I strained my achilles tendon a couple months ago. After limping around for a few weeks, I finally went to my doctor. I got referred to a specialist who believes in taking a conservative approach before considering surgery. I like that approach. I got a big, ugly, black boot on June 5. I did prescribed exercises at home and aggravated my injury. I started physical therapy and got new exercises to do at home. After straining my lower back putting the big, ugly boot on, I started not using the boot at home and only using it when I went someplace.
The boot throws my gait off, so I have to use a walker to keep from losing my balance. Then I irritated my strained lower back getting my walker out of the back of the car.
I’m feeling better. The swelling has gone down. But I have pain in my hips and lower back. I want to go back to the gym, but I don’t want to be wearing a boot while using the machines. I’m lopsided enough right now. I’m afraid if I wear the boot at the gym, I’ll get more strength training on one side than the other. I want to go hiking again, but I can’t manage to walk the mile from my home to my mailbox.
I want my life back.
This is when I’m so tempted to rush into things and by rushing to further aggravate my achilles tendon which is already really angry with me.
I tried doing yoga this morning. I put on a video. The routine started with child pose. I had fallen a week ago and bruised either the muscles in my shin or bruised the bone. Either way, getting down on the floor to do child pose left me rolling on the floor screaming in pain. I did the few exercises that don’t case more pain.
I hate this. I hate stopping myself from doing what I want to do which would cause me more pain.
Bleah.
There’s a quilt in here somewhere. I just don’t feel like making it.
One day, my neurobiology teacher asked the class what they thought about people who were mentally ill.
“Scary.”
“Batshit crazy.” That was said by a graduate student who knew, prior to saying I’m batshit crazy, that I’m bipolar. I know he knew because I had told him.
I’m not scary. I’m not batshit crazy. I’m in pain. The kind of pain that an OTC painkiller won’t kill. The kind of pain that is bone deep. The kind of pain that doesn’t go away. The kind if pain caused by 16 years of child abuse, by a violent, drunken, narcissistic mother who hated me, by her violent drunken husband, by a family that taught seeking help was the worst thing that a person could do. That kind of pain.
The first time I tried to kill myself, I was 11. I stood at the kitchen sink holding the knife in my hand. “This is going to hurt.” That’s what stopped me.
Six times in my life, I’ve been suicidal. People who are bipolar have a suicide rate 20 times that of the rest of the population. I live in terror that my life will end by suicide. Suicide has been called a permanent solution. Bipolar disorder is a permanent problem.
I’m on psych meds. They help. They don’t cure. They dull symptoms of depression and mania. They do nothing to protect me from the ignorance and fear of others. Some of the others are well meaning, but aren’t ready to look at mental illness. Some are repulsed as if I had some horrible, contagious disease. Some are terrified of me. Some try to push me back into a closet. Some, don’t want to hear me when I say that those who stay in the closet are a huge part of the stigma of mental illness.
“If I read the words, why do I have to keep looking at this painting?”
You have to keep looking, because I have to keep living in this mental hell. I make you look because I refuse to live in a closet. If my painting were about a broken leg, would you have the same criticism? You have to keep looking because that painting isn’t abstract; it’s realism. It’s my reality.
May is Mental Illness Awareness Month. Look at me. Listen to me. I am not batshit crazy. I am not scary. I am scared. I am in pain. I’m locked in a mental hell from which I cannot escape.
I’m having a major neuropathy flareup. I’ve taken gabapentin, put CBD oil in a capsule and swallowed it, 5mg of THC and my TENS unit. I’m stoned and I think I’m having hallucinations. It’s hard to know how much of what I perceive is real. I’m also staggering around the house. And I’m still in pain. Bleah!!!
Art reliably helps with the pain. I played around making fabric designs.
The iris are blooming. The original clump got overcrowded, so Jim split the clump in two.
No idea if this will work, but here’s a GIF I had to make for my photography class. We’ve been having WIND in the desert. Right now, there’s a low pressure system blowing in. I could tell by the pain in my arthritic knuckles.
I have to put together a narrative for my photography class. So….I put together a bipolar narrative. I might have stumbled onto a way to show people what bipolar disorder feels like. That’s the beauty of being a multi-media artist. When one medium won’t work for what I want, there’s another one or two that will work.
Rather than listen to my photography teacher explain how to do a GIF in photoshop (it’s much easier using PhotoScapeX), I played around with collages. They turn into interesting fabric designs.
I’ve used up all my spoons, and It’s only 11:30 AM
Spoons are a way of explaining energy or lack of energy. If energy is represented by 12 spoons, after all 12 spoons are used, there’s no energy left. No energy to walk around. No energy to cook. No energy to make art. No energy left for anything other than shuffling into the bedroom and taking a nap.
The sciatic problem is becoming less and less each day. With that comes the ability to walk more and more without my walker. That’s the problem. I feel better, so I walk without my walker longer than I should. That’s how I used up all my spoons this morning. The worst was me walking Brady and discovering I was out of spoons. I wasn’t near a door when the spoons were all used up. I leaned against the car, called to Jim to take Brady, then gingerly made my way into the house.
My feet hurt because they are swollen, they are swollen because I’m not active, I’m not active because I have no spoons left. This sucks.
I was hoping to get outside and photograph the yuccas blooming, but that’s no longer possible today because I have no spoons left. I’d have to push the walker up hill. Through sand. While trying to find a large enough distance between cacti that can accommodate the walker. All while trying to keep my camera from knocking against the walker. I’m missing spring.
I got down on the floor yesterday so I could photograph Brady on her level. I shot in RAW only because I had the camera set on RAW when I saw we had day-old baby quail and I wanted to be ready to photograph them. I set the camera to rapid burst. 92 photos, and some were even decent.
Spoons are a way of explaining energy or lack of energy. If energy is represented by 12 spoons, after all 12 spoons are used, there’s no energy left. No energy to walk around. No energy to cook. No energy to make art. No energy left for anything other than shuffling into the bedroom and taking a nap.
The sciatic problem is becoming less and less each day. With that comes the ability to walk more and more without my walker. That’s the problem. I feel better, so I walk without my walker longer than I should. That’s how I used up all my spoons this morning. The worst was me walking Brady and discovering I was out of spoons. I wasn’t near a door when the spoons were all used up. I leaned against the car, called to Jim to take Brady, then gingerly made my way into the house.
My feet hurt because they are swollen, they are swollen because I’m not active, I’m not active because I have no spoons left. This sucks.
I was hoping to get outside and photograph the yuccas blooming, but that’s no longer possible today because I have no spoons left. I’d have to push the walker up hill. Through sand. While trying to find a large enough distance between cacti that can accommodate the walker. All while trying to keep my camera from knocking against the walker. I’m missing spring.
I got down on the floor yesterday so I could photograph Brady on her level. I shot in RAW only because I had the camera set on RAW when I saw we had day-old baby quail and I wanted to be ready to photograph them. I set the camera to rapid burst. 92 photos, and some were even decent.
Spoons are a way of explaining energy or lack of energy. If energy is represented by 12 spoons, after all 12 spoons are used, there’s no energy left. No energy to walk around. No energy to cook. No energy to make art. No energy left for anything other than shuffling into the bedroom and taking a nap.
The sciatic problem is becoming less and less each day. With that comes the ability to walk more and more without my walker. That’s the problem. I feel better, so I walk without my walker longer than I should. That’s how I used up all my spoons this morning. The worst was me walking Brady and discovering I was out of spoons. I wasn’t near a door when the spoons were all used up. I leaned against the car, called to Jim to take Brady, then gingerly made my way into the house.
My feet hurt because they are swollen, they are swollen because I’m not active, I’m not active because I have no spoons left. This sucks.
I was hoping to get outside and photograph the yuccas blooming, but that’s no longer possible today because I have no spoons left. I’d have to push the walker up hill. Through sand. While trying to find a large enough distance between cacti that can accommodate the walker. All while trying to keep my camera from knocking against the walker. I’m missing spring.
I got down on the floor yesterday so I could photograph Brady on her level. I shot in RAW only because I had the camera set on RAW when I saw we had day-old baby quail and I wanted to be ready to photograph them. I set the camera to rapid burst. 92 photos, and some were even decent.
Spoons are a way of explaining energy or lack of energy. If energy is represented by 12 spoons, after all 12 spoons are used, there’s no energy left. No energy to walk around. No energy to cook. No energy to make art. No energy left for anything other than shuffling into the bedroom and taking a nap.
The sciatic problem is becoming less and less each day. With that comes the ability to walk more and more without my walker. That’s the problem. I feel better, so I walk without my walker longer than I should. That’s how I used up all my spoons this morning. The worst was me walking Brady and discovering I was out of spoons. I wasn’t near a door when the spoons were all used up. I leaned against the car, called to Jim to take Brady, then gingerly made my way into the house.
My feet hurt because they are swollen, they are swollen because I’m not active, I’m not active because I have no spoons left. This sucks.
I was hoping to get outside and photograph the yuccas blooming, but that’s no longer possible today because I have no spoons left. I’d have to push the walker up hill. Through sand. While trying to find a large enough distance between cacti that can accommodate the walker. All while trying to keep my camera from knocking against the walker. I’m missing spring.
I got down on the floor yesterday so I could photograph Brady on her level. I shot in RAW only because I had the camera set on RAW when I saw we had day-old baby quail and I wanted to be ready to photograph them. I set the camera to rapid burst. 92 photos, and some were even decent.
Spoons are a way of explaining energy or lack of energy. If energy is represented by 12 spoons, after all 12 spoons are used, there’s no energy left. No energy to walk around. No energy to cook. No energy to make art. No energy left for anything other than shuffling into the bedroom and taking a nap.
The sciatic problem is becoming less and less each day. With that comes the ability to walk more and more without my walker. That’s the problem. I feel better, so I walk without my walker longer than I should. That’s how I used up all my spoons this morning. The worst was me walking Brady and discovering I was out of spoons. I wasn’t near a door when the spoons were all used up. I leaned against the car, called to Jim to take Brady, then gingerly made my way into the house.
My feet hurt because they are swollen, they are swollen because I’m not active, I’m not active because I have no spoons left. This sucks.
I was hoping to get outside and photograph the yuccas blooming, but that’s no longer possible today because I have no spoons left. I’d have to push the walker up hill. Through sand. While trying to find a large enough distance between cacti that can accommodate the walker. All while trying to keep my camera from knocking against the walker. I’m missing spring.
I got down on the floor yesterday so I could photograph Brady on her level. I shot in RAW only because I had the camera set on RAW when I saw we had day-old baby quail and I wanted to be ready to photograph them. I set the camera to rapid burst. 92 photos, and some were even decent.
Spoons are a way of explaining energy or lack of energy. If energy is represented by 12 spoons, after all 12 spoons are used, there’s no energy left. No energy to walk around. No energy to cook. No energy to make art. No energy left for anything other than shuffling into the bedroom and taking a nap.
The sciatic problem is becoming less and less each day. With that comes the ability to walk more and more without my walker. That’s the problem. I feel better, so I walk without my walker longer than I should. That’s how I used up all my spoons this morning. The worst was me walking Brady and discovering I was out of spoons. I wasn’t near a door when the spoons were all used up. I leaned against the car, called to Jim to take Brady, then gingerly made my way into the house.
My feet hurt because they are swollen, they are swollen because I’m not active, I’m not active because I have no spoons left. This sucks.
I was hoping to get outside and photograph the yuccas blooming, but that’s no longer possible today because I have no spoons left. I’d have to push the walker up hill. Through sand. While trying to find a large enough distance between cacti that can accommodate the walker. All while trying to keep my camera from knocking against the walker. I’m missing spring.
I got down on the floor yesterday so I could photograph Brady on her level. I shot in RAW only because I had the camera set on RAW when I saw we had day-old baby quail and I wanted to be ready to photograph them. I set the camera to rapid burst. 92 photos, and some were even decent.
Jim is making dog treats from a recipe I found. Oat flour (or ground up oatmeal – which is what oat flour is), banana and peanut butter. They’re baking at the moment. Brady adores peanut butter.
I will not miss 2020. I’ve spent more than nine months staying home, not eating in restaurants, only getting my hair cut twice. I’m encouraged to get tested for covid to bring down the positivity rate. The positivity rate is how many positive results in relation to how many tests were performed. Once the positivity rate goes down, there will be fewer restrictions in my county. It’s artificial. The positivity rate means nothing. How many new cases there are each day is what matters. How many of the people in this county have covid. According to the stats, 1 in 13 people in my county have had covid since March. I refuse to participate in this silliness. Lowering the positivity rate won’t remove the refrigerator trucks parked outside the hospitals. Lowering the positivity rate won’t open up more ICU beds – and in my county there are only three open ICU beds. Lowering the positivity rate means nothing when there’s a more infectious mutation floating amok.
Jim’s 70th birthday was this past Tuesday. I had wanted to take him to Red Lobster for lunch. I’m allergic to seafood and there’s exactly one thing on the menu I can eat, but Jim loves seafood. We decided against that idea because the numbers of new cases of covid each day is scary. Next, we decided to take advantage of Happy Hour at IHOP. We discovered why there were almost no cars in the parking lot when we saw the sign on the door saying the dining room was closed. There is no indoor dining in any restaurant for the duration. Applebee’s has outdoor dining in a tent, but the tent has sides and it’s effectively an enclosed space. We gave up and went to Starbucks where I got a crème brulee latte, some stars, and a chance to play the current Starbucks game.
I’ve been having a neuropathy flare-up and when the marijuana, CBD oil, and gabapentin don’t kill the pain, the only reliable way to kill the pain is to make art. I’ve been making necklaces using quite a few of the latest shipment of glass beads. They are all in my store here: http://www.DebThumanArt.com
I’ve switched from shooting in RAW to shooting in JPEG. I wasn’t sure I could adequately edit photos using JPEG which has less information in each shot than RAW. I was surprised that I couldn’t see the difference in the jewelry shots. They’re all shot in JPEG and required minimal tweaking in editing. RAW files are huge and switching to JPEG frees up more computer space.
I’ve kind of figured out how I want to finish quilting the isolation quilt. I just need to put away all the beads and reclaim my sewing space.
One night, while wandering around in pain, I saw an orange moon. I don’t trust myself with a heavy, 150-600mm lens and a tripod after I’ve been eating marijuana. Pot makes me walk into walls. Using the 18-400mm lens, I went outside and got an almost decent shot.
Art is a fleeting look at a moment of the artist’s life.
I make emotional art. The kind of art no one wants to look at. The kind of art that shows the ugliness in my life. Maybe, if I’m very lucky, it’s the kind of art that will unlock past trauma and let me feel the feelings I’ve refused to feel for so long.
I’m not responsible for the trauma. I am responsible for allowing or not allowing myself to feel things I couldn’t feel during the trauma because releasing those feelings at the time of trauma wasn’t safe.
I’m in the process of recovering from my last blog post. I put in that post things I’ve never told anyone. Things I was ashamed of. Things that, at the time of the trauma, seemed not exactly normal but also not unusual or special. Didn’t everyone hate their siblings as we were taught to hate each other? Didn’t everyone have parents who hated and beat them? Didn’t everyone stagger through hell while denying they were in hell?
I couldn’t feel anything growing up because it wasn’t safe to feel anything. At one point, I convinced myself that I didn’t have emotions. Prozac without the prescription. Now, it’s safe to feel what I couldn’t feel before. Except now I can’t feel those feelings. I can’t access them. I don’t know where to find them. I don’t know how to let the feelings out. Maybe that’s why I can’t find the feelings. Those feelings are buried under raw terror.
What would happen if I allowed the pain from neglect, emotional abuse and physical abuse to release? Would I explode? Would the feelings be horrifying? Would the feelings hurt? That’s the one that terrifies me. The feelings would hurt. I’d have to relive a hell I’ve buried.
More than anything, I want to heal. I want to be normal. I want to be able to make friends. I want to attend services at my temple without wanting to be by myself curled up in a corner.
I don’t’ know how. I don’t’ know how to be normal. I don’t know what to do with people. I don’t know how to be part of a group. I go through life believing I’m all I’ve got, all I’ve ever had, and all I ever will have. What does it feel like to be normal? What does it feel like to be happy? What does it feel like to feel? To be fully alive?
Lose a tooth and find myself.
I don’t recommend it.
I’ve sketched a couple designs that may become quilts. I’m not sure. I’ve tried drawing my trauma, but it has never seemed to be accurate. I think I’m coming closer to drawing what’s hidden inside of me. It’s emotional art. I’m not sure I want to look at it.
I am having a neuropathy flare up. Bleah. The pain goes away when I make art. The pain comes back as soon as I stop making art.
I’ve been making face masks using up leftover fabric. I make many yards of binding at a time. Each mask takes two ties 34” long. Making binding isn’t my most favorite thing to do, so making miles of binding at one time means I only have to burn my fingers once every couple days.
I’ve been designing fabric which can’t be sold in my Spoonflower shop, https://www.spoonflower.com/profiles/deb_thuman until I have proofs of the designs. What to do with 90 proofs? Make reversible face masks. One down and 14 more to go. As I finish them and photograph them, I’ll be putting them in my store, Deb Thuman Art. This one is in my store now.
Reversible Face Mask
I’m still photographing spring in the desert.
YuccaSeed Pods. Prickly Pear
I’ve been working on the suicide quilt. I’ve gotten the appliqués sewn on. Now, I have to figure out how I want to quilt it. This piece is larger than my usual quilts. Most of the time, I am making art quilts the size of a fat quarter.
It’s International Woman’s Day. We’ve come a long way since Catherine Greene had to have Eli Whitney put his name on the patent for the cotton gin she invented. A long way since Watson & Crick ripped off Linus Pauling’s research, and took credit and the Nobel prize for Rosalynd Franklin’s work with x-ray crystallography which showed DNA is a double helix. A long way since I was told, time after time after time, “We hired a woman once. She didn’t work out so we don’t hire women anymore.” A long way since I had to terrorize the banker who demanded I use Jim’s last name to apply for a credit card. I told him my next stop was the NY State Department of Human Rights to file a formal complaint. He decided to let me have a credit card in my name. A long way since I had to file a formal complaint against an employer because I was paid less than the man who had the same job. Mine was the first law school class at SUNY Buffalo that was 50% women. It only took 101 years to reach that mark. Someday, we’ll have equality.
I made two more pairs of yoga pants. I can buy 10 yard of cotton lycra from Dharma Trading for $10 more than a pair of ready-to-wear yoga pants. I can make 5 pair of yoga pants from 10 yard of fabric. I dyed one pair yellow and the other an intense purple. I failed to mix the purple dye sufficiently and my pants have red spots. It’s a design element. Design: what happens when the dye batch turns out different from what’s expected.
Here in southern New Mexico, it normally rains during July-September. The rest of the year is sunny and dry. We’ve been having rain lately. Today, it’s cold, damp, raining, and we have fog. Perfect photography weather. I had read all the geology homework my brain could hold. Perfect time for photography.
There’s a mountain behind those raindrops. Look carefully and you’ll see a foggy outline.
I played a bit with composition in this shot. I haven’t decided if I like it.
A more successful shot from earlier in the week.
I’m having another peripheral neuropathy flare-up. I spent nearly three hours last night making necklaces before the pain went away. When we have a sunny day again, I’ll learn how to do focus stacking so I can get all of the necklace in focus. With the Canon 90D, I can do focus stacking in the camera.
I’m having fun playing around with my photos and coming up with fabric designs.
I made croissants today. The recipe I have makes about 12 croissants which is way too many for two people. The last time I made croissants, I cut the dough in half after the final turn and froze one half. I thawed and baked that half today. Turns out, croissant dough freezes quite well.
I’ve said for years that medical marijuana is nonsense. So many of my drug addicted clients paid a quack $100-$200, said s/he had an owie, and got a medical marijuana card. Locally, there’s a place where, for $125, you can be diagnosed – in 10 minutes – with PTSD and get a medical marijuana card. All you have to do is memorize a few of the symptoms listed in the DSM-V.
Having a medical marijuana card still leaves a basket full of legal problems. Marijuana is a Schedule I drug meaning it has a high probability for abuse and little or no medical benefit. Before you tell me marijuana is wonderful, safe, shouldn’t be illegal, is never addicting and you smoke it every night so you can get to sleep, walk in my legal briefs for a day. One client, who wasn’t supposed to be able to get pregnant, gave birth 13 weeks early. Her baby had severe medical problems due to being so premature. The baby was also born addicted to crack. The child protective worker told me to talk my client into signing a do not resuscitate order for the baby who was in and would never leave the NICU. In a moment of amazing self control, I refrained from asking the child protective worker why I shouldn’t throw the child protective worker out the window. We were only on the fourth floor. Maybe she would have lived. The only thing I could do for my client was to delay the proceedings long enough that the baby died so there was no point in continuing the child abuse case. Another client, a child, had problems that would never be solved. Her parents used prior to, and still used at the time of the hearing, cocaine. The damage done to the child while in utero cannot be undone. At least not with the medical capabilities we now have.
Although the DEA isn’t going after users of medical marijuana today, that can change. Having a medical marijuana card doesn’t protect you from being fired for illegal drug use. There’s federal case law on that. The rational is that marijuana is illegal under federal law therefore employers can legally fire an employee who tests positive for THC.
There is no full faith and credit for a medical marijuana card. Full faith and credit means every state recognizes the court order or legality of something. If you get married in one state, every other state will acknowledge your marriage. If you have a child custody order, the terms of that order are enforceable in every state. Your medical marijuana card is only valid in the state in which it was issued. You can’t take your medical marijuana across state lines and expect your card and stash to be recognized. If you get caught, you will face drug charges.
I’m about to do something I don’t believe in. I’m desperate. Peripheral neuropathy is painful. When I have a flare up, nothing stops the pain. Not gabapentin. Not a TENS unit. Not synthetic opioids. Not CBD oil. Not acupuncture. I take my gabapentin, make a CBD oil capsule and swallow it, and wear my TENS unit to bed. I wake up in pain 2-3 hours later. Then I wander around the house for another hour waiting for the pain to subside before going back to bed and getting a couple hours’ sleep before the alarm rings. I cannot live like this.
I have an appointment with my doctor in a week and a half. I have copies of three nerve conduction studies done by three doctors over a period of five years showing I have nerve damage and the damage is getting progressively worse. New Mexico will give a medical marijuana card for a number of reasons, including peripheral neuropathy if I can show proof of the nerve damage and have a doctor sign off on the special form to obtain a medical marijuana card. I will ask my doctor to sign the form. If she is reluctant to do that, I will go to the local quack, hand over $100 and copies of the nerve conduction studies. The quack will sign the form. The form and copies of the nerve conduction series get mailed to Santa Fe and in a month, I will get a card allowing me to buy marijuana from licensed dispensaries. I will buy gummy bears. The next time I get a flare up, I’ll chew on a gummy bear, listen to Grateful Dead music, and hope I’m wrong about medical marijuana being nonsense.
The only reliable pain killer for peripheral neuropathy, at least for me, is to make art. I’ve been working on my iPad using my iPencil. I played around and started working on an abstract self portrait. If I get the drawing worked out, I may turn it into a quilt.
I’ve also been making jewelry, ordering beads, and making more jewelry.
Thank God for rechargeable batteries or it would have been an expensive weekend. My macro lens arrived on Thursday and I started working with it on Friday. I needed a macro lens to get clear close up shots of the jewelry I make. This lens is my first prime lens – meaning it only shoots at one focal length, 90mm.
I spent Friday taking close up shots of my jewelry. I spent Saturday taking better close up shots and taking shots of the full piece of jewelry.
I spent Sunday taking better full shots of each piece of jewelry. Then, I edited the photos, wrote copy, and put each piece into my online store.
I finally finished the quilted tote bags and got some decent shots. Those also went into my online store.
I’m having a neuropathy flare up. Meds aren’t helping. CBD oil isn’t helping. Art is the only thing that reliably kills the pain. And so I made more necklaces.
I did a bit of experimenting when I was shooting the necklaces. I took the photos a couple hours before sundown. One set was shot in the sun, the other set shot in the shade. The photos shot in the sun suck. Horrible orange cast. Horrible shadows even though I used a flash. The second set of photos I shot in the shade. Still not quite what I want, but a whole lot better than the first batch of shots.
Shot in the sun.
I finally finished the quilted laptop totes and took photos. I’m not wild about the photos. The original version of these quilted totes was designed so I could carry my 15-inch laptop, charging cable, and computer glasses to and from Starbucks. The totes are practical for a whole lot more than just transporting a laptop. As soon as I get decent photos, these will go in my store.
Last weekend, I made Madelines. They are a French cookie. I wanted to follow the recipe exactly, and I browned the butter. I’ve never done that before. Did you know that when butter is sufficiently browned, the butter foams, climbs out of the pot and explores the top of the stove? This is why I have a gas stove with enclosed burners.
Next, the recipe said to chill the batter at least 20 minutes, then pipe the batter into the wells of a Madeline pan. Except the batter was too cold and there was no way I could pipe it. So I spooned the batter into the wells. I had used goop on the wells, but I didn’t use enough and the cookies stuck to the pan. Jim did something magic and got the Madelines out of the pan. I used more goop, and the batter was sufficiently warm to pipe. These came out of the pan easily. More goop, and more piping except I didn’t have enough batter to fill every well. Baked on goop is nasty. Getting it off the pan sucks.
The Madelines tasted good. The next morning, I had some Madelines for breakfast. I felt something hard and swallowed before I realized what the hard thing was. It was a gold crown. Knowing it would be cheaper to have the crown reattached than to have a new crown, I spent the next week pooping into a strainer. Jim did the search and rescue part. The plan was to retrieve the crown, wash it off, then use my Instant Pot as an autoclave. No crown. Finally, I gave up and called the dentist.
My birthday was on Thursday and we wanted to celebrate. Except I had a naked tooth that was starting to bother me. I could only chew on one side. We went to Denny’s because you get a free slam on your birthday. My mother tried to force feed me a fried egg when I was little. She told me I wasn’t getting anything else until I ate the egg. After a couple meals and me not eating the egg, she gave up. I don’t care for eggs. Slams come with eggs. I ordered the slam. Jim ordered French toast. When our food arrived, we swapped plates. I had something I could eat. I had to show my driver’s license to prove it was my birthday so we could get the slam for free. Starbucks is next door to the Denny’s, and I have the Starbucks app. If you have the app, you get a free treat on your birthday. I got my Frappuccino for free, and Jim got his two Frappuccinos for half price because it was happy hour day. Dinner and desert for two for a total of about $11. Do we know how to party or what?
The next morning, I went to the dentist. He said he needed to do additional prep on the tooth, and I got to enjoy two things I hate. I detest getting Novocain and I got two shots. At the end of the drilling, they took an impression of the tooth. I detest having impressions taken even more than I detest getting Novocain. The inside of my mouth is small and the trays never quite fit. They are always a little too big.
Now that I had a temporary crown and I could chew on both sides of my mouth, we could eat at a restaurant and I could order real food. Except I couldn’t. While my mouth and tongue were numb, I bit my tongue. My tongue hurt, and I needed to take an NSAID to make the pain and swelling of the gum around my tooth stop. We went to Starbucks and I discovered that Frappuccino is a great way to apply ice to a tooth.
The next day, with a not sore mouth and a tongue that was almost normal, we went to Olive Garden for lunch. Olive Garden will give you a free dessert if you tell them you are celebrating your birthday. I ordered the Brownie Lasagna. Thin slices of brownie with cream cheese frosting between the layers and on top. Chocolate shavings on top and a raspberry drizzle. Starbucks again. I needed to order one more item to get the extra stars. The problem with the Starbucks app is it’s so easy to order far more often than I would order without the app. But I get a free Frappuccino with 150 points. I save up the points; and when we travel, we have free Starbucks drinks.
My classes started on my birthday. I’m taking cell biology and immunology this semester. My immunology teacher said we may have talked to our grandparents or great-grandparents about life before vaccines in the 1950’s. Hey! I’m 67. I was born the year of the last polio epidemic in the US. I got all of the childhood diseases because there were no vaccines for them. I am not old enough to be a grandparent. My brain is 35. The rest of me isn’t.
One of my teachers was astonished to learn I’m not working towards a degree. She asked if I were taking the class for fun. Yep. We get 6 credits free each semester because Jim works for the university. I’ve got two undergrad degrees, a law degree, and no desire to have another piece of paper. One article I came across while researching PTSD was the fact that learning something new would repair the damage done to the hippocampus. It must be working because I’m finally past the worst of PTSD. No more nightmares. No more memories that take over my brain. Now, I only have uninvited memories that have no power to hurt me. They annoy me, but they don’t’ hurt me.
I take class notes on my iPad. I’ve got an iPencil so I can make drawings in my notes. The iPencil comes with a little adapter for charging and a spare point. Both are little and easy to use. I decided a zippered pouch would be good to have and would keep the tiny parts safe. I’ve got lots and lots and lots of fat quarters and I picked out two that I thought would look nice together. I worked out the pattern. What I wanted was the contrasting fabric on the back of the pouch to continue over the top of the pouch and an inch or so down the front. Except I didn’t make the pattern right.
Version I, frontVersion 1, back
I still have lots and lots and lots of fat quarters, so I picked out two fabrics, tweaked the pattern and got the zippered pouch I wanted in the first place. I’m not sure what I will do with the second zippered pouch.
Version 2, front
Version 2, back.
Today, I’m making my birthday cake – red velvet cupcakes with cream cheese frosting. I’m going to be learning how to use Wilton’s Icing Gel and to work on my piping skills. I’ve always used the grocery store food coloring that comes in little bottles. I chose the red color that has no taste. This baking stuff is fun and helps keep down the anxiety. As long as the butter stays in the pan, the batter can be piped, and my crown stays attached to my tooth.
My friends have been telling me I need to slow down and that I keep trying to do too much. I should have paid attention. Now, whether I like it or not, I have to slow down.
Jim has two tears in his rotator cuff and needs surgery. One tear is “medium” and the other “major.” We’re waiting for workers comp to approve the surgery. Once Jim has surgery, he won’t be able to move his arm for 6 weeks.
Meanwhile, I’ve been working on little ceramic trays because they are a huge seller for me. I’ve got a fully-manual, gas fired, top loading kiln. I’m short. The kiln is deep. Jim has always loaded and unloaded the kiln for me. There’s concern that I won’t be able to load the kiln by myself. Jim won’t be able to load the kiln at all. I’ve got two dozen little trays made. They need to be bisque fired, glazed and glaze fired.
I was looking forward to setting up at the weekly farmers market in November and December. The Saturday after Thanksgiving is a remarkably profitable day for me. Jim helps me with the market. I could probably get the EZ-Up set up by myself – provided I did enough swearing. What I cannot do is drive the truck. The truck is a standard and because of the peripheral neuropathy, I can no longer feel the clutch. It’s too dangerous for me to drive the truck. The EZ-Up won’t fit in the car. Worse, we needed both vehicles to get everything – EZ-Up, tables, jewelry, ceramics, fiber art – to the market. Setting up at the farmers market this year won’t happen.
Jim won’t be able to drive the Mini, also a standard or the truck because he won’t be able to move his right arm. So much for shifting. My car is an automatic. We’re going to be a one-car couple with wildly different schedules. We have gym memberships, but we don’t go to the same gym. I picked the gym that’s right on the way from school to the post office where I get all my mail. Very convenient. It’s not convenient for Jim which is why he has his membership at a different gym. Jim works at the local university and I get to take up to six credits for free each semester. At least we’ll be going to the same place. I’ve got classes two days a week. Although I’d love to have an 8:00 class, just about no one teaches an 8:00 class. Jim has to be at work at 7:30. My classes are both in the building next to the library so I’ll have something to do for three and a half hours before class. I’ll need to find something to do for two hours after classes and we can go home together. I have a feeling I’m going to be doing a lot of hand quilting this semester. There’s only so much studying I can do before my eyes fall out of my head.
I have my online store, Deb Thuman Art. I was considering making laptop totes to sell. Fiber art is easy and relatively inexpensive to ship. I never have to worry about fiber art getting broken. I don’t sell ceramic pieces online because of the chance of breakage and the cost of shipping. I now need to spend quality time making laptop totes. My sewing machine was in the shop for its 60,000 mile checkup and I brought it back home Thursday. I need to pick out fabrics from my 3 miles of fabric collection then start piecing a laptop tote.
I physically cannot do the things I want to do so I will have to learn to slow down. This slowing down is going to take some getting used to.
Wednesday evening, there was weird light outside so I grabbed the camera.
Jim started baking. And baking. And baking. He found a sale on the Nordicware site and bought four fancy cake pans. Two will make loaves with fancy tops. One will make mini cakeletts. One will make regular cakelettes. I tried to convince Jim that we need the Kitchen Aid Pro 600 mixer with metal gears and a BIG bowl. Two bakers need two mixers. He didn’t accept that argument. Sigh. Someday.
Today, I went to the gym for the first time in months. I only worked on my upper body because I’m not sure I should be using weights to work on my lower body yet. I want to have a couple more pain-free weeks before I ease into using weights on my lower body. My theory is if I am stronger I won’t be as prone to back and sciatic misery. If I’m wrong, at least I won’t have flappy arms. I’ve also been doing yoga designed to restore back strength and that seems to be working well.
I’ve been seeing curtains of light in my right eye. That can be an indication of a torn or partially detached retina. Twice the retina in my right eye has been glued back down and I’ve been told that if my retina tears or detaches again, I will have to have repair work done in the hospital. I looked up the surgery. A sharp instrument is inserted in the eyeball….. and I need about a quart of valium to hold still for that. After seeing my eye doctor and a specialist, I learned my retina is fine and no one needs to poke me in the eye with a sharp instrument. The curtains of light could be an ocular migraine. Jim has those. They are a nuisance, but they don’t hurt. And so I’ll ignore the curtains.
I did a bit of work on the novel. I need to get the novel finished, and it’s taking a whole lot longer than I thought. I switched from first person to having a narrator. That solves the problem of how my female character knows things.
I have not worked on the quilted pillow tops this week and I’m having small guilt attacks. Next week. I’ll work on them next week.
I read an article in the New York Times about research that’s being done using virtual reality as a means of pain management. The theory is the brain is bombarded by so much stimuli the pain doesn’t register. So I bought a virtual reality headset. It works. I like how realistic and three dimensional the programs are. I started with the aquarium program and watched dolphins, sea turtles, clown fish, and sharks swim by. I detest rollercoasters in real life, but I decided to try a virtual rollercoaster anyway. It’s not a good idea to ride a virtual rollercoaster for a half hour. Actually, it’s a really bad idea. My stomach didn’t like being on a virtual rollercoaster.
I hate Mothers’ Day.
I grew up in a family run by a violent narcissist and a violent drunk. My mother not only hated and resented me, she made sure I knew she hated and resented me. Don’t ask me to honor someone like that.
I have a uterus. I don’t have children. Don’t assume I am a mother.
Tomorrow, I will stay home. I will avoid clerks and wait staff who insist on wishing me a happy mothers’ day.
Too bad there aren’t greeting cards acknowledging women who don’t have children, or worse, lost a child, women who grew up in abusive environments and women who have lost their mothers.
If you have ever wondered just how accessible the world is, try getting into and out of a restroom without using your hands. Putting a blue sign outside a restroom does not make the restroom accessible. There is only ONE restroom I can use on the entire New Mexico State University campus. It’s on the first floor of Foster Hall. The handicap entrance to Foster Hall is on the second floor. I have to be careful how much water I drink and when I drink it. It can be a long walk to the only restroom that has a door opener.
Sidewalks are death traps. Expansion joins that have moved will stop the walker’s wheels. Then I try not to go flying over the top of the walker. Elevators are death traps. There’s a gap between the elevator and the building. That gap also stops wheels. Area rugs are death traps. Try wheeling over the edge. The rug lifts up and refuses to lie flat. Throw rugs are death traps. They are worse than area rugs. Construction zones are death traps. A main road on campus is torn up. There’s an 8” drop to the exposed dirt that used to be under the pavement. I’m not supposed to try to use the walker on stairs. Getting across that road was a near death experience.
For some reason, the handicapped entrances for buildings on campus are the farthest from the sidewalk. Go to the college book store? Nope. The parking lot is on one side of the building and the handicap entrance is on the other side. The curb cutout for the sidewalk that will take me around the building is on the far end. I’d have to wheel myself across the parking lot, walk along the entrance to the bookstore, walk down the side of the bookstore, turn the corner, and there’s the handy handicap entrance.
I got a cup holder for my walker. That allows me to bring tea from the kitchen to the office. I have to put the tea in a travel mug, but at least I can have tea. I thought the cup holder would allow me to go to Starbucks by myself. I could order my drink, put it in my cup holder, and wheel myself to the table. That works if the Starbucks isn’t crowded. Not that Starbucks has a door opener. I’d have to wait for someone to come along and open the door for me. The never crowded Starbucks is on a road that has been ripped up for the last year. It’s quite the driving experience. That’s why that Starbucks is never crowded. I tried going to Starbucks without my walker. My leg feels better and I can walk short distances without the walker. I discovered that I can’t stand long enough to get my drink. I was in pain by the time I could hobble to the table. I had an hour in which I could drink my mocha and hope my leg recovered enough to get out of Starbucks. Fortunately, I could get back to my car.
I wanted to go to Sprouts, a wonderful grocery store here. It’s got the best produce, a large organic produce section, and a large selection of fruit. Except I can’t push my walker and a cart at the same time. Yes, they have the little motorized things for people who have difficulty walking. I need the walker to get from the car to the store entrance. So what do I do with the walker if I use the motorized thing?
Taking the shuttle bus from the free parking lot to near where I have a class is…..interesting. The newer busses have a ramp that unfurls and makes it easy to roll onto the bus. The older busses have lifts. The bus this morning had a broken lift. My choices were: try to get up steep stairs (not in this lifetime) or wait for the next bus. I waited. Frequently, I have to tell the driver to unfurl the ramp. No, I can’t jump from the sidewalk to the bus while pushing a walker.
I had a botany lab this morning. The lab isn’t designed for a walker. I managed to get around without the walker catching on a cord and knocking a microscope off the table. Getting prepared slides was easy. Prepared slides have the specimen and the cover slip permanently glued to the slide. I got the slide, put it in my pocket, and wheeled my way back to my table. A slide I prepare by cutting a thin piece of fruit, putting it on a slide, adding a drop of water and putting a cover slip over the wet fruit required imagination to move from the counter to my table. Which is across the room. The ability to hold onto a slide and the walker simultaneously is a useful skill. I managed. I’m pretty proud of that accomplishment.
This week, my leg is significantly less painful. I can take a shower standing up. I can get from the living room to the bathroom without using the walker. No, I can’t ditch the walker. I’ve tried. And regretted it each time when the pain returns.
Three weeks down, three to go. I will be bitching a whole lot for the next three weeks.
My psych meds have been tweaked so I can avoid serious depressive episodes. Last week, I had brain fog. This week, the fog is gone but I’m having a hard time remembering how to do things.
I finished another scarf. And I can’t stand long enough to block it and photograph it. And so it won’t go in my store for a while.
Having exhausted my supply of Shawl In A Cake yarns, I got out my hand dyed yarns. I did the hand dyeing. I knit a length of what looks like a scarf. Then I dye the length of what looks like a scarf. This requires measuring water, salt, dye and fixative and taking the bucket out to the back yard. Put the length of what looks like a scarf into the bucket and wait. Eventually, fetch the length of what looks like a scarf, rinse it, wash it, and let it dry. Then, I unravel the length of what looks like a scarf and wind it into a ball.
I worked out a lace pattern and I’m now knitting a for real scarf with one of my hand dyed yarns. Yes, this scarf will be priced accordingly.
Deb's Art 