Electric Meals

So, my mother purchased an electric skillet for us, and then sent money so we could buy meat to cook in it. All because I happened to mention I cannot cook worth a damn on an electric stove. I need flames. Flames of inspiration for my writing. Flames of passion for my love life. And flames of fire for cooking. But Mother assured me that electric skillets aren't far from a gas stove in that they distribute the heat evenly.

I gave it a go. Cooked two meals of chicken quarters. Bought a package of six quarters (that doesn't make sense, does it) and cooked three at a shot. The skillet does have a nice temperature setting and I had no alternative but to trust it. But the meat did cook all the way through. Covered the quarters with spices and cooked, turning them every couple of minutes because Spouse kept telling me the way I was doing it was wrong and that the meat was going to stick. (I didn't use oil. We didn't have any. Don't like cooking in it anyway.) The meat didn't stick, and I added two cans of cream of mushroom soup. (Minnesota's #1 spice.) Then Spouse peeled some potatoes, cut them into small pieces and dumped them in, too.

Came out well. I liked it anyway. So I made it again last night. Went to the meat market today and spent the rest of the money Mother sent on a good-sized sirloin steak. Going to make steak pizzaiola. I like it and so does Son. Spouse thinks it's okay. Basically, the meat is cut into pieces, about a quarter pound each. They are hammered kind of flat and then covered with a flour and spice mixture. Cook them in the skillet until they are brown through and through and then add tomato sauce with garlic, oregeno and few other things. Serve over choice of pasta. I didn't buy pasta, but we have one small box left, so I win. We can get one, maybe two meals out of that box yet.

I like cooking. I'd do it all the time if we could afford it. And if I wouldn't be the only one eating what I made most of the time. Spouse only tolerates my cooking. I use too much garlic, marjoram, and fennel to suit her. Son is only now beginning to tolerate meat. He eats chicken nuggets, steak on the grill (we won't be having that for a while), and now steak pizzaiola. He doesn't like mushrooms, though.

So while I make a fantastic lasagne (people have raved to me about it, seeking second and third helpings - and even asking the recipe), great roast, pasta fajioli, shrimp florentine (Spouse likes this one, but shrimp doesn't come cheap), chicken wild rice soup, chili, goulash (tomato or mushroom soup variety), and even pizza, I don't do a lot of cooking. Virtually none since I lost my gas stove. If it can't heat up in a microwave, stuff it.

Well, I have this electric skillet now. Used it twice now and I've been happy. But I'm missing my kitchen with the center island and all the counter space and cupboards. And one of my favorite pans was ruined by that blasted electric stove. Burned a grid mark right into the bottom. That's happening to my pasta boiler, too. Yeah, I know. If we could afford real pots and pans that wouldn't happen. But one real pot or pan cost more than my entire cookware. With the exception of my lasagne pan. Got that a long time ago. It's great. It's huge. I never use it anymore. But I refused to let Spouse sell it at the garage sale. It costs enough that we'll never get another one if we sell it.

Anyway, it's probably going to be a bit before I post again. I just - don't anymore. I haven't the emotional energy to keep up anymore. If you are feeling especially incoherent, you can check out The Great Sea. Whenever I post here I've also posted there. I would like to post to the other four: Cat in the Buff, Legion of On-Line Super Heroes, Tales From The Great Sea, Faith in Forgiveness. The problem is, whenever I think about it for more than a minute or two I start to break down and cry. Just not ready yet. It takes enough out of me just to post one a week on two.

Don't know when I'll post again.

Here, There and Everywhere

So, we did pay the electric bill after all. That and October rent. Nothing else, though. We need the money for transportation, food and medicine.

There is the food shelf, but we're only allowed to go once a month. Actually, Spouse has been the one to go. She told them I wouldn't be showing up and so I'm not on the card to collect anything. That's fine with Spouse. I'm less inclined to come home with things we would not have purchased on our own. Spouse's attitude is those things are there for us to take. I don't suppose there is anything wrong with either of our approaches. But they are different, and we have discussed the matter. Which is why, I think, Spouse didn't include me on the list of people allowed to collect food for our household.

But we never bought dinner rolls, so why should we bring dinner rolls home from the food shelf? Why not leave them there for people who actually used to buy dinner rolls but no longer can? Same with pudding mixes. We hardly ever had pudding. Why should we be taking it just because it's free? I don't even do that in the grocery store when they are giving out free samples. If it isn't something I would normally buy I don't take it. (Although taking a sample does not mean I am going to buy that trip.)

It's a bit of a moral dilemma for me. After all, Son has to eat. I don't really have to eat anymore. All that weight I lost? It's back again. All of it, I think. Haven't stepped on the scale since early August. It still amazes me how fat poor people can get. When I had money I wasn't fat. The less money I've had the fatter I've become. The only exception to this rule was when I used to eat out at the Chinese buffet three times a week. Good food. Lots of weight.

But when I had money I ate more often, and weighed less. That's part of the equation. By eating more frequently one is less hungry when one eats and so one takes smaller portions. Only eating once or twice a day means one is quite ravenous and eats everything they can stuff in their mouth.

Another part of the equation is that a bag of chips lasts longer than an apple and costs about a quarter less. So, for less than the price of two apples, which would leave me hungry, I can eat two bags of chips, which leaves me filled - with garbage food and guilt. Probably not a good trade, but one I've been making on a regular basis.

Medicine wise I'm not sure what's going to happen. We're still buying my medicines, but the prescriptions for at least two of them are running out, and I can't afford to go back to the doctors for a checkup in order to get them renewed. One of those is for my heart and the other is for blood pressure. My diabetic medicine lasts a bit longer, but I can't afford to see the doctor, much less have more blood work done. (I was supposed to go in two months ago, but the money just isn't there to spend.) It still annoys me when I hear politicians cry that my NOT going to the doctor is costing THEM money. How? "Well, you're just getting sicker. And then you'll go to the doctor and can't pay." No, I won't. I don't live that way. If I can't pay for insurance and I can't pay for the doctor/dentist, I don't go. Lost a filling two weeks ago. God knows when I'll be able to afford to get it fixed. Once went two years with broken teeth before I could afford to get them fixed. If I can't pay for the medical help then I am content to die. It's just the way it is.

I have applied for work. Didn't get a job though. The jobs I've applied for are like being served lima beans for supper. It is possible to swallow them without vomiting, but it takes a lot of willpower. And lima beans are better than starvation. I think.

I remember watching this show on television a year ago. Don't remember the name. It was on public television (we don't have cable or dish). The show was put on by retired people for retired people. They would have famous/successful people over the age of seventy come and talk about what life was like now that they were senior citizens. Ed Asner was on once, but it was a woman (who's name I have forgotten) who left the impression on me. She was an author, apparently famous. (My not knowing her means nothing. I would be hard pressed to name ten authors.) She was talking about the physical problems which often come with being older and how she was discussing this topic with a man about her age. The man had made a very well-known jest: "Being old sucks, but just think of the alternative." And then she said something I cannot forget. "But what no one likes to admit out loud is this: There are days, like today, when the alternative doesn't seem so bad."

I was fascinated by her comment because it went against everything we're told to believe and feel. To be accepted we must "feel certain ways about certain things", and get joy out of the things we're supposed to get joy out of. Admitting to misery is a BIG no-no. No one is supposed to be miserable, even though it seems to me that so many are. Even those who still have money.

But misery is like a blemish on our skin. We can cover it up with makeup, hiding it from the world around us, but we know it's there. It's part of us, and we can't really escape it. One needn't "show it off" like a prize, which it seems I tend to do. But I think we need to admit it when we're unhappy about things. And I mean really unhappy and not just joking about how the kids, co-workers, spouse are driving us nuts. That's not misery. That's being annoyed.

Some things we're unhappy about are quite temporary. They are soon replaced by a joy which washes away the bad feelings. Other things last longer. Months, or even years. And still other things are permanent.

These things are part of all of our lives, and admitting them doesn't mean that's all our lives are about, even if that's all we seem to talk/write about.

I don't like it where I am, but mostly my circumstances can be directly attributed to decisions I have made myself. Cause and effect, you know? Sowing and reaping. I don't like it that I'm in an apartment instead of my house/home. I don't like it that I can't open the sliding door without letting in a fog of cigarette smoke from the neighbors who ALL smoke heavily. I don't like not being able to buy the food I want to eat. I don't like not being able to repair/replace the things I own. (My favorite pair of outside shorts got so threadbare they tore across the legs when I tugged them up from my knees. Probably just as well. If they were that threadbare they were probably not covering as well as they should. Not a pretty picture, I'm sure.)

But my life is more than that.

True, I can't get anyone to pay me so much as a nickel for anything I write, but I'm still writing. And I enjoy the stories, even when I'm struggling to get them out. Son is still able to play his music. (I am not. My bass is upset the people downstairs and so I have to quit.) I have online friends - some who visit this blog - who are so precious to me I could almost burst. Face-to-face, maybe they would all avoid me, but online we get along great, and I'm still searching for a way to use words in order to give hugs filled with love.

I am alive, which means I still have a purpose. Unfortunately, I don't know what that purpose is. I've tried and failed at so many things these past seven years I can honestly say without reservation that I'm tired of trying.

But it isn't all misery, even if I'm mostly unhappy right now. Things change, albeit sometimes with incredible slowness.

If I could have my way I would make others happy without bringing suffering to myself. I just don't seem to be very good at that right now.

No matter.

Hot and Muggy After a Cold Summer

In keeping with my emotional need to post here whenever I post on The Great Sea I am posting today because I actually did post on The Great Sea. How's that for babbling? I'm not as good at it as some, but I'm certainly no novice.

Well, we won't be paying any bills now except for rent, transportation, and food. A pity. When the electricity is cut off so will be my computer time. That not only means internet access, which I'm using to help write my new book, but it means a lot of other things as well.

Got a couple of leads on ways to generate income, but I'm not hopeful. Nothing much works out anymore and I'm pretty much just biding my time now until I learn exactly what's at the bottom anyway. I still find it amusing (used to find it amazing) that with our income down to only 15% of what it once was, we still can't get any assistance from anyone. Excel Energy says they won't work with us until we miss a payment (at which time they will threaten to shut the power off). Well, that's now, so I guess we'll see how that plays out. Same with the other utilities. County help? State help? Forget it. Good ole Governor Pawlenty has cut funds for all social services to the point I'm surprised anyone gets anything. Right now he's running around the country trying to convince Republicans everywhere that he would make a great president. He will - if what you want is a yes man who does everything in his power to undo all progress this country has made in the past 200+ years. I wouldn't be surprised if he makes it. He's a horrible choice and the Republicans seem to have turned in that direction of late.

Anyway, I'm sorry to report there isn't a lot of good news to report. Son is still proceeding with his saxophone lessons. There was short, and unfortunate, disagreement about that, but previous promises were brought to recollection and the money which was earmarked for Son remains so. For now. As the financial threat levels increase so does the pressure to abandon old promises.

Could go silent again. If I do it's likely because we don't have electricity to run the computer. I must be nuts, because I still believe things are going to get better. Not just for the country, but for us, too. We'll see. I'll keep you posted if I can.

The Elastic is Gone From My Waistband

Posted on The Great Sea so I thought I should post here, too.

I've nothing to say, actually. Except, perhaps, that I never should have let myself expect anything. That was my mistake. I knew better. After all these years of living and feeling and experiencing, I knew better than to have expectations. But I did it anyway. And once again, my own expectations have cheated me.

It gets to be tiring. Not just reading more of my self-pitying crap, but never getting what I expect - unless it is crap. And as intelligent as I'm supposed to be, why is it I always fall back and believe that things are going to improve - when they never do. Never. Not ever. Not really.

I remember Betty telling me something way back in the 1970s. That's more than thirty years ago now. We (the cooks and waitresses at a then popular Italian restaurant) were trying to come up with one-word descriptions of each staff member. For most it was fairly easy - and comical. We were pretty much friends, and friends can pretty much say anything about and to each other. Real friends can, anyway. What I've seen of late is that people are no longer allowed this freedom and right. Say anything unflattering and you're blasted.

Anyway, no one could come up with a word for me. My suspicion - then and now - is that the words which came to mine were so unflattering they feared to speak them. Even then. But Betty told me she would give it serious thought, and by the end of the night she had a word she felt happy with: Perseverance. Even at the time I didn't feel especially flattered by it. I had been hoping for something like, Funny, Comical, Friendly. Instead, I got, Perseverance.

Well, maybe she was right. I mean, I'm still here, aren't I? Nobody's laughing, but I'm still here.

It's become a weary burden, though. There must be a reason to go on to the next thing, else why go? Why drive to the next town if there's nothing there? If one has no route, then who cares? If you don't know where you're going then why go anywhere? Here's as good as anyplace.

Only the decision isn't all mine. I'm being dragged to places I don't want to go and being forced to stay in places I don't want to be. I know there are others in and heading to worse places. Unfortunately, it doesn't make my life any happier. And that's the simple truth.

Told you I didn't have anything to say.

Is the Loch Ness Monster for Real

Not sure why I'm posting because I haven't anything I feel like writing here.

I guess I just hate to post some place else and leave this blog untouched. It was my first, you know. So if I'm going to write poetry I must also find something to post here. I'll make it up. No matter, right?

Six hundred years ago I used to post more often. A thousand years ago I posted every day. Now I'm just ancient, and can think of nothing to say.

There is a story in the works. I will not say more here. Just to let you know I'm not dead as some might fear.

I seldom visit other blogs anymore, although I do check my reading list often. Interesting how I'm not the only one not posting much. I guess it's contagious.

Hope you all are well.

Still Alive

One trip remaining to empty the house of things we wish to keep with us. There will still be a few items remaining after this next trip: empty boxes, mucky throw rugs, an old car seat, a few mops, and the garage door openers.

Not a lot of room here. Especially in the shower. Just measured it. It's 2-1/2' square. I'm not square (haven't been called that in years) but I do measure two feet from shoulder to shoulder. So I shower in the bathtub, where the faucet comes out at about chest high. Makes washing my face and hair a bit of a challenge.

Son has done a check and determined we are probably the only people around here over the age of twelve who do not smoke. But the people are friendly enough.

Stairs are a nightmare. No air in the hallway. Not to breathe anyway. I nearly faint going up one flight of seventeen steps. Then I have to make another flight and I nearly die.

We can afford to be here until maybe Christmas. Then we don't even have this.

Sometimes that's just how it goes. You know it's true - there are still people in this world who would trade places with us in a trice.

Damn Technology - Nothing to Do But Wait

Back in the Sixties someone came up with a bumper sticker which read: Life Sucks. And then you die.

Sometimes I think they weren't half wrong.

Once again I was temporarily without my email account. Sometimes I think technology was invented to drive me nuts. It certainly has speeded things up. A long time ago it would have taken a lot longer for me to get this close to the bottom.

Fortunately, my email is working again and so I am not cut off from sanity and joy. I don't talk with people face-to-face much anymore. Haven't for years. So having online people to talk with is my only real interaction with the world at large.

Listening to Richard Harris singing MacArthur Park. What a beautiful song. Wish I could sing that. Sing it well, I mean.

Anyway, I'm not dead. Not yet. Plenty of time for that. Meanwhile, I'm kind of in limbo. I'm here where I have to be because there is no place I want to be that I can be. Did you follow that? Being a person of inspiration I am waiting. Halfheartedly, I attempt various things, but in truth I am waiting for the sign, the indicator, of what to do next. Until then I am frozen in a prison of my own making, waiting for the Keymaster to present me with instructions on what to do, where to go, and how to achieve. Better people keep moving. But I am not better. I am waiting, and like the obedient child I once was I look for what I do not know.

Perfect song. Aerosmith's, Dream On, just began. Catch you later.

Sheltered and Homeless

So I have internet access again.

Actually, I was only without it for less than a day. I just stayed away because - because.

I just deleted what I originally intended to post. It doesn't matter. What matters is that I may very likely remain away. Because - because.