Saturday, April 30, 2011

A Saturday Ramble in the Kitchen

I'm supposed to be downstairs finishing up what I started over a couple hours ago:
. . .washing the fresh veggies we bought at the local farmstand 
. . .turning the cut unripe mango into a sauce or something
. . .combining the ripe avocado and quarter-cube of tofu into mashed avocado and tofu with garlic, green onion, tomato, cilantro, and (shhhh!) kimchee juice
. . .creating some kind of casserole with the leftover BBQ chicken from last Sunday's Filipino Community BBQ fundraiser.
Oh, and don't forget, self,  wash the lunch dishes. 

The husband is normally the dishwasher but because I needed to hog the kitchen sink and counter I said I'd wash them. That is, I will after I'm done with everything else I need to complete.

Maybe I shouldn't have let the husband off the hook. Lunch was a concoction of mashed banana, tofu, peanut butter, and fig jam on toasted blueberry bagel. When the husband took a bite, he asked, "What the heck is this?"

"What? You don't like it?" I responded.

"It tastes good," said the husband. "It just looks like barf. But, it tastes good."

Okay, then, that's all that counts. 

It didn't hurt my feelings that he described the look of my dish as such. It really didn't. He describes honey as bee barf. Besides, it was not the first time that someone has said to my dish tastes great, but looks horrible.

C'est le vie.

Back downstairs I go. 

P.S.  This is a couple hours or so later. I accomplished everything but washing the dishes. The husband is doing that now, along with the dinner dishes. No big deal, according to him. I am thankful for that. 

P.S.S. For dinner, I made another dish that looked horrible, but tasted wonderful. It's not like I'm trying. If you haven't experimented with sauteing not-so-sweet pineapple and mango with leftover BBQ chicken and/or BBQ pork, give it a try.  Even the mama ate up her portion. 

Thursday, April 28, 2011

Finding the Funny in B for Bleeding

Today's letter is B.
For more B posts,
please click here.

Definitely not to be taken lightly.

Postmenopausal bleeding, in particular, for us mature ladies.

Still, there's some humor to be found. Hold that thought.

Serious stuff first: The medical experts say that postmenopausal bleeding refers to any bleeding (light or heavy) occurring after one full year of no flow. There could be various reasons that a post-menopausal woman may suddenly start bleeding, from benign cervical polyps to yuck! cancer. So, dear ladies, you know who you are, do not hesitate, do not pass Go. Make an appointment to see your gynecologist tout de suite.

Okay, back to that held thought. Humor.

Let me take you back to 2006. Then was my first bout with postmenopausal bleeding. Lady-Doc (and my gynecologist is a she) found a rather huge, very ugly hot potato of a polyp. She twisted that baby off and sent it to the lab. Ladies, the things our gynecologists must see and do. They're well worth the money. Fortunately, Lab-Doc decreed the polyp as benign. However, Lady-Doc told me that I may get more over the years because essentially I have the physical conditions to be at risk for them.  Lab-Doc also diagnosed that I had something called atypical hyperplasia, which also contributed to my case of postmenopausal bleeding.

Hey! you say. Where's the funny in that?

When that all happened, I was 52. I had never used birth control pills until then.

I hear you. What's birth control pills got to do with postmenopausal bleeding?

In my own words—don't quote me, please—birth control pills control estrogen. That was one, perhaps the only way other than a hysterectomy, to stop that hyperplasia from possibly developing into yuck! cancer.

So, anyway, the funny stuff: The pharmacy was very busy the day that I went to pick up my birth control pills. Four pharmacy aides worked the counter, including a young man who had started a few weeks before. I was hoping I'd get one of the women who were around my age. Of course not.

The young man took my name and went searching for my prescription. I watched him do the rounds at each station where they might be. The second time he went into the drawer where my prescription should've been and pulled out the same prescription I'd seen him pull out before, he asked me, "Is the prescription under someone else's name?"

"No. Whose do you have there?"

He called out the brother's name. Hmm, maybe. I asked, "What's the prescription for?"

Bingo. It was my prescription.

"That's it," I said. "He's my older brother. Someone must've confused our accounts."

The young man looked at me unsurely.

"Those are birth control pills," I said, "Why would my brother be prescribed birth control pills? If his wife needs them, she'd get her own prescription."

The young man still hesitated. It could've been the grey hair sprouting from my head that confused him. Why would an old lady need birth control pills? That was for me to know. So, I repeated my logic. Second time must've made sense to him. He took the pills and went back to talk to a pharmacist to sort it all out.

And that, dear readers, is how this postmenopausal woman got her first batch of birth control pills.

Funny, no?

P.S. I only had to use the birth control pills for several months. The hyperplasia condition went away. More than a year later, Lady-Doc twisted off another benign polyp. Fast forward to last week.  Bleeding. I figured it was a burst polyp. Knock on wood, that is all it is. I ought to know soon.

P.P.S. If you would like to read some easy-to-understand medical explanation about postmenopausal bleeding, in general, check out this link.

Thursday, April 21, 2011

Aging, Sometimes Awkwardly

Alphabe-Thursday, hosted by Jenny Matlock at Off on My Tangent, is staring a new round of the alphabet. Whoo-hoo!  To read more A posts, click on over to here. Of course, that's after reading my A post. ~ Su-sieee! Mac

Getting older is a learning experience.


If someone gave me an operating manual for aging, I doubt that I would open it. That would be like finding out what date and time slot death has assigned me.

No, thank you.

I'm happy to grumble and gripe, cry and cringe, and mumble and moan through the aging process. The physical aspect, that is.

Seriously, I don't think I am at all that old until I happen to glance into a mirror. Fortunately, we still haven't put up another mirror in the bathroom since the old one broke last New Year's Eve.  So, what I don't see, well is what I don't see. Though a few weeks ago, someone asked me ever so sweetly and with much concern, "Are you sick?"


Heck, no. Knock on wood. 

Sunday, April 17, 2011

Hold that Thought

I've held many thoughts so long that I hope one day they'll pass through my mind again. Especially the funny ones.

One of my faults is suddenly interrupting the husband when he is reading or following something on TV to tell him something that bam! popped into my head. Let's just say he finds it annoying. Very. After blah-blah years together, I believe I've gotten better at holding my thoughts until he looks up or a commercial comes on. Alas, my brain has moved on to other thoughts.

I wonder if that's what the vagueness is I sometimes feel going on in my head. Random thoughts that didn't get shared by either saying them aloud (to the husband) or writing them down for  this blog. Yeah, I miss expounding about nothing and wasting virtual  space with my verbiage.

Do you think it's true that everything on the Internet is floating outwardly into the infinity of space? The waves must be pretty darn strong to break through the atmosphere and whatever else without fizzling before reaching space, the final frontier.

I really wonder if there is an end to the universe. Perhaps its perimeter is bound by some kind of fence put up by those who live on the other side. The only reason they would put it up is to keep us out. Of course, like Hadrian's Wall.

Oh, yes. I just remembered one of the thoughts I had on hold. Giving myself decrees for when and how often to post to my blog is plain redonkulous.

Catch as catch can. Can-can.

Thursday, April 7, 2011

Z is for Z's!

Today's letter is Z.
For more Z posts,
please click here.

No longer a zitella am I.

What does it matter. I still have zip, zazz, and zizz.

Oh, yes, and zany.

I have zipped the lines and one day I shall zumba. 

Now, it's time for me to start making some zzzzzzzzzzzz's.

Until later, my sweet Zumbadors!