Crescent Rolls

I adore crescent rolls... piping hot, with a good smidgen of butter and a good cup of coffee. I was a little teary watching all the Pillsbury commercials for their canned crescents, until I remembered some gluten-free ones I tried that hit the spot without setting off that awful auto-immune reaction (Basically, my body attacks gluten, contained in wheat, rye, spelt, and barley, as a virus. Hives, flu symptoms and fevers to follow!) so I asked for the recipe for the GF version, and was offered it with a smile. Now, for my nephew, I somehow have to find a substitute for butter and cottage cheese. No soy, here, otherwise I'd find a soy cottage cheese.

Gluten Free Crescent Rolls:
Ingredients:
1/2 stick (1/4 cup) of butter
3/4 cup of small-curd cottage cheese (NOT the fat-free version!)
1/3 cup of sorghum flour
1/3 cup millet flour
1/3 cup brown rice flour
1 teaspoon of xanthan gum
1/8 teaspoon of salt
3/4 teaspoon of baking powder
1 teaspoon of sugar
1) Mix butter and cottage cheese with mixer until well-blended.
2)In a second medium bowl, mix dry ingredients. Add to butter mixture.
3)Mix until dough forms. Wrap in plastic wrap and refrigerate for two hours.
4)Preheat oven to 350 &degree; Fahrenheit.
5)Sprinkle rice flour on parchment paper
6)Roll dough into 14" circle.
7)Cut into 8 triangles with a pizza cutter.
8)Roll each, starting on the wide side, towards the narrow
9)Place on greased baking sheet and bake for 18-20 minutes.
Serve HOT!

My Honey Do list: Keeping Busy While Grieving

Grief, like the many ways we deal with it, comes in various forms. From a death, to the loss of a relationship/marriage, we can get into some major funks.
I know... I haven't quite broken yet... I'm still in my "Gotta Be Strong When Others Aren't" stage. I'm responding with a combination of sarcasm and anger. And other odd, convoluted, and perhaps unhealthy urges.

Right now, I'm finding things to do, from converting American recipe measurements to imperial measurements for a friend in Australia whose son has autism and has been placed on a gluten-free diet, something I've heard about often, worrying about my sweet nephew and his issues at school, from an abusive teacher, kids who refuse to play with him because he is biracial, and bully him, and of course, being six and on an extremely strict diet due to the fact, that not only does his body treat gluten as a virus, attacking itself, but multiple food allergies as well, from peanuts to chocolate to eggs. We have a photo of a bruise from what seems to be a type of extreme dodgeball (With SIX year olds) when a ball was tossed directly at his head by an ADULT. Who said "He should have ducked." (And you should be castrated and dragged down Main Street.) And "Why are you worried? He's just over-sensitive". This "Over sensitive" child, has in time, curled up to me, played with my hair, and said "It's ok, I love you." Who gave me the best explanation of relationships I'd ever heard: "Aunt Beth, I know what sex is". I think I jumped 20 feet into the air at that. "Um," I said, "What do you know?" "Well, it's a special kind of cake." I continued to stare at him. "See, it's sweet, but you can only have it when you're ready, because it's too sweet for some people." I think my mouth was open for a good five minutes. I finally distracted him with a sip of the coffee he'd been begging me for and I'd kept refusing. "Where did you learn that?" "General Hospital." I face-palmed.
He's a very smart boy, and I'm a rather proud auntie.
I'm getting ready to move, and yet dreading the whole Mom-and-Wayne fight of the day, after which, my most innocent response will lead to me getting the brunt of Mom's frustration. Among other things. The woman's driving me nuts.

I'm still pissed... what should have been a wonderful goodnight, goodbye, I love you, was ruined by massive drinking, people pulling me aside to tell me "Why couldn't you get through your goodbye speech without sobbing after the third word?" (Golly, I don't know. Maybe because I'm sad?!), telling me how my Uncle George's woman is a golddigger. Look, ask my opinion, and it's well, "I don't know her enough, and it's not for me to judge.") And somehow, the meal that was safe for me, was made with regular bread crumbs. I couldn't have the pork chops either way, and I was assured my food would be safe. Hence, 2 entrees. I got classic flu symptoms and had to use an epi pen, plus go to the ER that day- and my sister got a massive case of hives. Let me fucking have more than a goodbye "By myself" in front of the open coffin... do you think it was easy crying in front of concerned relatives?
My bear like cousin, 2 months older than I, (And, at 10lbs birthweight to my barely 6, looked like he could eat me in pics we had together) helped out some, by patting me on the head and telling me I'd be OK. (If anyone else tried that, I'd bite their hand off)
So, I made myself a honey do list until I am ready to let go and lean on someone. It takes me a while.
I have framed a pic I found, all four of us busy girls, Grandma, Mom, Lorelei and I, and am looking for a frame that can hold a pic that I think measures 3.5. I think I may just use a composite frame, individuals are bigger now.
I need to get two strings of old pearls cleaned and restrung.
I'm moving. That's complete craziness, boy howdy.
My family is still driving me nuts.
I love you, but fuck, you people hurt me.
Ok, that's enough for now

Friendship

If you're a friend of mine, I'll be there for you. 
I will hold back your hair while you worship the gods of Porcelain.

If you have a cold, I will cheerfully tell you to stay the hell away from me.

Because, you know I love ya, and my chicken soup recipe, and I'll deliver the goods, with a surgical mask, but I can catch cold if someone in Timbuktu sneezes.
Now, if we're really close, I'll be there to tuck you in and all. And I promise, I won't snidely say "Well, gosh thanks. You've given me books, trinkets, drinks, food, and love, but do we have to share everything? AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAchoo!"
I'll curl up with you when you're sad and need a cry.
I won't tell you if you look like a Muppet afterwards.
If your mascara is running, I'll wipe it away.
I'll fight with you on occasion. Because I am stubborner than hell and attract people who are the same way.
I'll annoy you. I'm so darned stubborn, and so darned clumsy, I can't help it. And I worry. About everything. I worry if a baby in Bumfuk Egypt needs his nose wiped. 

I'll attempt to politely and gracefully tell you you're making an ass out of yourself when you need it. On occasion, I'll be blunt and say "You horse's ass! What the hell is wrong with you?!"
I'll bake cookies with you for breakfast at 4AM. I love chocolate chip for breakfast.

I'll sit and drink coffee with you for hours on end at Denny's.
I'll split fries with you at 2AM.
I'll trust you, unless you prove you cannot be trusted.
I may not share everything about what's wrong with me, if I'm sad, but I'll try.
I promise: I'll be a snot, a brat, a goofus. I'll joke around. And I'll always share good cooking with you. 'Cause sharing is caring.

Living in a Strange World

I live in a strange world. Where wheat, barley,rye and such are to be avoided at all costs. Where blue cheese is looked at askance until I know who makes it and if it has a gluten binder. (And believe me, if it's not chunky, I LOVE blue cheese!)Lessons on living on a strict diet:

1) When family will not or cannot understand, beware even of normally non-allergenic/ glutenated items, like chicken and potatoes. Keep Benadryl and an Epi Pen on stand by.

2)Make nice with restaurants. Make them your friends. I can head over to a Pizza Hut, and have them work with me, call me by name, and give me wings I can eat, without fear, and often, free soda pop. Be polite. They're so awesome... so we need clean oil? OK! Would you like a drink while you wait? Sucks you can't have pizza here. Do you eat it? (Yes, I just have to make it myself, although I know a few places that do make a GF pizza.) That sounds interesting. See, even a typically non-celiac friendly place can work with you. It's attitude. If you're nice and are willing to work with them, it's infectious. They actually make sure I get clean counter space.

This goes for any restaurant. Be prepared to sacrifice. At one "celiac friendly" place, the advertising in the celiac community was pure puffery. My nephew and I had to make do on plain rice spaghetti, which they had to search for. What was 30 minutes for most took an hour for us. Make sure you're polite, friendly, but firm.
3)Tim Hortons asks people with allergies NOT to eat there. Ok... simple tip...the yogurt is good and safe. The coffee, unless a sadist is tossing in flour, is OK. The pamphlet asking for your abstinence is scary though. Admittedly, this is enough to make me feel like Snoopy when he tries to board a bus. Yes indeedie Mrs. McGreedie! This did indeed grab my attention. I was looking for allergy information. Not a strong suggestion that I needed to hightail out when the yogurt and coffee hadn't triggered my symptoms yet!

Part of having allergies is being smart. Know your safe foods. Be prepared to content yourself with coffee or water. Don't go to parties or shopping hungry. Be careful, and hold on tight. If they look confused and are not willing to work with you, see those frustrated looks, go somewhere else.
Burger King fries are cooked in rice flour, separately. This is a big boon for the nephew who has major allergies, not just celiac, and has a very limited diet. He can have fries like everyone else!

I will update more as I go. 

I'm Ignoring You

I've dealt, for many years, with numerous issues. From being mute until the age of 4, then having extensive speech therapy, so I knew how to shape words and sounds, in an environment where my parents were to emphasize speech only (A friend was born deaf and had numerous surgeries and the heavy duty hearing aids. We had classes together. To this day, while I'm still learning, I know more ASL than he does. Because the Montessori we went to wanted to integrate us into society and forgot about allowing individuality and culture. They did great things, but did stilt language until, when nervous, stutters and qualifiers, such as "Ummmmmmmmm" are all I can do, and when I know what I want, but can't find the word. I'm reminded of Ann Sullivan in the Miracle Worker: "Everything has a name! What is it?" New people? Bureaucratic missteps? Expect "Uh, I need... uh.." or for me to forget speech and go back to my first language: a combination of sign and pantomime. But I will fight for myself too... I worked my ass off to survive and communicate, to be able to write so that I can get information across... I'm happy, I'm sad, I'm angry, I'm scared, I don't like this relationship. No, I won't say I love you, because I don't. I won't lie to make you happy. (In word and in deed). No, I will not drop all and make myself your happy little slave girl. If you don't know what I like, ask me, I'll tell you, somehow. Don't talk AT me please. I'll pretend I'm worse than I am and merely find patterns in the cloud, the foam in my coffee, cracks in the ceiling, a bouncing, red balloon, things like that. Don't assume how I feel. Don't shove me. If I ask you not to mention something, especially in public, or force me to communicate with people I don't know. I love people, but sometimes, they frighten me.
To Mrs. M., this one's for you, darlin':
You assume that HOH, HI, deaf, whatever, are mental retardation and mean that a person should not go have fun, not have children, whatever. Be institutionalized. Sign language scares you- fingers flying make you dizzy. You mock efforts by a terrified person to communicate or answer questions you shout in their ear. This is for you and people like you. Fuck off.
I know what I want to say. I can seem normal. I know how to read things off a script of sorts on the phone. I can sing, and know the basic length of the notes- whole =4 and whatever, but only read script on music sheets, figuring the beat out later, and using my body to lead me. So in a way, I thank my music-lover father, my speech and physical therapists, who let me play with old wax Beethovan records...the big 45s. And to ASL teachers. Thanks for your patience while I fight to reclaim my first language.

Annoyances

 I've had occasions of late to wonk myself in the head. 

1)I adore natural foods and cures. Truly! I don't necessarily like a hard-sell, like that freak who was in late-night infomercials, discussing bathroom matters (And looking rather gross and fetid himself) and the erroneous, and TMI information about John Wayne's internal parts. Tune in at about 4AM when you can't sleep. Natural cures THEY don't want you to know about. OK, dude. Calm yourself. There's a huge network of THEYs keeping you from knowing about aloe for sunburns? If there really bloody were a THEY, I wouldn't have been subjected to a massive, TMI, TL;DR mini-book, about curing Baby's pinkeye without drops... but rather, by giving the little squirt a little squirt- of Lac-De-La-Mammary. (Note: The author passed 7th grade French, by a margin the width of a hairpin. I can tell you to shut your mouth, order chicken with wine sauce, and ask where the bathroom is.) Mind you, I have absolutely nothing against breast feeding or the breasts themselves. Both are lovely. I am a former infant nourished on expressed milk and high-calorie formula myself. I also am a fond member of the Feel Your Boobies Club, or as they say en Francois, Le Club Feel Your Boobies. Fancy, no?
But for God's sake! Keep some things private! THEY, feel free to keep that pink eye remedy away from me. It's almost as bad as the old cure, Mother's Spit. Wake up, position yourself, and hock one into the kid's affected parts. Oh, no.
2)But, I am often fond of reading up on old superstitions and cures.
When I move, I hope to have someone sweep my threshold to eliminate any bad spirits. (I am considering Holy Water.) Not because I'm superstitious (If I were, the number of black cats I've crossed of late, and the fruit bats  that befriended me, (and scared me nearly out of my pants when I flicked a light on- NOSEDIVE!) But because I want to feel safe. Anything to reassure myself. After all, it's the first "ME-Me-Me" house, not sharing it with roommates or boyfriends or husbands... and I feel scared as well as excited. But I will not make "Special Love Me Tea" or save toenail clippings, or whatever. But we must learn from the past, or we are doomed to repeat it. Remind me NOT to read up on death rituals, masks, and postmortem photography late at night, by the way. I think spending a night in the Mutter Museum would have scared me less.
3)For the love of all that's holy... I love suggestions on decorating. But asking people for things I might not need, or that YOU want in my place, that I am not sure are needed (Suggest, don't order, please) scares me. That's why I finally shouted "All right! Screw what I want! I wanted yellow and maybe a soft pink- if it could be put in gracefully and not oh-ew-Pepto Bismol Pinkishly, to go with the light oatmeal/sand-colored carpet and the white walls. I have a bed. I don't want Grandma's. I know, she didn't expire there, but it's uh... creepy. It'd be like sleeping in a coffin for me.
4) And I bought a bed for my birthday last year. SOFA, woman, think sofa! Oh, wait, I have a loveseat from a friend. Great. I'm 5'5". Oh, wait, I curl up anyway. I know it's a small place, but uh.. seating! A saucer chair or something cozy?  Or 2 or 3 if cheap, and able to be folded. A desk? Yeah, that I'll need. And please! For heaven's sake, help me, don't hinder me! If I mention pink, don't screw up your nose. If my nephew, who loves orange, gives me something in that color, do I do that? NO! I'm easy-going, and like the softer shades. I am not fond of green if I can help it. I know...560SQ feet ain't much (more than now however) but I've lived in far smaller.
5)Please, for God's sake, there are some things you DON'T have to tell me, because I can read, or because I'm willing to find out. Please! If it sounds blatantly obvious, or if you SAW me read it, don't repeat it to me, if there's a lull in the conversation. Now if it's verbal, and they go too fast or are too soft, I may ask for a repeat, ask for a written version, or look to you to translate. Then, don't speak it back to me like I'm a bad, stupid child. And don't KEEP repeating it. It makes me willing to "disobey" just to get my comeuppance.
Thank You.
6)If it's a Sunday, don't send people I barely know along with strangers, to see the old house for a second time. I don't like people shoving, and if you recall, the last person who wanted to buy, treated me shamefully and has left me scared of future buyers, and male strangers. But, I have to play Little Miss Susie Homemaker. Don't think I won't tell them everything that's wrong with the place, for my own personal pleasure. I'll also exaggerate some things. Like, did you know an old man died in this house? Well, kind of. He had breathing issues here and died at the mailbox. Why? I don't care. I could care less, if it burned to ashes, once I was out. Because after so many shitty events here, I quit giving a damn.
*I am not generally the type to get this pissed. But I don't like people forcing themselves on me. I did not get asked about some things, I was told "This is how it's going to be".

I don't actually LIKE being annoyed. It annoys me.

For Cripes' Sake

Snark. I use it a lot. To make fun of stupidity, or play with real-world concepts in a twisted way. 
One day, I received a anonymous email telling me "Little Jackie has become a woman!" Then I got to thinking, "What the hell? Why do I need to know that?!" Further thought led me to A) Jackie used to be a man. Now instead of John, his preferred name is Jacqueline. More power to ya! I love my LGBT-Q friends. They're some of the lights of my life.
Or, B) Someone decided to pull a Peter Griffin and shout about their lovely daughter's first trip in Flo's Red Convertible. Danke! Now, if friends were to ask, privately, for example, on preferred feminine materials, I'd be happy to offer my likes and dislikes, and my ewws about the Feminine Cup. Yes sir, I've received emails on that, too. I do not know the safety of pretty much shoving a soft Communion-cup shaped device up there, washing and reusing. But for God's sake... I don't often care to know!
I was grossed out and threw up, when on separate occasions:
A) a breast-feeding mom I know told all of Facebook her "natural" cure for pinkeye. Yes, siree! She apparently thinks nothing of giving the little squirt, an um, little squirt, if ya know what I mean.
B)Another told how her newborn apparently overtaxed his Huggies while lying on a white blanket. Again, I didn't care to know. 
I know I've CALLED for advice for odd things. One phone call, from my end went like this (Heavy sobbing) Oh, my God! It just won't stop oozing! I was startled by something that I had figured I'd never be startled by. Hint: Overtaxed Huggie-Blowout. I was talked down, and we laugh about it. But I don't need to see your ucky sheets, please!
Mamas, don't frigging use Huggies. Trust me. If the breastmilk cure works, awesome. But... oh, lordy me, don't brag about it! As a forced bottle-feeder, it's really something I could care less about. More power to you though. And if the angel needs to eat, yes, pop it out and feed her. But, please for God's sake... I don't necessarily need a photograph of your Double F's and your baby-tassle. 
I'm no prude, for heavens' sake! But God, even I blush. Now, Jackie A and Jackie B:
Congratulations. God bless. A., if you want to go bra shopping, hit me up. B., same thing, and I apologize that Mama has no hint of shame. That is a private event. And you are probably terrified and a wee bit damaged. I feel for you. 
Breast Milk Healer: For God's sake! You had men doing the whole "While you're at it..." bit. Breast milk is for nutrition. Keep it to yourself and the baby.
White Blanket Chronicler: What were you thinking? Babies+ white= eventual disaster zone. 
Ok, off my soap box.