be the sweetest of cats when she wants to be. After a couple of moments, Cleo, my always affectionate but lets play, too, kitty decided to join us. All in all it was a wonderful way to wake up.

The loss of one too young

This morning before work, I found out that I lost a student. As a teacher, I become very attached to the kids I teach, but this one was more special than most. He was one of my troubled babies, but never call him baby to his face. In his eyes he was a man, and probably had been a man in his house for several years despite only being a teenager. He came from a shattered home and was familiar with the judicial system from an early age. He had a smart mouth, quick wit, and despite all the nastiness that life had dealt him, a closely guarded soft heart. He didn’t let many people in to know that he was secretly a really nice kid living a very bad life. There was not a mean thought or bone in his body, but he had a bad reputation from the time he was about 10 years old. The trouble was from home not being stable.

As adults we think of home as a place of comfort, love, sharing, and safety. He had none of those. From the earliest years he was exposed to drugs, sex, alcohol, and all types of abuse verbal, physical, and mental. He didn’t have a single place to call home. Instead he was shipped between places to live with relatives whenever his welcome was worn thin at whichever school he was currently attending. He was called a “behavior case”, and I admit that he couldn’t keep still or control of his mouth when he wasn’t medicated, which was frequently. Every teacher could tell on the days that he had taken his meds. On those days he was a bright student with a curious mind. He offered opinions, information, and help willingly. He wanted to share, but all of the experiences with the dark days of no medicine got in the way. People didn’t trust him to be the “good” kid that he could be. After a while it became easier to just be the bad kid and to stop trying on the days when his medicine was not available.

He was a very creative kid. He had ideas that he wanted to do and could plan them out. He knew people better than anyone would have expected. When I did a project with all of my students, he created the best out of all of them. Unlike the other boys who created male oriented toys, this boy created toys that girls would love. When I asked him why he did what he did, he said simply, “Girls love hearts. I hope my toys go to little girls who will love them.” I just about cried that day.

As I said, I lost him. He died in a motorcycle accident. Rumors have already started as to why he was on a bike during school hours. Most say he was skipping school or suspended. Some kids who knew him well though, are saying that he was running away, that life had finally dealt him a hand that he couldn’t deal with anymore. No matter what was going through his head, I hope that he finds peace, love, and joy where he is now. No kid deserves the life he was dealt.

Kitten Wars, the Waking Edition 8/29/14

Ok, Teeny decided to let me sleep in this morning. She did not do a scratch solo last night at all. I guess a few nights ejected from my room did a little good there.  However, she truly does understand that when the alarm goes off that I should get up. So, this morning, when I hit the snooze, like I always do EVERY morning, she decided that she would instead drum on my stomach, back and arms. This is NOT to be confused with kneading in any manner. This is a fairly hard cat paw hitting in a definite rhythm. Tap, Tap, Tap, Tap  (on the stomach) Push the cat away sleepily…. Tap Tap Tap Tap (on my arm since I rolled a little) Push the cat further away this time Tap Tap Tap Tap (on my back since I rolled all the way over) Set the cat off the bed and glare at the alarm. It only went off 2 minutes ago!

Where to write?

I looked at a friend’s post this morning and it made me think. Where, if I could choose any place, any time, would I go to write? I found that my answer was perhaps too simple for the question. I write where ever I am. Having a set place, time, group doesn’t work for me. When I have inspiration, when I have an idea, when I have a problem, I write. It doesn’t matter where I am or what I am doing. I note it down. I put it on my cell, on my flash drive, on a paper napkin even. I do this because if I wait even 10 seconds, I might lose whatever it was that made me want to write it down in the first place. My son is very familiar with me writing, sitting next to him on the couch, while he is watching TV. The raised finger tells him to hold his thought until I can finish what I’m typing. He and I have learned to work it out so that we are together, not separate. He knows the rules of “engagement” with me once my computer is open and I’m typing. In return, I try to respect him when he is deep into a game, anime, or video about one of his games.

So, in reply to the question where would I choose to write? How do you take a picture of everywhere?

Writing? or Just Scribbling?

Everything that I read says that if your goal is to be a writer, then you must write every day whether it is a tiny bit of excellence or excessive excrement. I understand how this works, but I have a small problem with it, too. Well, not just one, a couple.

By trade, I’m a speech pathologist in the school systems. To say that I write every day can be a vast understatement. There are days when all I do is write: plans, lessons, behavior analysis, creative set-ups with explanation, research plans, et cetera just for my job. On those days, when I come home, the last thing I want to do is look at my computer much less put my fingers back on a keyboard. My brain is complete, utter mush when I finally find my way to a seat that is not at my desk. I’ve even been known to pass out within moments of sitting down.

When I have these days of excessive writing at work, they tend to come in spurts where for several days and sometimes weeks, I can barely keep my eyes open once I leave school. But the flipside is that once this behavior ends, I tend to gorge myself in writing for creative outlet. Writing during that time is not so much a chore as a compulsion. I find that even when I’m “resting” while the story churns in my brain, I’m truly still writing it. Ideas flow, problems solve themselves, and issues that I had before the writing flurry suddenly make incredible sense. I find my creativity spikes hard in all directions for all of my hobbies.

I’ve been told that unless you have truly written that you never know what it’s like to stick with something. Well, I have stuck something, twice. I spent a year working on and writing my dissertation. It was a work of love and hate, joy and excessive pain. In the end, when it was finally ready for its birth, I collapsed in exhaustion never more ready for something to go away than that piece. So, yes, I’ve done a long work. I chose to write a qualitative piece, instead of the more accepted quantitative, that was over 300 pages when done. So, even in academia, I was playing to my strengths of expression.

So, no, I don’t do creative writing every day. Maybe I’ll never be a true “writer” but I have achieved my goal of writing stories, poems, and papers. It may not be a “writer” in the manner that is prescribed by so many successful “writers” and “authors”, but it is my way. Perhaps it only works for me. Perhaps because my goal is writing and not necessarily publishing, that’s what makes it work.

I write for enjoyment, for purging, for release, for companionship, and for escape. I write to learn about myself, to let my brain wander to the places it needs to go to heal. Writing is a part of me that I’ve lived with since I was in elementary school when I wrote my first counted poem in third grade about wolves running free. By the time I was in fifth grade, I had improved to the point of winning the district level essay competition. So, yes, the ability to write has wrapped itself around me sometimes like a blanket and other times in the form of a python strangling me until I gave into the ideas that it wanted me to bring about. Granted sometimes the blanket brings out scribbling while the python brings out the writer.

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