Zombie Prince

Rum, orange juice, grapefruit juice - blah. That's a recipe for gastritis if anything is. Jule tried a sip and was not impressed - hence the frowning "o" in "zombie.

I have a bottle of pomegranate juice in the fridge, which I purchased thinking surely at least one cocktail in my book must require it, but no. So I'm drinking a lot of pomegranate juice with soda water, which is refreshing, but does not contribute in any way to this project. I've just recently realized that fruit juices really shouldn't be kept opened in the fridge for more than a few days - they go bad. Grenadine, also. There was a murky white tornado in my grenadine when I swirled it, and it stank; very disappointing, as it's expensive and only comes in huge bottles, for some reason. I hate wasting food. Nothing much gives me more satisfaction than using up the last of some unusual ingredient, or the last of the vegetables in the crisper, not having to throw anything out.

Nothing worse than freezer burn.

That's from Saturday Night Live. Nothing worse? Cancer? Nope - freezer burn's worse. Etc.

I found out my TSH and CBC are normal, as of last week, so that's a pretty good indication that I'm not losing weight due to illness, which means I must be losing weight due to my lifestyle, diet and exercise! I eat continuously, and for exercise, I walk and do a few sit-ups and push-ups now and then, so that's pretty good! Or it's stress. Or the celexa. Or maybe gastritis, PUD? Hopefully not.

Bored and busy and tired and restless all at the same time. It's been a good weekend, though. I jumped on the trampoline with Caleb and Jule, with the sprinkler underneath drenching us, and took them garage sale-cruising, and grocery-shopping, and packed for Hamilton next weekend, and hoed the garden, and ate and drank with friends at the Old A, and watched "New Moon" (for Caleb), and "The Hurt Locker". "War is a drug". Sort of makes me want to give my life to the army. No, not really; I'm a pacifist. To something so pure and dirty, though, so focused - walking The Pilgrim's Way, for example - that would do it, I think. Flagging on construction - the hot, dusty monotony.

I dreamed that I was living with an old man in England, I was scheduled to be there three months, and spent my time sleeping, dusting cobwebs from the corners, cooking over a wood fire. I realized I could take a few weeks to walk the stony hills with my sleeping bag on my back, and decided to do it, and could hardly believe my luck.

Sweet Pearl Onions

Icelandic poppies at the Bellagio. I had a sweet meal of crepes and salad out of a styrofoam container, rushing past this garden on my way back to the ER course at Planet Hollywood, a month ago in Vegas.

A month ago?? How can time move like that?

I have been working and trying to sleep, not drinking much alcohol because my stomach's so often upset. A few days ago I gulped down a Gibson Martini before Jule's hockey wind-up at the Legion; it fit perfectly into the day, gin and vermouth and pearl onions, sweet pearl onions on a skewer, yum. The whole day was perfect; it was my day off, and I had nobody in hospital to round on; I got up at nine, had a bath, drank coffee, tidied the kitchen counter which had been packed with random papers for way too long, ate a healthy lunch, organized the tax stuff with Pat without a major argument, bought used books at Wildwood Country, attended an appointment with Dr. Hwang who ordered the bloodwork that I requested, walked across the river and past Centennial Park and over the river again with my family, drank a Gibson Martini, had spaghetti and wine at the Legion, talked animatedly with Doug, drove Caleb to karate and smoked a cigar, the sky heavy with clouds, watched Jule receive his first hockey trophy, spent an hour at the Friends of the Library book sale and bought four bags of terrific used books, read a short story by Evelyn Lau, ran twice around the block, ate a night snack with the kids, and went to bed, slept soundly. The ideal mix of family and alone time, rest and work and exercise; and the weather was good, too.

My stomach did not hurt that day.

Kumquat May

I have not made a Kumquat May and probably never will. I did not even look for a market in the San Diego area that might possibly carry kumquats this time of year. It was so hectic; it always is, traveling with kids. I attended my resuscitation course in Las Vegas, we went to Legoland, where they've built a miniature Las Vegas out of Lego, and to Seaworld, where Patrick was thrilled to see Shamu in action, and Caleb had a blast on the water rides. We drove around San Diego in the rain one day wondering what to do, and ended up at an air and space museum, followed by Borders, where I bought three Agatha Christie mysteries that I may or may not have previously read - I did not even think of shopping for kumquats. I was kind of out of it the whole trip, dissatisfied despite the fine weather, the successful surf lesson, the comfortable king bed at the Desert Rose Resort, the cozy ancient cabin at Redwood Hollow a block from the ocean. Now that I'm back at work, on call for 48 hours straight, I feel better. What's with that?

It could be existential despair, and I've been reading my horoscope and praying intensely trying to discover what to do, what to change. It could just be PMS, though, which is over now, and the fact that I had strep throat again, third time since January, the last two days of our trip. I was feverish and dysphagic in Winnipeg, so managed only to keep my hair appointment with the lovely David at The Vault, and did not look for passion fruit at an Asian grocery store as I'd planned to, either.

No kumquats, no passion fruit.

What I discovered so far, praying and so on, is that I am to make peace with my relatives, and also I figured out what my ideal lifestyle would be: work three days per week, no call, lots of time to read and write and walk and swim and garden and cook, with four weeks per year of walking (ie. The Pilgrim's Way in Spain, Coast-to-Coast trail across England, The Appalachian Way, etc.), four weeks per year of writing (hidden away in a cabin or camper near water so I can take breaks to swim or surf or kayak), plus a week or two at the lake in the summer and a week or two of CME. So that means ten weeks off per year, and a practice with no call, which means less income than I have now. It also means eight weeks per year away from home essentially without kids, because what I'm talking about is walking all day, or writing all day, focused activity, marathons of meditation, which I think is what I'm missing in this life of work-home commotion and family vacations... so really what I'm saying, I suppose, is that this is what I should be working towards for the future, like ten years from now, when Jule is 16 and I am 46.

So what for now?

Marathons of call instead, and a blog, I guess.