This Is Not What I Planned to Write Today

If you're like me, you tend to overthink things. It's so irritating that my brain can take positive interactions with people and turn them into haunting questions like "do they actually find me completely annoying?" or "am I so stupid that I don't get that people are just laughing at me, not with me?" Perfectly positive and upbeat interactions get twisted into depressing question marks. I know my brain spirals are not reasonable and are not based in logic because I am not completely un-self-aware (I'm way too self-aware, which is the problem), but emotion is frequently and frustratingly impervious to logic and reason.

I got a call today from one of the ladies I am somewhat acquainted with at church. She had made a comment during a discussion on faith in our class, and she had shared some concerns she was dealing with. She was calling me because, during her comment, the ladies sitting behind her had laughed, and I guess she had been stewing over the worry that they were laughing at her because they thought she was stupid for having the concern. She even got a little emotional on the phone, which both surprised and annoyed her. 

Girl, I've been there and done that! 

I was happy to reassure her that the women who had chuckled were doing so in solidarity, not in derision. She had described a concern that every one of us has faced, and I told her that I always appreciate when someone is willing to make themselves vulnerable in order to ask a sincere question. Even if we don't all face the exact same situations, everyone could relate to her general concern, and that was what the women were laughing about. They wanted to communicate to this woman that they understood and commiserated. 

She was relieved and thanked me before we hung up, and I have been sitting here appreciating the fact that this woman had the sense to get someone else's more objective perspective in order to help her stop spiraling. I have an incredibly difficult time making myself vulnerable, and it fascinates me when people are able to let down their guards and allow themselves to be vulnerable--especially in public. I don't know if I can do that. I feel like I can expose only certain parts of myself, but there is a part of me I protect so fiercely that I doubt I can ever expose it to anyone, even Husband. I've gotten better, but when I was young, it used to almost put me into a rage if someone was able to guess what I was thinking about something that was a sensitive topic to me--only because I felt too exposed, and not because I have any rotting skeletons in my closet. I hid the rage, which I realized was actually fear, and I have become less anxious about exposure the older I've become, but I still feel like I too carefully curate my persona so that I can protect the tenderest, most vulnerable part of myself. Is that just me or is everyone like that? Am I emotionally stunted or is that merely part of my INFJ personality?

Anyway, let's be done with that. I managed to turn this into a bit of naval gazing, didn't I? The point is that I am in awe of this woman and her willingness to ask the question in order to get an objective answer. I was happy to be able to honestly and unreservedly reassure her that the women who laughed were on her side. I cannot imagine any of the women in that room would have purposefully laughed at her to make her feel bad. They just aren't like that. 

Sophia and Matt have come over to hang out and play Mario Party with Husband and the other kids, so I am going to go make some chicken parmesan to keep them here for dinner. Whatever else I am, I am pretty confident in my cooking skills. 

I Did Not Die at Girls Camp

 Did I think I was having a heart attack last Friday? Yes.

As you know, I went to Girls Camp last week. It was at a Church-owned high adventure camp perched on the side of a mountain at 7500 feet above sea level, which is about 1.5 miles straight up (2.3 km). At the camp, there were three different ropes courses, hatchet throwing, zip lines, and various other sports available. I don't know what good any of those activities are when you are gasping for air every time you exert yourself even a little, but we were lucky to get reservations and the girls were all very excited. I suppose we went in somewhat acclimated because, for us, it was only another 3000 feet higher from where we normally live. 

Adult leaders were encouraged to participate in all the activities, so I did. On our first day, we were scheduled for the high ropes course, the hardest of all the courses, with two levels of torture layered one on top of the other. You could either be really high up and scared or really, really high up and absolutely petrified.

One of the young women on the lower course moves her C-clamp around to get herself to the next challenge. 

Yes, I harnessed myself up and completed enough of the lower course exercises (three) to get myself around to the zip line that would take me back to solid ground. I may be old and fat, but I'm still ready for an adventure even when I have moments of "I've just made a serious mistake." I'm sure I looked like a beached whale that has been driven up a mountain and prodded up a ladder to flail--flukes a-flappin'--across ridiculously precarious cables and ropes. While it wasn't exactly fun, per se, it was very gratifying to have finished. 

A brave girl on the top ropes course.

That night, after having finally fallen asleep in my tent for a couple hours, I awoke in utter agony. I had sharp pains centered around my heart with shooting pain down both arms. There was no position in which I could get comfortable--even sitting up--and while I didn't cry, I did feel very sorry for myself for a good three hours. I reasoned that we were so far from any medical help that I might as well let everyone else get a good night's sleep before having to deal with my dead body in the morning. To make matters worse, my cell phone battery was dead, so I couldn't even use my phone to distract myself from the pain (I was one of the only ones who still had cell coverage at the camp). I just tossed and turned and listened to the pitter-patter of raindrops on my tent's fly cover and the small animals passing by my tent.

Around 5am, when the sky started lightening and the first bird woke up, it finally dawned on me (dawned, haha!) that this was not, in fact, a heart attack but deep muscle trauma from the ropes course. I had been holding almost my entire weight by my arms and shoulders for about 45 minutes the evening before, and that is not something I usually do at any altitude. Mentally comforted but still in physical agony, I decided it was late enough in the morning and light enough outside to go and rummage around for the First Aid box and swallow 800 mg of ibuprofen. Within an hour, I was feeling like I was going to live. I also felt pretty stupid, which isn't something ibuprofen can fix (alas). I should have packed ibuprofen in my bag.

Fortunately, everyone had a great time at camp--though not during any of the times we had to hike up any inclines, and all of the trails were either steeply downhill or steeply uphill. (I did not know my lungs could hurt that badly trying to gasp in enough oxygen.) Pranks were played, fears were overcome, and testimonies were strengthened. Hopefully, next year's camp will be easier on me because I'm losing weight, but I'm pretty sure I would have been in agony no matter what weight I carried after doing that ropes course. The fact that the couple missionaries who run the camp are older than I am and were still shimmying around that &$*(# ropes course like it was nothing is just embarrassing, but it's a good incentive to keep going.

The two junior camp leaders having a cooling swim in a lake before we headed up into the higher altitudes. 

My Initial Flirtation with Soybeans

EDIT: I realize now that I am repeating myself a bit from my last post. Sorry about that. I don't tend to re-read my previous posts before starting a new one. 

I ordered some non-GMO soybeans and just finished making my first batch of soy milk. I am surprised to find that I like it.

I didn't always appreciate soy. In fact, for a long time, I have considered it dangerous in large quantities; but dealing with the return of hot flashes and doing more research in desperation has convinced me I was wrong -- at least for myself, as others may not do as well with soy. As a Blood Type A, soy is supposed to be more medicine than food for me, working miracles in my hormone-imbalanced, middle-aged body.

When I was growing up, my mom cooked healthy food. I'm talking crunchy granola, tree-hugging, hippy-type food even though she was not a hippy in any way. She ground her own wheat and made bread, we raised chickens for the eggs and meat, she grew a garden for years, and everything we ate was as natural as she could get it. Bean-cheese toast (on homemade wheat bread, of course) was a frequent dinner dish because it was a complete protein. She often said she only shopped around the edges of the grocery store, where all the whole foods reside. 

We were also not rolling in the dough, so Mom never spent money on the unhealthy convenience foods and sugary treats that my fellow schoolmates had in their lunches (which made me pretty jealous sometimes). I think I've mentioned before that my high school lunches (which she was kind enough to make for me even though she could have told me to be a big girl and make my own, so thank you, Mom!) always included a wedge of raw red cabbage that I was instructed to eat for dessert, as cabbage has enzymes to aid in digestion.

My mom's early flirtations with soybeans gave me food nightmares for years. In elementary school, I remember one day pulling out my lunch and finding that it consisted of a cup full of rice mixed with boiled soybeans, seasoned with some soy sauce. I liked rice and soy sauce, but I hated boiled soybeans. They made me gag every time I had to eat them. The slight crunch, the taste, the consistency of the pulp left in my teeth after chewing...everything about them repulsed me in a visceral way (to this day I cannot stand edamame). I gagged my way through a couple bites of the rice and soybeans before I gave up and sat in dismay in that cheery lunchroom painted with massive Peanuts characters, my lunch inedible. I felt pretty sorry for myself.

Around 2005 or so, Mom was going through menopause, so she pulled soybeans out of her arsenal again. This time, she made soy milk and tofu and ate them daily. Doing that prevented her from suffering from the symptoms of The Change, and though it was time-consuming to make homemade soy milk and tofu, it was well worth it to her to be able to control what was in the final products. We lived with my parents at the time, and I can testify that her firm tofu, fried with soy sauce and garlic, was delicious, though I wasn't as much of a fan of the plain soy milk. 

Fast forward to today, and my tastebuds must have changed because my body is desperate for the soy phytoestrogens it needs to balance my hormones. 

I soaked the beans overnight before rubbing off most of the thin bean skins and discarding them. Then I boiled the beans for exactly fifteen minutes before draining them and blending them thoroughly with some fresh water. I added a little vanilla and a squirt of liquid Stevia, and the resulting smoothie was dang good and very filling. The soy milk itself has a very neutral flavor with just a hint of sweetness. 

The nut milk bag I ordered with a tofu press and nagari salts (for coagulating soy milk into curds to make tofu) hasn't arrived yet, so I couldn't squeeze the milk out of the soybean pulp (okara); instead, I just drank the well-blended okara and milk together, which I enjoyed like a thick milkshake. Then I added a spoonful of peanut butter, a sprinkle of cocoa powder, and a pinch of salt, and that was also really good. 

I soaked a lot of beans and didn't use all of them for today's experiment. I will freeze the rest of the soaked, boiled beans to await my return from Girls Camp, which starts tomorrow.

 I'm trying to be excited. I better go pack.

Father's Day Sushi Feast and Fun

It's definitely summer. The temps are rising into the triple digits, I don't set my alarm to get up in the morning, and I only work for a few hours a week. 

Husband and I are back on the low-carb lifestyle, and I quickly ended up reverting to only one meal a day as soon as I cut out sugar and low-nutrient carbs. I guess OMAD (One Meal a Day) is my natural rhythm because I just don't get hungry until about 1pm or 2pm when I load up on protein and low-carb foods until I'm comfortably full and then don't need to eat any more until the next day. I have lost an average of a little over half a pound a day eating this way as well as cut out the need for heartburn medication and eliminated the symptoms of insulin resistance (including skin tags).

I'm getting older, however, and things haven't gone exactly the same as they did even just a couple years ago, so I've had to make some minor adjustments. First, after the first two weeks of eating mostly OMAD, I've had to switch to two smaller meals within a four-to-six-hour window instead of one large meal because I wasn't getting enough calories. I also had to add in some more carbs. It has been immediately obvious that eating low-carb (which means cooking from scratch almost 100% of the time) has thrown off my estrogen/progesterone balance, and maybe one of the reasons is because I'm not getting as much soy estrogen from packaged foods and junk foods. I'm speculating here, but there is no question that going low-carb on whole foods immediately equaled some unforeseen side effects having to do with an estrogen/progesterone imbalance, including the return of hot flashes (though only very occasionally and not the former fifteen to twenty per day, thank goodness!). My mom and I had a long talk yesterday about how she made her own soy milk and tofu for years, which got her through peri-menopause with almost no symptoms whatsoever. 

I remember my mom making soy milk because we lived with my parents for a long time before buying our own house. She bought a soy milk maker and organic, non-GMO soybeans. Two batches of beans in the soy milk maker would yield enough soy milk for plenty of homemade tofu (she made it very firm) as well as milk for a soy milk/berry shake every morning. The pulp left over from making soy milk is called okara, and she used that to make croquettes that she fried in a little bit of butter. It was quite an undertaking, to say the least. The soy milk maker did a lot of the hard work, but she still had to coagulate the milk into curds and then press the curds in a tofu box to extract the whey, which took a while, though the resulting tofu was delicious when sliced and fried in some seasonings. Cleaning the soy milk maker was also tedious. Yet I am tempted to buy my own soy milk maker and organic, non-GMO soybeans and make a go of it. 

Speaking of my mom, we had a big family get-together yesterday at our house for Father's Day. Almost all the usual attendees were there (my parents, my brother Aaron, my sister Ann and her SO, my three married daughters and their spouses, and all of us who live here; missing were my nephew, who had to work, and my youngest brother, Thomas, who also had to work), and we had a great time. When my three-year-old grandson, Tyler, walked in, he threw up his hands and shouted "Hi! I'm here!" because we all get very excited when he shows up, and he loves that. He had a great time.

I decided to make Sushi Bake--or Deconstructed Sushi, if you want to sound more avant-guard--and it was a big hit. We all love sushi, but making sushi rolls is one of the most tedious ways to spend hours of your time for a couple minute's worth of eating. Instead, you make sushi as a casserole, which will give you at least ten rolls' worth of great sushi experience for a fraction of the time spent making it. In short, you press the seasoned sushi rice into the bottom of a 9 x 13 pan, top the rice with furikake seasoning (found in Asian grocery stores) followed by whatever sushi filling ingredients you want to use. In this case, I kept it very simple by shredding surimi (fake crab) in my food processor and then mixing it with mayonnaise. On top of the crab filling, I squirted lines of Kewpie mayo (Japanese mayo), sriracha-mayo, and unagi sauce (eel sauce) before baking the casserole for fifteen minutes to get it warm. I served it with chopped cucumber, sliced avocado, sliced green onions, roasted sesame seeds, and more of the previous sauces along with squares of nori seaweed. Everyone scooped the sushi filling into their seaweed squares to eat it. 

I made two pans of the Sushi Bake and a huge pot of hot and sour soup (yes, I mixed Japanese and Chinese cuisine) to fill in the nooks and crannies if anyone was still hungry. Everyone got seconds of the Sushi Bake, and I still have a ton of the soup left (Elannah loves hot and sour soup and has been asking for me to make it again, so having leftovers was my goal). 

My kids and family are used to me making weird stuff, so they're experienced in bravely trying out my attempts at international cuisine, and I am fortunate that my sons-in-law are also pretty food-adventurous. Not everyone in the world enjoys trying unfamiliar foods. Still, if they want to marry into our family, they're going to have to put up with my food experiments. I was very happy with the outcome. We all talked and laughed and played games until I was ready to drop, and then they all went home and Husband and I collapsed into bed.

Sushi is definitely not low-carb, but I ate some protein before eating dinner and then didn't eat any dessert. Also, even though it was my second meal of the day, my first meal was pure protein. Also, the fact that you mix vinegar into the sushi rice helps to slightly mitigate the insulin response from the rice. I won't be eating this type of thing again for a long time, so that is how I justified it, haha. 

Today I had to run to the store, and I stopped by the soup aisle to grab more bouillon because I had decimated my bouillon supply making the hot and sour soup yesterday. Two men were standing there looking at the broths and bouillon, so I snuck in next to them and snagged a bottle of beef Better Than Bouillon, which prompted one of the men to ask me if I liked it better than granulated bouillon because he had never tried the Better Than Bouillon paste. We had a little chat about bouillon and then they asked if I make bone broth and if I roast the bones before making the broth, which I do. We bid each other a good day and separated to continue our shopping, and I thought how fun it is to have unexpected pleasant little conversations with strangers. Is that mainly an American thing to just spontaneously strike up a conversation with strangers? It's been a long, long time since I was out of the country. The other day in the checkout line at a different grocery store, the cashier (whom I had never met before) quietly confided in me when I asked her how she was doing that she was having a hot flash and was very uncomfortable. I can definitely sympathize, so I told her about evening primrose oil, and she asked me to write it down so she could get some later. I hope it helps her like it did me. Weirdly, I had almost the same conversation with the lady who cut my hair a day later. I must be God's ambassador for evening primrose oil. 

Update on MIL's Ovarian Cancer

 Husband often plays music and asks me if I remember it from my youth or if it was a song that only made it big in Britain. 

A while ago, it was Yazz's "Stand Up for Your Love Rights." 

If you're like me, you haven't thought about Yazz since the 1980s, and you only barely thought about them then. I certainly don't recall that song, which I think was only big in Britain. In fact, I only remember one Yazz song at all: "Fine Time" 

Husband is always looking out for me:

We are pretty corny, I know. 

Speaking of Husband, you might be wondering how his mother is doing with the whole ovarian cancer thing.

The current news is a bit of a mixed bag, but it's mostly good. MIL had six rounds of chemo, which shrunk the tumors enough to allow surgery. The surgeon completed MIL's partial hysterectomy from decades ago and also removed the omentum, the fat sheath that covers the abdomen, which was riddled with tumors. This action removed the visible tumors entirely, and MIL's pancreas, kidneys, and liver also appear to be free of tumors. The bad news is that the surgeon saw something concerning in the colon, so she removed it for a biopsy, and that tissue turns out to be cancerous. So MIL will continue with chemo and they will keep an eye on her colon. She's in pretty good spirits despite the prospect of more chemo, but she's tired. 

They moved to Indiana almost a year ago now, and while Husband and his parents and siblings have a weekly Zoom call to stay connected, I miss having them just down the street. Even now, when we take Marmite the Dog for a walk, he wants to veer into their old driveway and go into their house, which is what we always used to do.

I just talked to my own mother, and, while her broken foot is healing nicely, she's been getting a series of migraines that leave her exhausted and brain-fogged. She gets the aural signs of a migraines (the flashing, jagged lights mainly), but, while the headache following isn't too bad, she has that drained, limp-noodle feeling you get in the aftermath of a migraine. Just when she is recovering from one, another one comes along. Her physical stamina is pretty low at the moment, just when she needs to be exercising her foot more. 

My mother is not a complainer, and she doesn't want to be pitied, but I worry about her and my dad, whose stamina is also very low. It's very hard having to face your parents' mortality. Even though Husband and I are middle-aged, it's hard to see your parents as old and much nearer death than you want to think about. We are both very fortunate that we have such good relationships with our parents, however. Not all people can say that. 

My mom did bring up life insurance on our phone call, and she was very pleased that their insurance broker had found them some extra life insurance policies that will cover the costs of their funerals. 

In less depressing news, my two grandsons are healthy and happy. My second daughter, Gabrielle, and her husband, Raine, are currently living with Sian and Nathan and the boys while the landlord finishes fixing up Gabrielle's and Raine's townhome, which needed repainting, re-flooring, and some maintenance work after the last tenants of ten years moved out. The landlord, who is 85, moves slowly and is a perfectionist, so all of them have been crowded into Sian's and Nathan's place for the past two weeks, though the new place should be ready "in a couple days." Considering the rent is so reasonable and the landlord is also very reasonable despite his perfectionism in maintaining his units, it's a small price to pay. I'm just glad Gabrielle and Raine are out of that horrible condo. They were the first tenants in the newly-built condo, but it was built very, very shoddily with cheap furnishings. It wasn't obvious how shoddily it was built at first, but the more they lived there, the more apparent it became. The property management company is a nightmare, to make things worse. One of the things they told tenants is that, if anyone finds mold of any kind in the walls or rooms, it is the tenant's fault and responsibility, and the tenants would be forced to pay the rehabilitation costs, though the property managers got to choose the company. That is a huge disincentive to report anything, really. And Gabrielle and Raine did find black mold in the nearby roof-access stairwell, so it is safe to assume that the mold was also in their own walls. We are all hoping that this move helps their health, which has been terrible for both of them over the past year.

But tiny Nicholas is already teething, the sweet, wee baby. He's only three-and-a-half months old! (I had a kid who waited almost a year to start teething.) He's enjoying gnawing on teething toys, and other than being occasionally irritated by teething pain, he's a happy, talkative little boy who absolutely adores his big brother. He's sleeping through the night, as well, which makes Sian so very, very happy.

Anyway, just rambling on here, so I'll stop. I've only spent a few hours at work this week, and it's very, very nice to just hang out with Husband and the boys (Elannah got herself a summer job at the golf course again). 

The Dogwalkers' Dance

 We've been walking our dogs in the nearby field for years. Until about three years ago, it was a vast, empty piece of land filled with foxes, rabbits, the occasional snake, stink bugs, crickets, and ground-nesting birds. All of that wildlife is still in it, but the field has shrunk considerably as developers continue constructing neighborhood after new neighborhood. 

I'm not complaining about the new people moving in--we were new once, too--and some of those people who have moved in have become good friends. What I am saying is that the square footage available for walking dogs has been reduced greatly. This means that those of use who use the field to walk their dogs participate in what I like to call The Dogwalkers' Dance.

If you have a dog who doesn't necessarily play well with others (even if he is a sweetie to us, his family), you know what I'm talking about. You scan the field for other dog walkers and then you decide if now is a good time to take the walk at all or if you can get away with walking the dog by keeping him on his leash or just going nice and slow to let others stay well ahead of you. 

I was doing the Dogwalkers' Dance yesterday, and keeping clear of my neighbor and his very friendly goldendoodle puppy (so adorable!) forced me to stand still and listen to the wildlife in the field until Doug and his dog disappeared over the other edge of the hill. The crickets were particularly loud, and there were what sounded like dozens of meadowlarks and little water birds singing and piping their songs. If I had decent audio recording equipment, I would have recorded the sounds to share with you because it was spectacular. 

The wild grass is really high right now because of spring rains, but as the heat settles in over the next few weeks, the green grass will dry out and die off and leave behind the scrubby sagebrush and shorter, hardier grass clumps and ground-level wildflowers. Then, through the purple and sage-green vegetation, you'll be able to spot the holes and burrows of foxes, snakes, hares, field mice, gophers, moles, and voles. 

In other news, I flubbed up at work. I miscounted how many diploma covers we needed for seminary graduation when I ordered them back in February. I only realized my mistake today as I was sorting diploma covers for each stake. I was at least ten short, and wondering if I could possibly order more in time for this Sunday's ceremonies had me stressed, which distracted me as students came in to have a chat or wanted me to sign their yearbooks. I came back to work later in the evening when no one was around so I could find a solution without suffering distractions. Fortunately, the nice customer service lady at the diploma covers store was able to expedite a shipment to me. 

Graduation season is a stressful time. There is a lot to do, and my workload and anxiety have increased just at the time when the students get more squirrelly and ready for the school year to be over. I love talking to the kids, but now I have so many who feel very comfortable plopping themselves into my office chairs (or on the floor, or even stretched out on my very long desktop) and talking to me that getting work done is more difficult. I enjoy their company for the most part. My work can usually wait a little, and there are class periods when I have no students in my office so I can get things done. What I do really enjoy is listening to these kids tell me what's on their minds or exulting in a triumph or just being silly. 

I talk to my sons the way I talk to the students at the seminary. I have a very good relationship with Joseph and Gary, and I often miss them when the students do something or say something that reminds me of my boys, so I'm always glad to see Joseph and Gary when I get home from work.

~A few days later...

Today was seminary graduation for all the seminary students in the valley. I'm hoping the ones for all the stakes I'm in charge of went well. I'll find out tomorrow...

Mother's Day

 Sunday was Mother's Day, and I was surrounded by almost all my children, my grandsons, my parents, and a couple brothers and a sister (and her SO). It was wonderful. Gabrielle and her husband were sick, which was sad, but I talked to them on the phone.

Little Tyler in a British bobby's helmet

Sleeping angel Nick

Nicholas did wake up after an hour or so and spent a lot of time smiling and cooing, which was absolutely adorable. 

I made sure my mom just sat down the whole time. Her broken foot is still healing, and I didn't want her to feel any guilt for not being able to assist me in the kitchen, so I chose something really easy to make for dinner: crispy black bean tacos and Spanish rice. You can make a lot of tacos and rice in a very short amount of time, and since people were showing up at different times, we just had sort of a constant buffet going. As usual, my living room wasn't large enough to contain the number of people our family has grown into, but that meant that there was lots of talking and laughter and eating in close quarters, which, I think, just forces everyone to socialize. We all get along very well (I'm very blessed to be able to look forward to family functions!), and I was a happy mama/sister/daughter.