(Repost) **GRIOT** Devil Beating His Wife

(I'm going to be posting twice today. When I was recycling some of my old posts I realized how mundane this blog has been lately. I think I have gotten away from why I started this blog. I always wanted to share my thoughts and feelings as a way to uplift people - and myself. I used to blog about things that perhaps other people could relate to. Looking at some of the more recent posts, all I see are product reviews. How did that happen?

Anyway, I am going to still post product reviews but I really want to focus on life and living and being. For today, I am resharing a Griot post first then I will finally put up a review of that dang Ninja coffeemaker that I have been trying to finish for the longest. This Griot post is from July 11, 2019. It's one of my family's favorites.)

Being the child and grandchild of southerners, I grew up hearing a lot of odd phrases. To be honest, my relatives just talked plain funny. They had weird phrases and they painted the English language with a beautiful array of colors. My people used language in their own way, just as they put a unique spin on living life.

my mother in her late 20's-early 30's (?)

 For the longest time, I thought that only my mother said things like "You don't believe fat meat's greasy". That was for when I was being warned that my misbehaving was about to get me a whooping. Modern mothers threaten to start counting to ten, my mom had more colorful ways of warning me.

 While a lot of the phrases I heard had to do with consequences of my behavior (for instance, my butt was constantly in debt from all the checks my mouth wrote), there were some to go with everything from the weather to someone being sick.

I remember whenever it rained while the sun was shining, my mother would say that the Devil was beating his wife. I was surprised to learn just now how commonly that saying is used - and in a lot of cultures. I'm going to have to go take a closer look at that website.

one of the aunties

When my Yankee friends were "about to" do something, I was "fixing to". When Yanks were not paying you any attention, I wasn't "studdin" (or studying) you. You might be going to Heaven, but I'm going up "yonder". We also go over yonder, back yonder, or way yonder.

I'm not sure if this one is Southern or not, but where others might say someone had you wrapped around their finger, we'd say that they had your nose wide open. Another way to put that is to say that someone has your drawers (underpants) hanging on a bedpost. That, I think, had something to do with voodoo (or "hoodoo"). Another one from the voodoo files is to say that someone must have "worked a root" on you.

an uncle with a church group

Maybe right here is where I can get into my Big Mama's fear of all things pagan. Big Mama wouldn't eat food if she didn't know who cooked it. If she didn't know you, she wouldn't eat your food unless she had watched you prepare it. Why? Cause she was scared of hoodoo. For that same reason, she never left her comb or hairbrush laying around where just anybody could get to it. As Christian as she was (which is why she didn't like voodoo/hoodoo), she wasn't ashamed of her superstitions. She was one of those people who, after accidentally spilling salt, would toss some over her shoulder. Yes, my Bible-believing grandmother could be so unconsciously paranoid that it was kind of hilarious.

 These are some random photos from an old
photo album of my mother's

I don't know most of the people except that they are aunts, uncles, extended cousins, or 
very close family friends.

 I thought it would be cool for my younger nieces & nephews to see these photos. I just now started posting links to this blog of Facebook because that's where the kids hang out!

 

 I love the hair & clothing fashion of the '30s, '40s, and '50s.










Maybe because of their cultural ancestry, or maybe just because they were very practical and thrifty people, my relatives even dealt with health issues in their own ways. I've already talked a lot about my grandmother using asafetida poultices to deal with chest colds. I suppose there's a reason 'fetid' is in the name, but I just learned another thing: that asafetida gets its name from being funky. Wow,. At any rate, my mother never tortured me or my siblings with it but our Big Mama made up for it by giving us daily tablespoons of Castor oil. You might want to throw up every morning after your dose of oil but you were never constipated around Big Mama.

On my mother's side of the family, it was less about the countrified 'slanguage' and more about the Texan lifestyle. Where back in Hope, Arkansas where our Big Mama took us fishing with worms for bait, my West Texan grandfather let us enjoy his walnut and pecan trees. My mother would make homemade, fresh-churned ice-cream right in the front yard of Grandaddy Bud's house. Back in Arkansas, we ate bacon from pigs my grandmother's husband, Mr. Brown owned. We had fresh eggs and meat from his chickens.  In Texas, we ate peaches and apples and crab apples fresh off Granddaddy Bud's trees.

My granddaddy Bud always owned a pickup truck of some kind. My cousins and I would ride in the back while he went around to different homestead's taking care of business and sharing the goods from his trees. I remember one time when he took us on a long ride out "in the country" and showed us fields of cotton ready to be harvested. He told us to ask our mothers about their time spent picking cotton as kids. My mother told me that it was one of the ways she and her cousins made money as young girls. They would spend hours in the field, filling bag after bag with the cotton. I was absolutely horrified, but my mother had good memories of the time spent with her cousins and friends out in those fields. Even though she explained to me that there was a difference between being forced to pick cotton and being given a choice to get paid for doing it... I never could handle it. Years later, when I went through my stage of being a junior revolutionary and idolizing Newton and Seale for being bravely defiant, I would just cringe when I thought of my mother picking cotton.

Back when I was young, church and religion was a different experience depending on which grandparent I was visiting. My dad's mom (Big Mama) was deeply religious but didn't attend church on a regular basis. Nevertheless, if there was a heavy storm, she made everyone (kids and adults) get still and quiet. If there was any lightning or thunder involved, well, forget doing anything but taking a nap. You weren't going to disrespect the Lord in Big Mama's house by doing much of anything until the storm passed. To this day, during a heavy storm, I will sit my tail down and try to be still until the weather calms down. Unlike Big Mama, I don't go around unplugging everything, but I'm not trying to party down.

I didn't realize it until I was writing this post, but apparently, I carry a lot of my recent ancestors around in my behavior. Yesterday, I was cooking some sausage in my new cast iron and I flashed back on my mother standing in front of the stove, cooking something in her cast iron. I understand that people we love don't go ever completely away. They are in our memories of them. They are in the lingering memory of their touch or the sound of their laughter. They are here with us in the ways they affected us, changed us, or made us love them.

Peace
--Free

For the video pick, I think this one is just about perfect.

(Repost) **GRIOT** Named and Loved

 (Okay, this one from 7/13/19 is the last of the repostings. The sarc fog is easing up. I've been drinking a lot of coffee and am working on the review of the new coffeemaker. For this last recycling of posts, I wanted to share one that always makes me smile. My family is my whole heart and just thinking of them makes me feel better and blessed and able to keep going. If you don't have blood relatives, your friends can be your family. Your neighbors can be your family. Whoever your "family" is, always think of them with love.)

Okay, so I was chatting online with some of the nieces and nephews about these Griot posts. They love hearing about their 'grandpeople' and I love sharing what I can remember. Since the cousins are all about the genealogy these days, I thought that I could talk about some of the names that run in our line.

A name is a special thing. Your surname can be a kind of placeholder in history. Your first names sometimes are meant to reflect the hopes pinned on you. In the Bible, names are very important. God would change people's names or bless their names. Today, we honor our Adamic past by giving children Bible names. I watched a documentary the other day where the presenter noted that you won't find a lot of children named after Judas Iscariot. I had never thought of that before. Personally, I have always believed that the name a child grows up with can have a serious impact on their personality and attitude, not to mention in how the rest of the world might see them. That's why we make cruel fun of people by calling them a "Becky" or "Shanequa" - and I have been cruel in that way...

In my family, nicknames were kind of a big deal. My mother had an older brother named Eber but everyone called him "Mutt". Uh, yeah. Don't ask because I don't know. There were other male relatives or close friends known as Sonny, Sonny Boy, Snookie Boy, and Bugs.

One of my mother's sisters - the one who passed before I was old enough to know her - had a beautiful name: French L. The "L" didn't stand for anything, it was just part of her birth name. I do remember that some of my folks would pronounce her name as "Frānch L.", going long on the 'a'. Apparently, she was as beautiful as her name. She must have been a riot though. I heard one story about her once being a little tipsy and admonishing a child for having their shoes on the wrong feet. The child knew better than to mention it, but the adults who were there cracked up laughing because Aunt French L's shoes were also on the wrong feet. Aunt French L's granddaughter was named after her but we mostly called her just "French" or "Frenchie".

Some of the adults I knew as a child were always referred to by their initials. To this day, I can't tell you what Aunt French L's husband's real name was. We just called him Mr. J.B.

My father always called my mother Hon but most of her other family and friends called her "Tootsie" (or, as they pronounced it, "Too-see"). This is because she was very dark-complected but, as a child and teenager, had fire-red hair. Being so black-skinned with that red hair, she looked to them like a Tootsie Pop. She dyed her hair a deep brown for years until it started to grow in a darker auburn. Here's something crazy: I'm very dark-skinned like my mother and my hair also tends towards auburn if I don't keep it dyed. In addition to that, I inherited from my father blue encircled irises. It's a harmless condition and not a totally uncommon thing although it can freak people out when the sun hits my eyes the right way. Without the sun shining into them, most people don't notice anything different about my dark brown eyes.

Back to the wonderful nicknames, one of my favorite uncles - formally named a Jr after his father, Oscar Sr - was always called Hot Shot (or 'Hah-sha'). My grandfather was known to his friends as "Bud". Oscar Sr's wife (my step-grandmother) was "Miss Ollie" to everyone, including me and the other grandchildren. By the way, young Rudy Cosby sounded just like Miss Ollie did when saying "Bud".

Granddaddy Bud's first wife, my grandmother, was named Gretchel but, for some reason, everyone called her "Aunt Jack".For the longest time, I thought her first name must have been Jacqueline or Jackie.

I had a cousin we always called "Yogi". Whenever a teacher in school used her birth name of Saundra, everyone - including Yogi - would look around to see who she was referring to. Other cousins and peers of mine had names that had to do with sweetness: Peaches, Cookie, Sugar, and Candy. I use those names for characters in my stories because I loved the real people.

Now that  I think of it, my Texas family were the ones with nicknames. Not so much with my Arkansas relatives. I'm going to have to think about that a little bit. Actually, my dad's father was never called George; everyone called him Mr.Tampa and I don't know why that is since "Tampa" was no part of his actual name... Now I'm going to have to get in touch with one of the aunties! I need to know what was going on with my grandpa's name!

Remember now that my paternal grandfather - Mr. Tampa - was a Louisiana man. His relatives did have nicknames. I remember a distant female cousin (?) that was called "Big'un". I really am going to have to talk to my paternal aunties because I cannot remember some of the other nicknames for the Lousiana family...

My oldest brother was called "Chubby". When he was younger, he was, in fact, kind of chubby. My sister who I've talked so much about over the years was nicknamed "Mike" and there's a story behind that. I was Penny to my parents and siblings up until I became a teenager. One of my older brothers still calls me by that nickname on occasion and I had one uncle who called me that until he died a couple of years ago. Apparently, as an infant, I was copper-colored like a new penny. As I got older and my skin darkened, one of my older brothers started calling me "Black Knight". Yeah. Cute... In high school, I went through a phase where I used only my middle name: Michele. Some of my closest friends back then called me Bones because I was so rail-thin. Oh, the good old days of carbs without consequences!

Names are not just an identity. Your name belongs to you in a way that can help shape your identity. When you love someone - through kinship, friendship, or romance - their name on your tongue has the taste of your relationship with them. You might remember that favorite quote of mine is by a child who defined love as keeping someone's name safe in your mouth. That's so real.

Thinking back to some of the first people, Adam's and Eve's names had meaning. Even God has several names and they each have a special meaning. I personally like to think of Him as El Shaddai and Elohim. To go further, even love has different names. In reference to my faith, Agape (or Agapao) love is the one that most comforts me.

So, when you think of your loved ones and speak their names, remember what the Bible teaches about the power of the tongue. Keep those names safe in your mouth. Speak their names with love and peace and hope for their well-being. Even when speaking of your enemies, be careful not to use their names in ways you wouldn't want anyone to use yours.

Peace
--Free

And since I am in a praising the Lord mood right now, here's some Third Day with beautiful lyrics

(Repost) Sarcoidosis and the Worth of Life

 (This is another repost - hopefully the last - and it's from 5/21/19. At the time, I was struggling both emotionally & physically. Currently, I am only dealing with my brain acting a fool. My body is not misbehaving as much. I've had my last COVID vaccine done and wonder if it just set me back a bit. At any rate, I read this post and realized how blessed I am, in spite of everything. Times can get really dark but I have friends and family who love me back into the light. Corny, yes, but true. If you can relate to this post, please know that things can get better. Don't give up, don't give in. If you ever go down, go down fighting. Be your own advocate.)

The past couple of weeks have been brutal. I am a couple weeks past due for my infusion because of a paperwork screwup somewhere and my body is in full rebellion. At this point in my life, I sometimes wonder about the value of prolonging the life of someone with a chronic illness. Seriously.

I once got to see a bill for my infusions and it scared the crap out of me. The numbers were just crazy. And I always feel bad about the weight my illness puts on the "system". What is life worth, really? And what is the balance? If you think about what you mean to the world - to society - and try to weigh it against what it costs to maintain your life...

In a week, I have two or three great days of health. The rest of the time I am depleted by one of my medicines. Every eight weeks, I get an infusion and feel amazing for about three weeks. "Amazing" as in even my weekly med doesn't bring me as far down as normal. Right now I'm feeling worn out from the one thing I managed to do today - walk over to the market for things to make tea and a snack. I had to rest for a couple of hours before I made the tea. All I've done with the rest of my day is lay down and try to fight the heavier-than-usual fatigue and make phone calls about the screwed up paperwork. So I am just questioning a lot of things.

I'm not a mother and I no longer am responsible for the nieces I helped raise. I'm no longer a wife or life partner. My contribution to society overall is fairly limited. So what is the value of life?

Today has just been really tough. I'm sitting on top of all my feelings wearing this crown of self-doubt and trying to talk to God about it all. Sometimes, though, the higher I sit on my mountain of feelings, the further I feel from Him.

What is the value of life? That's what I'm going to be thinking about when I lay back down. And I am going to have to lay back down because just sitting up long enough to post this has worn me out again.

I really hate this fucking sarcoidosis. I hate the way it makes me feel and I hate the way it makes me think - when I can think. I hate how it has come into my life and just bulldozed over everything that makes me sure of my value.

Peace
--Free

(Repost) Back to Church

(I'm recycling some old posts while my brain is on a sarc-induced hiatus. This one is from 5/14/19. I've been listening to music that uplifts my heart while I rest my body. One of my favorites is "Redeemed" and my mother and I both loved "In the Upper Room" and, another of my faves & and because Buckley does such an amazing tribute to Mahalia with his version"Satisfied Mind".)

I can't remember (and don't have the patience to check) whether or not I have ever posted here about why I left the Pentecostal church. Basically, it was all about that church being a legalistic man-based religion instead of being Bible-based and God-led. The church I grew up in worried more about a person's outer appearance than they did the inner heart. And they really loved to pick and choose which parts of Jesus' teachings to follow.

Anyway.

One thing I did always love about the church services of my youth was the music. There is no Broadway production that can beat a Sunday service at the right church. When the preacher finishes performing, then comes the choir with its musicians.

I have always had a hard time explaining to people what the music was like in the church I grew up in. Then I found this video. It took me back 45 years and sat me down in a pew in Big Spring, Texas just like I never left.

This is why some church services lasted well into the night. Just when you thought you were going to be dismissed and get to go home, someone on the keyboard or drums would get inspired to hit one more note and then someone else would start to get "happy" and we'd be back into another round of singing and shouting. I got used to being in church and banging a tambourine until as late as ten o'clock on a school night.

Say what you want about all the stuff that's just wrong about the "Holiness" church, you can't badmouth the musical talent.

My ex and his cousins were the musicians in our church and their talent was just astounding. My ex is the best musician I know. He grew up in church and around all that great music. Too bad that growing up around all the preaching didn't rub off on his behavior as a human being.

I want to mention that not all people associated with the church were bad. There were a lot of good, well-meaning and true-hearted Christians who attended. Just like in the rest of the world though, it's easier to focus on and criticize the worst of the bunch.

Peace
--Free

(Repost) Language is Awesome

(This one, from 6/10/19 is one of my favorite posts. Since my sarc-brain is the reason I had to take a break, I thought this one was perfect. If you notice, at the time of the original post, I was having some "thinking problems". One of the annoyances of what I call "sarc-brain" is the use of words. I get a little fuzzy and incoherent because I can't think very clearly. Or something that seems to make perfect sense to me comes out of my mouth in a way that makes people struggle to understand me. If it's really bad, I won't even try to hold conversations. I start repeating myself or forgetting which words to use in which context. And I am not even sure right now if that last sentence makes sense. When re-reading this post, I also remembered that I promised to do posts on some of my favorite poets. I don't know if I ever did that. Maybe I will have to check and do something about that promise. In the meantime, enjoy.)

 (Note: today is a little blurry for me. I will make this post as coherent as I can.)

I was watching that show "Beyond Scared Straight" the other night and I'm ashamed to say that I found way too much humor in some of the episodes. One of the parents made a remark that was so funny I had to pause the show to call my girlfriend. First, I had to finish laughing.

First I have to tell you that back in the day, one of my mother's admonishments was "Your mouth's going to write a check your ass can't cash." Well, a parent on that show topped it. When her fast ass daughter was acting out, she told her that her alligator mouth was going to override her hummingbird ass. Man, that is freaking awesome. I'm saving that up for the next time I get to chastise a child.

In a recent post when I was discussing my potty mouth, I didn't get into how much I love the poetry of slang. I wonder if a lot of the popularity of pop music isn't more about the words than the beat. The first time I heard the phrases  "turn up" ( or "turnt" up) and "turn down", I knew they were going to be favorites. I heard "turn down" in a song by DJ Snake and Lil Jon. I'm not a huge Lil Jon fan and I still have no idea who DJ Snake is, but every now and then, I'll hear that song in my head and walk around for hours singing to myself, "Turn down for what?" One of my SILs - also too old or this mess - has started using the phrase.

Once, when my teenaged nephew accompanied me on a shopping trip, he introduced me to a trendy descriptor that I kind of love. I was looking for a specific brand of sandals but couldn't find a pair that I liked. Too pink, too orange, and too "why in the hell did they make a day-glo green pair?' Finally, I explained to the clerk the color I just had to have was muted pink on black. I wanted them to wear with a tracksuit of the same color scheme. I guess I was being just a little dramatic. My nephew made the remark that I was being "so extra". Listen. I knew immediately what he was saying about me. And I loved it. I was ashamed of being such a broke-ass drama queen, but I loved the phrase.


Words are just beautiful building blocks, aren't they? Each generation can change and rearrange them to fit the times. This is why we should read works of literature and prose from all time periods. We are missing out if we only focus on the here and now of art.

Speaking of the (not-too-distant) past, I was only about 13 o r14 when I first read Gwendolyn Brooks' poem "We Real Cool" and even then the intense wordplay aroused my brain. Later in my life, Nikki Giovanni's "And I Have You" and "Resignation" affected me in the same way. But those ladies are officially poets. What I also love is when wordplay just spills out of the streets and into the general lexicon. (By the way, I'm going to have to talk about those two ladies in another post.)

I enjoy just listening to people converse. Some of you might call that eavesdropping, but hear me out. It's not what people talk about but how they talk. The way a person uses language is such a part of their personality. I guess it's what comics call "delivery" It's why one of my nieces is so funny without even trying. (One of my favorite comedians is Kathleen Madigan. She mostly talks about her family and her fairly ordinary life. So why do I end up laughing until I can't breathe?)

Sometimes, when I am not eavesdropping, I pick up and decide to use slang words without knowing enough about them. I've always known that "bae" was a term of affection that older people don't (or shouldn't) use. What I didn't know is that it stands for "before anyone else". Well, damn. No matter what age you are, that's sweet.

To explain someone being upset by saying that they are "salty" is just too perfect. Back in the day, we'd explain someone angry as having their jaws tight or being "heated". I still use that one. I also personally love the term "slay". That so truly expresses someone on top of their game.

"Thirsty" is one of those terms I should not have used before I understood that it meant horny. I thought that when you were "thirsting" for someone, you were just attracted to them. Okay, so technically...

The first time I saw "GOAT" on social media, my silly ass automatically went into conspiracy theory mode. (Stop laughing.) When I found out it stands for "greatest of all time", I wasn't that impressed.

About 10 years back, my older nieces and nephews loved teasing me about staying up with current slang. Well, what goes around comes around and everybody ages. These days, they are getting the same teasing from my younger family members.

I wonder if most people even realize where a lot of the current social media slang comes from. Do they care? Or are they just slinging around phrases mindlessly (the way I did with "thirsty")?.

The now overused term "woke" has been appropriated by just about every internet hipster. I don't think many of them know anything about  William Melvin Kelley. Some of them might have learned about Marcus Garvey. My father taught me about the writings of Kelley and I was given an overview of Garvey at some point in school. I don't remember much about either. Now I have to add them to my list of things to research.

Of course, I know that a lot of black slang dribbled down from our slavery era ancestors. There are - or were - a lot of communities and groups of people who have their own patois.  A lot of us cobbled together languages made up of our mother tongue mated with American English. I think this is what Zora Neale Hurston was paying tribute to when writing phonetically.

Speaking of Hurston and cobbled language, if you really want your mind blown, go check out the Gullah language. My mother had relatives who grew up speaking what she called "Geechee". I wish now that I had paid more attention and asked questions when Mom talked about these people.  I met some of these relatives when I was very young so I don't remember much about their speaking style. (Now I have to go and look at the Gullah language Bible because... who knew?) Thank goodness for the internet.

Not knowing a language is one thing. You expect to feel excluded. What's crazy is that I can sit next to a person speaking English and have no idea what they are saying. I suppose every generation has its own sub-language made up out of their mother tongue. My younger nieces and nephews speak in 'slanguage' I call internet shorthand. Everything is acronyms and abbreviations spoken in rapid-fire bursts. And it's not just with the net-speak; it's the hieroglyphic texts. Adults who haven't kept up at all with internet slang can't read half the stuff on a kid's phone.

We older folk should break out some of the slang we once used or at least were familiar with. I clearly remember my brothers and their friends using terms that would still work today. If someone was deeply in love, you'd say that their nose was wide open. Instead of expressing frustration by saying "doggone", you'd say "dag".

To go further back in history with black slang, check out this Glossary of Harlem Slang by Ms. Hurston. The term "jelly" was still in use when I was young and I had no idea what it meant until I was grown. As a matter of fact, a lot of music lovers have no idea what the term "jelly roll" means in the blues or why so many blues musicians include it in their names. I think Jelly Roll Morton is the most famous.

Update: A social media contact emailed to tell me that she and her friends say "Jelly" as shortspeak for "jealous". I cannot keep up with it, people. But now I know something new. Thanks, L.D.

Just for kicks, I'm going to link to this video of Bessie Smith singing "Nobody In Town Can Bake A Sweet Jelly Roll Like Mine". Enjoy.

So, yes, language is awesome, but only if we use it to include, not exclude. And that's the main point of this post. Or at least, I think it is. I don't know, I started it yesterday and kind of lost my way with it. Oh well. Now I think I am going to go and read up on that Gullah Bible I just discovered.

Peace
--Free

"I'd like to think I'm a mess you'd wear with pride."

Yes. Absolutely.

(Repost) My Hurting Heart Doesn't Want That

(I'm recycling some old posts while my brain is on a sarc-induced hiatus. This one is from 5/11/19. I am not in a bad place emotionally at the moment, thank God. This is for anyone who might be "in a valley" and needs to know they are not alone in feeling that way.)

 Depression is an illness that there is no intervention for. How does one intervene in unexpressed pain? What ultimatums do you give a broken heart?

As someone who has long struggled with depression, I don't have any answers for how to make things better, but I do know of things that have never helped me. People offer suggestions and advice out of love and concern, but most of what they suggest and advise means nothing to a person in the middle of their darkness. And depression is its own galaxy of very little light, filled with fear, doubt, hopelessness, despair, and self-loathing. All those things rotate in the tortured mind of the depressed.  Every now and then, a little bit of light gets in and allows the person to get through to another moment alive. But that light never stays on. That's the cycle: me and it, suiting up against each other, fighting it out, retreating, and then doing the whole thing all over again.


I've had well-meaning people tell me what they think will help me. I love that they care but I hate their advice. To quote one of my favorite writers, "You got to go there to know there." No one else can navigate the dark places my mind has taken me. Often the advice I get is only frustrating.

"Exercise" is what a lot of people will tell a depressed person. "Get up and get out in some fresh air and take a walk." I am sure that that works for some people, but not for me. When I am in the worst of my depression, I can't even move to wipe tears from my face. I have sat immobile on the couch or the floor because I didn't have the energy or will to move. I have sometimes just kept still because of a feeling that I would shatter from grief if I moved. I have lain in bed unable to even push the covers off when I got too warm. So exercise only works for me before the deepest of the darkness settles in.

Another suggestion is to "count your blessings". This is one that really hurts. My faith means so much to me that it's the thing I wrestle most with when I am feeling at my lowest. I pray long conversations with God at this point, but it's very hard to count blessings while you are in a fight for your life. I am always thankful to God because I have never been forsaken, but that doesn't help the pain when I am drowning in it.

I've also been told to just "buck up" -  as if I'm an animal who only needs to remember how to move correctly! And what the hell does it even mean to "buck up"? Whatever it means, I wish getting from under the grip of depression was so easy as just doing something other than being depressed. Maybe the next time I'm taking care of a household bill, instead of sending in a payment, I can just command the bill to "be paid!"

There was a period in my life when I almost couldn't deal with attending church because I would just weep through the entire service. One time a woman sitting beside me in the pew hugged me and whispered that I should just "pray that sadness away". I didn't go back to church for a month. My tears in the church weren't from the sadness, they were from feeling so completely grateful. No matter how low I have ever been, I have never felt abandoned by God. I've felt mad at Him but I've never felt separated from Him. I never forget Romans 8:38-39.

So what am I trying to say? I'm not trying to speak for everyone who suffers from depression. I can only speak for myself because I only know what my hurting heart doesn't want. First of all, you can't 'fix' me with advice. My doctors are trying different types of medicines. I don't even know if I can be fixed. I'm just trying to survive and your words - as nice as they sound - don't help. What helps is knowing that you love me. Please know that I am more than my depression. Know that my depression comes and goes, ebbs and flows. Try to love me when I'm in the middle of the darkness as much - or maybe more - as you love me any other time.

Sometimes, the best thing that a friend or other loved one can do for me is to just let me know that you are there but give me space. I'm familiar with all the voices in my head and I know how to cry them, pray them, and battle them away. I just need to know that you're still going to love me when I come out of the fight.

Peace
--Free

Memory Storm (4th time)

 UPDATE - I added some graphics for those who asked.

(8/17/21) I'm going to be recycling some posts while I deal with a little health interlude. This is the fourth time with this one. I heard such a beautiful song the other day that it made me feel both happy and sad. It is a song about missing someone who is no longer here in this life. After I listened to it 3 or 4 times in a row, I thought about my mother, my brother, my sister, my husband - all the people who I never dreamed I would have to live without. Even now that I am a Christian, I grieve for them still. I wonder if their essence is still here. I read somewhere about the possibility that the air still holds the breath of people who are long gone. And isn't that something to ponder? Sometimes, I just sit and think about things like that. So, once again, here's this post.

(1/20/10) This is the third time I am re-posting this one. This time is for my girl Miss Carrie :-) 
Seems like a lot of us over on Facebook had our Mamas on our minds. So...


(2/19/09) I posted this the first time almost 3 years ago. At that time, my life was in a cycle of changes, but they were all good changes: moving to start somewhere fresh, new job, new relationships... This time the changes are more painful and harder to bear, but I realize that, God willing, I will live long enough for these hard times to be just a memory. Hopefully, this is just a valley I'm going through on my way to some peaks.) Anyway, like always, good times or bad, when things are at an extreme for me, I think of my mother. So this is, again, for Mama.



(3/14/06)
A Memory Storm
Hey y'all. Your girl here is having what I like to call a memory storm. You know, when you have so much going on in your head that things collide & your brain rescues itself from possible system failure by taking a walk in the rain of pleasant memories. Only the memories aren't nice & organized - they just bounce all over the place, like hail or those hard little raindrops that hurt when they hit you.

Memory storm.

Memories about my mama.

Asafetida - I don't know if that's how it's spelled, but I remember Mama saying it's what her mother used to put on her (Mama's) chest when she had a cold or something. Said it stunk to high heaven & probably only worked because the odor scared the germs away.

Urine Shampoo - Mama told me once how, when they were young, her cousin "Bunky" was the only one in the family with short hair (do y'all remember "In Living Color" where one of the characters talked about folk & one of her lines was about a woman with short hair: "hair so shawt you can read her thoughts!"?) and someone told her that it would grow if she washed it in her urine. This fool saved her pee in a big old jar & once a week, she'd pour the urine on it. I don't know what that old pee must've smelled like, but Mama says Bunky grew enough hair in a few weeks to snatch up into a rubber band. She might've grown more hair if "Aunt Jack" hadn't made her stop with the pee shampoos.

Bacon Grease Lotion - Mama says that if they ran out of Jergens or Vaseline, she and her cousins would use bacon grease (and you know she meant that big jar of "drippings" that sat on the stove in an old Folgers can) instead. One time, one of her cousins oiled up and headed off to work. She was running late, so she short-cut it through someone's backyard. "Someone" had some dogs. Dogs smelled the bacon grease. Cousin had to pull the Wilma Rudolph out of her soul and book like the wind. I guess she was leaping fences like somebody had bet money on her. (I suppose she made it away from the dogs. Mama never said. We were both laughing too hard for her to finish that story.)

Sooty Beauty - Back in the day (Mama's day), there weren't a lot of readily available cosmetics for "women of color." Most of my mother's family has LOTS of color & they go from black as midnight (some of them with grey eyes that gave me serious nightmares & this is before colored contacts!) to Light as Vanessa Williams. Most fall in the middlin' to dark category. The lighter-complexioned folk could get away with over-the-counter lipsticks & blushes and all that. My mother and the rest had to work something else out. So what did they do? Mama says that they'd find the darkest lipstick (usually some kind of slut-red shade) and they could find, then mix in some soot. Yep. Soot from the bottom of pots or burnt wood... The soot would darken up the lipstick enough to compliment a sister with deep roots. (Another time, Mama told me that there were some cosmetics for black women. These were sold door-to-door or could be ordered from ads in the back of romance magazines. A long time ago, someone sent me an old copy of a black romance mag & I saw an ad for "Lucky Heart Cosmetics." Somehow, I picture this as one of the places Mama would have found her makeup when she was young.)

"Busting" a part - My mother was extremely honest. If she didn't know you well but didn't like something about you, she'd be polite about telling you. If she knew you well - or "owned" you as she did her children - she'd skip politeness & just get to the damn point. (Mama's bossiness with a person went up with her level of approval of them. I could always tell a friend of mine was "in" with my mama the minute she went from inviting them to "come on in and have a seat" to telling them "bring your ass on in here and sit down, boy. That couch ain't gone bite your ass." Most guys who made it past being like by Mama were keepers as far as I was concerned.) One time, I thought it would be cute to wear my hair with a part down the very center. Mama didn't think it was cute. When I came out to rescue a date from being scared into incontinency by Mama, she took one look at my head and asked, "Why you got your hair busted down the middle with that part, looking like Sista Tutta?" (I have no idea who "Sista Tutta" is & I didn't ask. I was too busy sliding back into the bathroom to get that part out of my hair. And, no, I didn't "keep" the guy I had the date with. He laughed a little too damned hard at Mama's comments.)

TPV Perfume - (This crossed my mind when I did my "favorite perfume" on the ABCs yesterday.) When I was younger, I wasn't allowed to wear make-up (don't forget my Pentecostal "holiness" background), and perfume was too extravagant. BUT - I knew I had hit a milestone of "getting grown" when Mama let me wear TPV to a school "dance" (aka a bunch of kids standing against the wall in the gym and pretending not to notice each other while music played). Talcum powder and vanilla extract. Yep. I didn't get to buy "Heaven Sent" (or whatever it was called), but I sure thought I was some hot stuff when I wiped that cotton ball of vanilla across my shoulders and then puffed on some powder. Shoot. Too bad the only boy who got close enough to smell it was the boy handing out the plastic cups at the punchbowl.

Chewing tar - This falls into that category of "country health" stuff. I can't even lay this on my mama's generation & end it there because she passed it down to us. Until I was about fourteen (right around the time I was leaving my small-town life), I - and all my cousins, play & real - chewed tar. I don't remember where it came from. My mama and aunt would have it to hand out to us. It was clean little pieces & shiny where it had been broken or cut into bite sizes. We'd gnaw on that tar like dogs on rawhide. Mama always said it was good for the teeth. And I have to say, I always had great teeth - until the Air Force let their dentists practice on all of us.

Wow. Memory storm. Mama on the mind.

Believe it or not, I owe almost all of my current manuscripts (the ideas, the characters, the settings - everything) to these memories. Of course, I guess most writers will say the same thing.

Speaking of writers - be sure to check out the new link on the left. John Baker, out of the UK, writes mysteries & we've exchanged links. (John - I'm SO coveting the cover design on your books - just beautiful! - & I can't wait to read these.)

(1/20/10) Can't believe I forgot this one in previous posts... 
Hot Toddy (?) Remedy - This was a concoction of really hot, really black tea with some liquor tossed in. Mama would give it to me for my, ahem, cramps. I joke with my friends now that I don't know if the cramps went away or if I was just too drunk to notice. (And, BTW, I never did become much of a drinker. Just ask any of the ladies who were with me on a particularly hot Mother's Day outing when I experienced something called "Saki Bombers" for the first time. I definitely got bombed...)

Peace
--Free 

Stories I Shouldn't Tell (Part 1000)

 I have to share a funny story about myself. I was joking to my family that I should be embarrassed but...

So in my "coffee journey," 🙄  I have been trying to get away from boring and be a little more adventurous. Instead of ground coffee, I'm buying whole bean; I've been using my little hand grinder to go all the way fresh for each pot, and I am exploring different methods of brewing.

Right now, of course, I have been using my 12-cup pot maker most of the time. I do have the little brew basket gadget that I use every now and again. However, that's as far as I've gotten.

The other day, a suggestion popped up for me on YouTube. It was something about French press coffee. The little blurb mentioned how good coffee can be from such a device. 

Hmmm...

I clicked over to Amazon and priced a couple of French press pots. Not bad but not something I need to spend money on right now in my broke-ish situation. I moved on but kept thinking about what it would be like to make coffee in a French press. I tend to get fixated on things - if you didn't know by now.

When my neighbor came over for a cup of coffee, I was telling her all about the French press situation. I went on and on about how I might get one soon. She said, "But you have one." She pointed to one of the kitchen cabinets.

There on top of a cabinet I look at about 50 times a day sat a like-new French press. 

Yeah. That one.

That's a freebie that I got about 5 years ago to try out. Without learning anything about French press coffee - how to make it, how to use the device - I gave it one go and decided it was too much work for my sarc-addled brain. I think I even apologized to the folks who sent it to me. At any rate, I packed it away when I was leaving Alaska and it got moved here with me. I always liked the look of it so I stuck it on top of the cabinets. I once thought about making it the home for one of my pothos plants.

Anyway.

I am going to actually check out some more information about using French presses. Maybe I can learn to make a decent brew of coffee in it. Maybe it will make a nice home for a plant.

Peace

--Free

More Coffeemaker Drama

 After I fell in love - so in love - with my electric percolator, I had a little mishap and have to return it. (Not only did I return it, but I also had to go over and drop the rating from 5 to 3 stars. The original blog review has all the update info in detail.)

And, man, did I love that coffeemaker. It was beautiful on my counter and didn't hog all the space. Then, the thing I loved most about it became the reason I have to return it.

When I was pouring a cup of coffee the other morning, I lost slight control of my hand and slopped coffee. That coffee was so freaking hot. Lucky for me, I happened to have the cold water running into a purifying pitcher and I was standing right next to the sink. I stuck my hand and wrist under the cold stream until my skin cooled. After that, I spread on some Manuka honey and rested a cool wet towel over it for a bit.

I think that if I hadn't gotten my hand under the cold water so fast that my skin might have blistered. That coffee was scalding. I knew the percolator got hot but I tend to add cold creamer most times. When I drink it black, I put it into a travel mug and dole it into my coffee cup a little at a time. Of course, I have to let it cool before drinking. I knew it got hot but never realized how hot it was straight out of the pot.

After I took care of my hand, the very next thing I did was add a note to my Amazon review. I had already mentioned that the coffee gets really hot and to be careful with kids in the kitchen. What I added was that people who for whatever reason tend to be clumsy need to be extra careful. 

So I am returning the pot. And I know I will have trouble finding something else. As it was, it took forever to find this percolator. My niece and I are reading reviews and looking at the pros and cons of the pots I can afford.

Unfortunately, I am going to be going back to a drip-style pot. I'm afraid that the design of the percolator - tall and slim - was one reason I wasn't able to control the spill. I didn't want a glass carafe but... Thermal carafes are so expensive. My niece offered to chip in but I am just going to go with something that I can use my Prime card to pay in interest-free installments. 

This one caught my eye because of the price and thermal pot:

Not crazy about the look of it, but... 

Other than the boring look, I was in love. It's obviously a best-selling machine since there are 14,600+ reviews right now. Most importantly, it has a thermos-type carafe. No glass to worry about. The thing is, after reading several opinions on Amazon and around the web (I go first for the 3-star reviews), I wasn't so sure about the thermos. There were a lot of complaints about it being drippy, messy, and - this is the kicker - only keeping the coffee lukewarm. (And, yes, some users had no complaints about the warmth.)The other downside I read about in multiple places was the durability. A couple of users said that they loved the machine because of the "price point" but that it was not the best on flavor or durability. One review gave it high marks for everything but the flavor. Rather they said that the flavor was "okay for the price" of the machine but nothing to rave about.

Because I need something that gives great flavor and will last me a long time, I put this one to the side and kept looking.

I looked at a lower-than-usually-priced Cuisinart that was still too pricey for me and didn't seem to live up to the hype for some people. There were actually a couple of Cuisinart's I checked. I also noticed when looking at different machines that people were "replacing" their old Cuisinart's. Hmmm. I did find a Mr. Coffee with a thermal carafe but it was huge and there were reported leaking issues. Also, I have owned Mr. Coffee machines or known people who have and they are reliable but very, very basic on flavor. And ugly. They are usually ugly. This one wasn't too bad for looks but it was big and not gorgeous. I looked at a Capresso; a Hamilton Beach that I liked because it was a dispensing type machine (no carafe!); and even a Mueller Austria. There was something about all of them that I liked (auto shut-off for one) and a few things I didn't like.

I was on the hunt for hours when my niece mentioned that she had loved the Ninja she owned. She loves all things Ninja and she can afford all things Ninja. I laughed at her suggestion but, by then, my brain was getting tired and wiggy, so I went and took a look.

Most of the Ninja makers are way too fancy for my needs and too pricey for what I laughingly call a 'budget'. I saw a whole array of Ninjas and my brain went into high fogginess.

People be doing too much, as the kids say!

I was about to go back to the Black and Decker and take my chances when I saw this Ninja:

Think I found my Neo. Maybe.

But... eighty bucks. Ouch! I went through the reviews and watched videos online and looked for comparisons between this one and the Black and Decker. Too much info!

I took the rest of the evening off so I could pick up on reading reviews the next day. Seriously, when my brain is done, it's d.o.n.e. I start getting overwhelmed and mentally dyslexic if that makes sense.

Feeling a little more rested, I got back to the reviews and comparisons. Oh, boy. There is a ton of information out there about coffee machines. 

This Ninja CE251 gets higher marks everywhere for everything except that carafe. Not only is it glass but it is often reported to be fragile. People told of breaking it by just sitting down too hard on a counter.

On the plus side though:

• Flavor gets high marks (important!)
• 
  Auto shut-off. This was a HUGE problem for me with the percolator. It was the reason I almost didn't get the machine.
• A removable water reservoir (probably the only thing I loved about the Keurig) And I don't plan on removing this but I will just fill it with a jug to keep from damaging the seal by removing and replacing the reservoir constantly. Picked up that tip from a reviewer.
•  Like the Black and Decker, it's programmable (one thing I didn't like about the percolator was that it had to remain unplugged when not in use and it was not programmable - neither was my Keurig)
• Some kind of adjustable warming plate technology that keeps the coffee hot without burning it (another downside to the percolator, it cooked the crap out of any coffee left for more than a couple of hours. Rare for me, but... )
• A showerhead-based spout for pre-infusing the grounds vs drip water system (the idea is new to me!) Try to picture water coming down over the grounds in a showerhead spray vs just drip-drip-dripping into the center of the grounds. That's the way I think of it.
• A straw feeding the brewed coffee into the center of the pot to keep the flavor more even. I can't wait to see whether this makes a big difference or not.
• A "Pause" button so I can grab a cup mid-brew (Black and Decker had this)
• Strength controls - Classic and Rich - and like the B&D, small-batch brewing. I know already which coffee I will be using the Rich function for. The B&D has "Auto" and "Strong" which is probably the same thing as Classic and Rich.
• There is a "Clean" function that should come in handy. (By the way, I heard that the glass pots for this machine tend to hold stains at the bottom and, woe is me, in short supply should you need a replacement. Just thought I'd throw that in.)
• As with the percolator, I will still be saving on coffee. I had already stocked up on some so I'm good for a good long while. No more pods. Let's say it together: "No more pods. No more pods!"
• And once again, flavor, flavor, flavor. This is going to be the biggie.

I am going with the Ninja but only because I can do the installment on my card and only because I picked up an additional warranty. I figure if I have any major problems, between the warranty and my credit card protections, I'm covered. I wouldn't have dared get this one without the installments.

After I made my decision, I kept going back over reviews again and again. I keep coming back to one that touted the Ninja CE251 as one of the best machines under $100 - the Black and Decker didn't make this particular list. Black and Decker didn't even make Owly's list of the best B&D programmable machines. I went back to Owly because they had my favorite review covering the good, bad, and ugly. 

Since I loved the flavor I got from the percolator, that was a big thing when looking for a replacement. 

Overall, the things that pushed me hardest toward the Ninja over the B&D were being able to control brew strength (I love this!) and the showerhead feature. Though the B&D does have the thermal carafe,  am counting on the special "adjustable" warming plate technology. I still have no idea what that is going to mean in the real world, but it gets some hype in reviews online.

By the way, because of my accident with the Presto, I wondered about the temperatures of the Ninja, Coffee is said to be best brewed between 195 and, I believe 205 degrees. The Presto was supposed to get to 193. Maybe, but it felt a lot hotter than that when I burned myself. The Ninja is reported by some reviewers to get to 193 degrees. That's close enough for me to the best temp. As far as spilling coffee, the Presto was easier to spill on me because of the way it's made. The tall, thin pot almost has to be unplugged to pour coffee without yanking on the cord. And I did have less control over the narrow style when pouring. I'm not making excuses for my natural clumsiness but a shorter, wider pot seems as if I will have more control over it. I was always a little unsteady handling the Presto, to be honest, and I think I mentioned that cord in my original review. And then there was the whole no auto shut-off that bothered me from the beginning.

The one thing that I don't think I am going to like about the Ninja is the size. I can't really tell from photos but it seems like I am going to be losing a lot of counter space to it. Also, a user mentioned that the brew basket opens from the top. Oh, and, of course, it takes a different type of filter... ~sigh~. Even though it has a permanent, reusable filter I know I will be buying the #4 cone filters soon. Those built-in filters never work as well as is claimed. But, still, the pros are in the high majority, so...

I conferred with my consiglieri, er, niece, and she gave it a thumbs up. She was still trying to help me pay for it because she is a generous young lady and she loves her auntie. I'm going to be okay with the payments though. When I asked what happened to her Ninja, she said she still has it and uses it on occasion. Apparently, she has done okay with that glass carafe. She and her boyfriend are not big on regular coffee but like pimped-out java with lots of foam and all that. She should have gotten one of these fancy Ninjas.

(I finalized the purchase of the Ninja a couple of days into this post. I have already packed up the percolator and will be returning it via Kohls. I also remembered to return the Asurion Plan for a refund.)

The Ninja will be here Monday. I have been using my single brew filter. My counter already looks lonely and less attractive with the percolator gone. It sounds crazy, but I was almost tearful about giving it back. 

I am hoping that this one works out for me. Hopefully, it brews my coffee hot enough without being a danger. Hopefully. I think if I try to return this one, Amazon is going to hate me.

When I get the Ninja, I will use it for a few days and then do a review.

Peace

--Free

**COFFEE REVIEWS** Luzianne Premium & Door County Flavored

Remember me talking about my percolator saving me so much money? It will once I stop trying new coffee in it. So far, I have bought one coffee, gotten a sample of another, and subscribed to one from the sample brand. I'm about to pick up some Luzianne Medium Roast (red) and I will be good on coffee for the next 3 months or more!

First up, is the Luzianne that I had already started writing this review for. 

Luzianne Premium Blend Coffee and Chicory

For a long time, I've been telling people that I prefer dark roast coffee and that Luzianne chicory coffee is the only brand I loved black. What my no-attention-to-details brain never clocked was that the chicory coffee by Luzianne only comes in a medium roast. Luzianne has a dark roast coffee but it's minus the chicory. I never bought that one.

Anyway.

As you know, I am obsessed with my new percolator. Ob-SESSED. I've been consumed with finding the perfect coffee for it. I've been grinding beans and sampling coffees sent to me by sellers. When I saw this

Notice that it is only 16 ounces

for size comparison

I had to grab some. It's coffee with chicory, and it's a dark roast.

I did realize that I might end up having to water it down a bit. After all, I want to do black coffee as often as I can and the red bag Luzianne is a medium roast. However, I usually can do the milder-tastingArabica beans sans cream and sugar better than I can Robusta beans.

But...

This is a roast that is beyond dark. Child. This is- I don't even know how to tell you how strong this coffee is without explaining it in detail.

The suggested measurements are 1 level tablespoon to 6 ounces of water.

Don't do it, sis. Just don't.

They suggest that because (I guess) they know that the standard 2 tablespoons to 6 ounces is way too strong with this blend. And, trust me, they didn't stutter, lie, or overstate this. As a matter of fact, I found the coffee too strong with just 1 tablespoon to 8 ounces. So, for my 4 8-ounce cups, I used a smidge under 4 tablespoons. I say just under because I was using my finger to level it off and went a little deep.

Anyway.

After I made it the way they suggested, the coffee brewed up stronger than Samson, Hercules, and Andre the Giant combined. It was so strong that I put it all aside to make some cold brew later. It was SO strong that when, as an experiment, I just ran more water (about 12 ounces from a bottle I was sipping from) through the just used grounds. And that made a brew good enough for me to actually drink.

This is the kind of strong coffee I imagine cowboys or slaves - or anyone way back in the day - drinking. You know, when people drank coffee to make it through a day with no sleep. When people drank coffee instead of doing cocaine or Adderal or, I don't know, whatever the E.R. doctors, stockbrokers, and mothers of quintuplets and no nanny do to work 90-hour weeks on no steady sleep.

I like my coffee strong but, good golly! This stuff here... I can see Crocodile Dundee looking at someone make a pot of Folgers and whipping this out to say, "That's not coffee, this is coffee." 

You get my drift. Anyway.

So I decided to use 1 weak tablespoon to about 10 ounces of water. "Weak" being the opposite of "heaping" and a tiny bit less than "level".

The next morning, I used my measurements to make the 4 cups of coffee. Then, fingers crossed, I pushed my sweetened and flavored creamer away and the first cup.

Blow, blow, sip.

The verdict: I can do this or... can I do this?

Here's the thing. I can do this without adding anything sweet but I need the cream. I don't know if it's a mind trick or what but there's something about lightening the coffee - to the eye and on the tongue. But I said I was going to give this black coffee thing a real go. I'm doing tofu, for heaven's sake, I should be able to do black coffee!

Blow, blow, sip...

Hmm... 

Yes, I can do it without cream but I will need to make it a little bit weaker. As is - with the already watered-down measurements - I really need at least a little bit of unsweetened cream. Next time I will do 1 tablespoon to 12 ounces of water. I think that will be the sweet spot for me. (And I was so busy sipping, I forgot to get a photo!)

NEVER bitter!
It would make great Cafe Au Lait 

As big a deal as I make about this brew being so strong, the thing is, even at its strongest, the coffee truly has zero bitterness. With the first pot that I made strong that I had to re-purpose it? Even that wasn't bitter in the least. Now, it was overwhelmingly strong but there wasn't even a trace of bitterness. I think that, for anyone who likes their coffee black by default, this would be the perfect brew for them. My father would have loved this coffee. I know that he liked chicory with his coffee (he was from Arkansas via Lousiana, you know) so this would have been something he preferred over the usual brands found on store shelves. He and my mother used to make Folgers so strong you could gnaw on it.

Anyway, I'm not mad at this coffee like I wanted to be because of the price. Since it takes so little of it to make a pot, it will last me a long time. Maybe longer than the huge 12-ounce cans of Yuban that I used to favor. Plus, you know, chicory.

Will I buy this again? Yes. I will.  Unless I can find the cheaper bricks of the red bag Luzianne's mild roast. But this is worth it for the reason that I can drink it black without hating it and because it really is a nice quality of coffee. I'm no expert and even I can tell that this coffee is better than your average easy-to-find shelf brand. However, if I had to use the regular amount of coffee per cup, there is no way.

Brownie Batter Chocolate Flavored Coffee (by Door County Coffee)

 Okay, so this is a much shorter review. This is a medium roast coffee that is so delicious you will feel like you should be putting on weight. It's so good that I've been drinking it with only unsweetened creamer. 

Two things to know about this one:

• It's decaf. Yeah. It was a freebie so I didn't see the product page first. I don't mind. I save it to drink later in the day when I won't drink caffeinated java. Think of it as dessert.
• It's a medium roast. However, in my opinion, you still need to go light on the grounds. In the percolator, The label suggests 2 tablespoons of coffee to 6 ounces of water (that must be the new standard) but I use about a tablespoon and a half to 8 ounces of water. Find your preference and enjoy.

This is so decadent that I started a Subscribe and Save for Door County's Chocolate Caramel Truffle. It's also a decaf. I wanted to try it to see which flavor I like best. I can always switch over the Subscribe option. It's a 10-ounce bag that runs sort of high (about $11.50 right now) but is nice for the occasional treat.

As I said, this is wonderful - if you get the brew strength right. I made one cup too strong and there was a bitter bite to it. Even creamer didn't help. I went too weak with the next cup and I got that dirty water bland ickiness. It took another couple of tries until I hit the mark. Ever since then I have been sipping on this as an after-dinner treat. Creamer brings out the sweetness perfectly.

There are a ton of flavors under this brand. Some only come as ground, while some are available in whole beans. Some are caffeinated. I couldn't find one right off that I wanted to try except Bourbon Vanilla. Since I like the idea of drinking a decaf after dinner hours, I don't mind. 

Last of all, I did pay attention to some of the reviews but I think it's tough to rely on someone else's opinion of a flavored food or beverage. Maybe someone's idea of good chocolate or vanilla is a lot different than my own. I didn't see a lot of bad things about the Brownie Batter but I did see where some reviewers recommended other flavors I don't think I would like. I won't be rushing to try a flavor like Cherry Cream or Amaretto. Those are favorites of mine in general. At least with this brand, there are a LOT of flavors to choose from.

Peace

--Free

Call Me "Vegetarius" (for my health)

(My apologies in advance to any militant vegetarians or vegans.)

With all the madness of people randomly changing their pronouns - and, sorry, I think it's silly - I started thinking about my own choices. At first, I was going to ask everyone to refer to me as rich but decided that no one could suspend belief that high. Instead, I have decided to be more realistic and ask to have my eating habits referred to as being "vegetarius".

I wasn't born this way. What happened is that I got old. All the fat that my body used to repel the way oil repels water or citronella is supposed to repel mosquitos, found a workaround. Every croissant and donut and Moose's Tooth pizza I ever let past my lips was just waiting for me to turn 50 to bring their calories out of hiding to rest on my gut, butt, and the places under my arms right above my bra strap. And by the way, I like to blame the sarcoidosis and prednisone for my weight, but it's been over 10 years since I was on a really high dose of the steroid, so...

The fat doesn't bother me like it did at first. The visuals of my fat I can deal with. I'm not ashamed of the way I look. The problem is I hate the way I feel. For almost 50 years, my frame was used to holding together about 100 to 135 pounds. Carrying so much more than since I was diagnosed with sarcoidosis has been taking a toll. 

My weight loss "journey" (there's another of those overworked terms) started with whatever plans were "trending" at the time. I tried the whole Cabbage and Carrots diet. That works until you start eating anything other than cabbage and carrots. I tried Keto; the juice and smoothie cleanse diet; food prep; OMAD, and so on. When I tried ADF (Alternate Day Fasting), I realized it was something I could live with long-term.

The problem with any change in diet for weight loss is that not only do you have to stick with it - pretty much for life - but it's a two-step situation. It's all about both how you eat and what you eat. For instance, I have no problem with how to do ADF. I actually love it. It feels natural to me. On top of that, I save on my groceries. 

All good, right? Just about perfect, but I did realize I needed to work on the what I eat part of the plan. 

Originally, I didn't really change what I was eating on the ADF diet plan. My general meals consisted of a lot of beans and chicken and rice and potatoes and vegetables with the occasional beef binge or pizza party thrown in. I discovered freaking Butter Burgers when I moved here to Iowa - Butter Burgers, people. Then I found those delicious Mama Cozzi's Take 'n Bake pizzas at Aldi's. 

Checking in for my infusion one day, the scale hit a number that made even the nurse do a doubletake. At my last infusion, I had weighed in at about 12 pounds lighter. Folks, I get these infusions every 7 weeks. The nurse didn't comment and neither did I - not out loud. Inside though I was telling myself that Sam Cooke never lied. A change was surely going to come. It had to. 

The next time I bought groceries, I used a list of kidney-friendly foods to guide me. (Because my kidneys are on the hit list with this sarcoidosis.) The first thing on that list was tofu. Other things were chicken,  fatty fish - like salmon and tuna - and lots of leafy greens and vegetables and blueberries. Things to avoid include most of the seasonings I had in my cabinet, nitrates, potassium, and - oh no - smoked fish. 

This is where my learning process started: which types of fish and seafood I can and cannot have; how to make skinless chicken more appetizing; who to season food without a lot of salt; and what the heck to do with tofu.

It's been some time since I started playing with my personal menu. As of today, my meals (for good and for "needs improvement") consist mainly of:

• Cabbage and collard greens (I love collards and can do interesting meals with cabbage)
• Frozen mixed vegetables (because they are super-cheap all year round)
• Whole-grain or seeded bread.
• Frozen blueberries (the only berry I really like that I can easily afford)
• Salmon - not always the cheapest when I need to buy it as fresh as possible. Thankfully Aldi's tends to keep a supply.
• Tuna - hard to find low-sodium kinds except online.
• Shrimp - cheaper if farmed, tastier if wild-caught.
• Tofu - so far only extra firm is my favorite

Olive oil and chia seeds and natural honey are staples now. I'm even trying to learn to drink my coffee black. My other go-to beverages are chocolate tea or sweetened vanilla soy milk blended with unsweetened cacao.

I snack on things like roasted black beans, the occasional tortilla chip, and peanut butter on bread. Every now and then, I will get an angel food cake and dress it up with freshly whipped cream and some berries. I make chia seed pudding in place of ice cream. If I really get a craving for something sweet I will make a 2-ingredients ice cream out of yogurt or cream with condensed milk.

Since I had to cut back on salt but just have to have some kind of seasoning, I have started using shitake mushroom seasoning. I don't look too closely at the label but will bring it up with the nephrologist next visit. And, cut me some slack, tofu needs seasoning!

To be fair, I have come to love tofu. It's fairly cheap and versatile. So far, I've only used the firm or extra-firm type and can do a version of chicken nuggets and chicken sandwich patties. I can't wait to try recipes using the softer or "silkier" tofu.

Anyway, the other day, my neighbor asked me if I was "going vegetarian". My answer is no. I don't want to "go vegetarian" but I have to go away from the way I've been eating for almost 60 years. I decided then to tell her that I am "going vegetarius". 

For me, being "vegetarius" means admitting that vegetarians make some good points about eating right. The rest of us typically do eat too much red meat and we don't eat enough vegetables. However, eating more vegetables and less red meat does not make me anywhere close to being a vegetarian. But I can eat better and healthier without getting any closer than is comfortable for me. 

As a vegetarius, I am going for a better-balanced diet. I can enjoy the once-in-a-blue-moon burger or taco and I don't have to scan the labels of everything I eat to make sure I'm not getting a single grain of meat by-product. I have enough trouble watching out for nitrates, potassium, sodium - or any other thing that adds flavor to food.

As a vegetarius, I am adjusting my eating habits for my own better health and not because I worship at the altar of the animal kingdom. 

You can see from the meals I listed, I have completely revamped my diet. However, quality of life is as important as the number of years lived. There is not a lot of fun in being on medicines and dealing with an illness that cuts back on the days you feel well. If I can get some pleasure from my food without literally killing myself, I'm going for it. So the vegetarius life is for me.

If there are any dieticians, vegetarians, or other folks with food knowledge, I would love to hear about some kidney-friendly recipes.

Peace

--Free

Some of the resources I use when grocery shopping

I'm not a medical professional. Always do your own research. I am just sharing some of the places I check when I am putting together a grocery list. I shop online so it's easy for me to open them in another tab. When I do go to a store, I try to have my whole list ready to take with me.

Be good to your kidneys. Trust me, I know what a toll dialysis can take on a person.

• This is the most comprehensive site I use. I have to pull it up almost every time I shop.
• And this is the "quickie" list when I don't have the brainpower for the first resource!
• This gave me a heads up about dairy alternatives. There is a catch to everything!
• Some "fast foods" that I found
• Seasonings that are "safe" (and not one is a favorite without salt!)
• I like this page for the different lists of "eat this not that" options. Scroll down on the page to find it.
• I hate this page but refer to it often. It depresses me.