This morning I cooked of some veg sausage for Ming that had been sitting in the freezer for a while. I was the main eater of soy sausage at our house, but I stopped eating soy in late summer. So it was nice to cook the last three little patties, for him.
I made Ming a sarnie on a wheat roll from the Ethiopian place. They serve wheat rolls with the ful. I put pesto on it too–I made pesto this morning with some fresh basil from J’s garden.
I put pesto on some noodles that are purple-black because they’re made with purple rice flour. The resulting food doesn’t look delicious but tasted great.
I live in chronic pain now. I’m willing to admit that. My muscles are weird.
Standing at the sink, picking basil leaves off basil stems, gets painful pretty quick. I want to take breaks, take it slow, and be kind to myself. But it’s easy to get impatient.
I know kitchen chairs exist, and there are many ways to manage pain. It can take a while for me to admit what’s happening, admit it’s chronic, seek ways to mitigate it. For a person with no job and no kids and no other dependents, I can go around really maxed out. I try to keep my stress low, but I really believe certain ideals, so I get swept up in meaningful projects.
Yesterday some amaranth came in the mail. I cooked some up this morning for myself and broke some pecans for a topping and poured some milk.
It was tasty. The first bite seemed bland and not sweet enough. Subsequent bites were way better. I remembered the amaranth experience. It has a lot of protein. It feels like a sacred food.
Today my mama would have been 64. I feel sick to celebrate her birthday without her as a living person, for the first time. How could I do that? I guess the show must go on.
Last night I txted a friend that I didn’t think I could make it through to the other side of my feelings. I didn’t feel strong enough to feel. Honestly I wished to be knocked out till December 2nd. But this morning I feel a little stronger. Bedtime can be the hardest time.
Another friend asked me yesterday if I ever write to my mom. I said no, I don’t really. My blog used to be mostly for my mom. Sometimes I lapse into addressing her, for a sentence or two only. I pray to her every once in a while. When I can’t help it.
Mama was always telling me to breathe, so I will spend today breathing. Happy birthday to Mama.