Paczki Paczki Paczki

While I've gotten healthier, from avoiding bladder surgery, among other things, after knocking out gluten, I was a little sad last Shrove Tuesday, aka Mardi Gras aka "Eat Drink and Be Merry For Tomorrow We Die to Self Day"- when I was offered paczki, and couldn't accept. Then I began a search- what to use to substitute for the basic all-purpose flours... guava and fava bean flours are sweet- sometimes a bit TOO sweet for some recipes, (although great for cookies and breads)- and of course, knowing I had a lot to learn. I missed out on paczki--- look at these...they're so lovely and so beautifully sinful! Stores begin selling these in a basic box a few days before Ash Wednesday... as part of the traditional "One last day for sweets, start cleaning out the larders, forty days of 'death to self' coming!" regimen. (To be honest, the day before the ash and sack-cloth of Lent, that Tuesday is pig out day now.)

For those unfamiliar, it's basically, ja, a jelly doughnut.
It is spelled "paczki", and I used to pronounce it accordingly, stemming from a habit of literally pronouncing what I read- other words included "Tao" and "segue". Pac-ski, or close enough. It's actually "poo-n-ch"-think punch with an "ooh" sound instead of an "uh"- "key". It is, beautifully fatty, sweet, and fried. It is a dieter's worst nighmare or sweetest wet-dream.
If you see them in stores, they'll probably be in a box like this, from places with large Polish populations like Chicago or Detroit (We also are a big part of Buffalo--- call out the last name "Kozlowski" in certain areas, and expect a lot of "Yeah, what"s!- it's our version of "Smith"!)
Oh, and uh-sage advice: STAY FAR AWAY FROM THE PRUNES. Unless you REALLY need them.
Na zadrovie!
Have a safe, fun, and food-filled Mardis Gras!
And my thanks to Gluten-Free Adelaide... I may not have to go without much longer!
Gluten-Free Paczki Recipe

Dear Mom, Take My Advice

Dear Mom,
We are not living in the Middle Ages. It is a new world out there--- O wonder!

How many goodly creatures are there here! How beauteous mankind is! O brave new world! That has such people in it!- The Tempest, William Shakespeare

Mom, don't let the wear and tear of taking care of another sick person- first, Dad, and me, and all the people you do home health care for, and Wayne, with his Parkisons, racism and increasing dementia steal your joy and take away those things you're interested in. You- take care of you. YES, YOU. Last year, you had my kidneys, my issues from my illnesses and the anxiety from D and his family- and Wayne, and Grandma, first her apparent return to health after her first round of chemo, then her increasing dementia, and then her bout with terminal lymph node cancer. I am here- I worry about you- because you hurt yourself, and there is nothing, at times, that I can do. Take time- read, write the cards you send that are so rare in this world and so lovely to see, give yourself time to mourn, let Wayne's nurses do their job. Oh, nurse... oh, doctor... oh physician, HEAL THYSELF! Don't tell me that I can apply this to myself--- JUST TAKE THE ADVICE YOU' VE GIVEN!
Do not let those who say your prayers go unanswered because you "live in sin" hurt you. Mom, I'll tell you this... I'd rather see a million good relationships, legally and church-sanctioned or otherwise, where there is love, faith, hope, honor, and mutual respect, then one more marriage of convenience, where people hate each other, but yet, consider it a holy union. Marriages of convenience, of desperation, are not convenient in the slightest. As a divorcee, I am the last person who can give, particularly a widow, marriage-or-relationship advice, but I can tell you this: I know what NOT to do.
Dearest Mom
To thine own self be true.
The world can spin without you for a while. Cry where you need to. I'm a shoulder if needed. Laugh.
Dear Mom, I love You. Goodnight, to the old lady, whispering "Shhh..."

It's The Cat's Scat

Coffee from a cat's behind is not such a new idea. Let me explain this:
In some parts of the world, the people are, to be polite, bat-shit insane. (No scat puns intended.) These wild cats eat coffee berries, like the caffeinated goats of the nascent period of coffee. Unlike the goat-herds, who simply realized "Hey, that shit wakes you up! Good!" and ate and later drank the coffee themselves, without a trip through the entrails of a goat, these loony-birds collect and clean caffeinated cat-shit. (Think about this...in some foreign factory, some poor fucker is cleaning cat-shit for whole beans). Then, with a high mark-up, they sell the shitty coffee, and dumbasses frolic and pay through the ass for what is essentially, cat feces in a cup. With that rich, mountain-grown coffee flavor. Juan Valdez, be not proud. I am ashamed at times to be a coffee drinker. Cats are nice. Sure, I prefer dogs, but I like cats. But for the love of all that's holy, I am not about to feed a little cat coffee beans, and then comb through drek for undigested coffee beans. I'd like to say, ignore this, it'll go away... but sadly, there are suckers who will shell out for novelty, and because, hell that shit's gotta have quality. Here's a link. If you drink it, you will not be kissing me anytime soon. Serve it to me, and I will throw up on you. Then I'll have a cat shit on you for good measure.
(Scary- I only had to type C-A-T-P and I had 500 results pop up. Shudder. Damn you, google!)
Paying Out the Ass For What Went Through A Cat's Ass

"Say whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat?"

$400 freaking bucks a damn pound! You've got to shitting me! (Pun FULLY intended.)

Maybe the Horse Will Sing

A man commits a crime, and the king sentences him to death. The king asks him "Is there any reason I shouldn't chop your head off right now?" The man says, "Oh, King. Live forever! I am the greatest teacher in your kingdom. And it would be a waste to kill a good teacher. I could teach your favorite horse to sing in a year!" The king is greatly amused. "To the stables with you. If you cannot teach him to sing in a year, you lose your head."
Back in his cell, the teacher's cell mate tells him he's an idiot. "I have a year now I didn't have before. Maybe I'll die, maybe the king will die. Maybe the horse will die. A lot can happen in a year. And who knows, maybe the horse will sing." 

Busy Busy Bethy

I'm alive- thanks for thinking of me... I currently have about 800 notifications, etc...
I've been fighting my usual- might need another swing through with Macrobid, one of the best antibiotics I've had for my kidney. A more effective pill was offered, however, it is sulfa based, and like my dealings with ibuprofen, rather than helping, give rise to a condition politely referred to as "My hives have hives." (Not only am I hell on chefs, I am hell on doctors too.)
Lent is coming in less than a month- I think I'll enjoy a lovely "Shrove Tuesday", see about gluten-free paczki (Hey, it's tradition, damn it!) and I'm also looking up alternatives to "Fish fry"- not only am I not a fan of fish, but deep-frying also tends to be done with breading...and I don't want to spend every Friday during Lent subsisting on vegetables. Tuna steak? Maybe. Maybe. I'll incorporate, if I can, a group of good gluten free recipes for Lenten Observance into the They Call Us Mom blogs after running it through Mel and whatever editors I find.
I've been fighting- but sleeping a bit more regularly, still popping an Ambien here or there to avoid dreaming, as when you're sick, your usual nightmares become intensified, and sleep heals. But I find a lot of demons in the land of Nod too.
I am not necessarily "Giving Up for Lent" but rather, hope to "Give To". I'll repost my blog on that after my blog for Mardis Gras publishes. I set it to publish automatically.
Yes, I've been quiet... but I'm merely- huh, like this isn't ever over-used- sick and tired of being sick and tired.
I've had my spells of majorly worrying about everyone, figured it'd be best if I also took my own advice and actually worked on me.
I've had Lucy, Brit TV, the occasional heavy reading, music, and have been occasionally spending time outside. It was quite lovely, and I spent a bit of time outside with a book, a hooded sweatshirt and my sandals. If anything, the mild fresh air was lovely, and healing. Sorry if I've worried anyone, I'm nursing myself, so that I can be there for others. And working on decisions regarding faith and a possible new major, which I am loathe to announce until I am sure.
But... peace, my soul... I'm going to be just fine. If I'm needed, you know where I am.

Give Me The Stars

Forget flowers and perfume
Give me a blanket on the dewy grass
Under a wide black sky
And the twinkling stars
I don't need lust and cheap nylon lingerie
A warm sweatshirt over my shorts
And a simple blanket
On the dewy grass will do
I don't like the dark anymore
But I love the pretty little stars
And the sweet and simple
Like laying under the stars
Pointing out the Dippers and imagining little star-babies fed with celestial milk from the big dipper
Nestled in the cradle of the Little Dipper
Give me a warm, sweet-scented summer night
Forget the world
The stresses and pains can wait a while
Give me the chirpy, chatty crickets
and the little fire-flies flitting in the black of night
Give me the stars
And let me sleep on a blanket
With the crickets and the fire-flies
Under a blanket of night and stars
Let me- just for now- fly free
And sing old songs beneath the velvet sky
And hope- for a better world-SOMEDAY
Blackbird singin' in the dead of night
Spread your broken wings and learn to fly
All your life, you were only waitin' for this moment to arise.

(This is not a preferred version to many- I myself have 3 different versions of Blackbird in music files, but it's quite lullabye-ish and it does make up part of the soundtrack of a favorite movie, I Am Sam.)

The Best Is Yet To Come

This blog, in addition to random tidbits, prayers, "Better Out Than In"s, and recipes, will also serve as test blog  (particularly while I help Mel out with a Moms' project) while I work on my gazillion projects. If offered a shot on writing something I feel strongly about, I have a habit of just going from the heart- stream of conscience. Sure, you'll see me attempt to sort out religion, faith, and modern life, among other things, as well as my goofing about dates, and my snappy answers to stupid questions.
You'll also see me attempting to reconcile living between two worlds and attempting to figure me out. Apparently that doesn't happen by the time you're 30- as one particularly stupid person told me (They also told me you can get over a rape in 3 months, I knew to laugh at them then!)- and that's OK. Yes, I do tend to overthink. I can think myself out of sleep. Yes, I "editorialize" or play an internal game of "Word Association". Yes, I need to get out more. Yes, it would help if I knew what and how to say what I feel half the time.
But bear with me, I have changed a lot in these past 2 years, seen darkness, seen light. Every day, I see about a hundred things that make me sad about the world. And then there are kindnesses that apparently, most would not notice. And those, I will hold close to my heart, and be extremely honored and grateful to see. And as they say, "The best is yet to come".