Came home and had a toasted CAT sandwich.
Cheese – avocado – tomato.
What’d you think I meant?
A Dream in Three Parts
A long and greatly involved dream in three parts entertained me last night. It seemed like it was about hopes, expectations, and relationships.
Part 1: the Catholic family.
In this, Mom had to go away. Although I was an adult, she worried about where I was going to stay and what I was going to do, standard concerned Mom reactions to change. I ended up with an offer to stay with a childhood friend’s family. Neighbors. Haven’t seen the guy in almost fifty years, but here he was, in my dream, along with his parents. His parents have passed away some time ago, BTW.
In this dream, they had a huge home. I wouldn’t deem it luxurious but enormous with a byzantine layout. Some rooms were like huge cement auditoriums or gymnasiums; others were small but with multiple levels.
My friend’s mother told me, “Do whatever you want here. Just act like it’s your house. We’re happy to have you here.”
While I appreciated the sentiments, I was leery of making myself an unwanted guest, so I tried being circumspect. Weirdly I wore off-white pajamas with narrow blue pinstripes the entire time. I thanked her, of course. After casual exploring, I found a large room with a small student desk, the kind seen in elementary school, where I set up my computer and sat down to write.
After I set up, she came by with her family. Only she spoke, though, telling me, “We’re going out. We’re going to be gone a while, so the house is all yours.” It felt like a huge responsibility, almost a burden, but I thanked her for her trust and hospitality. They left; I kept writing.
At some point, I grew aware that it was pouring rain and the onset of dusk outside. I decided to leave.
Part 2: the Porsche rally and restaurant.
I went into my hosts’ garage and found a car. A small and older sports car of some kind, I knew it as mine.
I drove out into the rain and down a driveway to a busy, winding multi-laned urban street. Small sports cars were passing, dropping revs and downshifting, and sometimes sliding, drivers catching spins as the car’s back end swung out on the slick asphalt.
I recalled then, that’s right, the town was hosting a Porsche Rally, with special emphasis on older Porsches and the Porsche Spyder.
Well, that explained it! I also saw a circa 1970 Lotus Elan go by. I wondered if they’d allowed it to participate in the Porsche event, or if serendipity had brought it to this time and place.
Pulling out into the driving rain, I drove carefully, wishing I had a Porsche like the stylish little cars I saw. As I came up one hill, I needed to slow substantially because a Bugatti Veyron had spun across the middle of the road. I wondered, what is an expensive exotic like that doing here? I then saw three more going by in the rain.
It was almost dark and I reached my destination, a crowded old restaurant where I was meeting friends. The menu was American-Immigrant fusion. I began with pasta with tomato sauce and meatballs, and then switched to chicken fried rice. We stood as we ate, and my food tasted sensational.
As I ate, a tall, thin man walked by. “Guess what,” he loudly said, “I saw jars of Ragu in the kitchen. You’ve been tricked! This sauce is not made here.”
My friends and I shrugged it off. Wherever the food was from, it was awesome.
Part 3: the Revolution
I piled into a car with four other men. One of them was driving. One was armed with a gun which was part of his head. I could see that it was loaded with one round bullet, like something you’d fire from a musket. I was pondering the intricacies of how you’d aim a gun like that, especially if the target is moving.
We parked and entered a small, dim theater. A small stage was set up on the far end in front of rows of padded metal folding chairs. About twenty people, mostly men, were present. All were early middle-aged or older, and all were white. I milled with a few people, chatting for several seconds, and then one man began talking. They were there to overthrow the government.
Well, hold on, I thought, uneasy. I’d been invited to this gathering, and it’s not what I thought it was going to be. Something about the way they were addressed struck me as a religious group. I eased myself to one side, thinking, how am I going to get out of here?
At that point, the man with the gun head fired. He pointed it somewhere else and not at me. I watched the round ball leave its barrel with a plume of white smoke.
How weird, I thought, and that’s where it ended.
Jigsaws
Two more puzzles were finished this week. We finished a Wysocki last Wednesday. I shot a photo of it with my phone. Then my phone’s software updated and suddenly my phone wasn’t sharing photos with my ‘puter. Gotta investigate settings and figure out what went wrong.
Anyway, couldn’t share a photo of the completed puzzle so here is a photo of the puzzle box. We’re taking it back to the library tomorrow.
Meanwhile, friends had a visitor and she brought them a puzzle. They didn’t put it together but loaned it to us to complete.
Well, we started it Friday night and finished it Saturday night. One thousand pieces. As you see from the photo, it’s candy. Mostly candy bars.
I wasn’t keen on doing it. I like a puzzle with a couple big focal points. This one looks like it has a hundred tiny focal points. Beside that, it has some irregular shapes. Bah.
But it turned out to be challenging but very engaging and a lot of fun. My wife took to it with a lot of zeal. She really seemed to like all those little foci. Details about the candy being offered and their prices and the small details on the packaging was delightful. I enjoyed seeing Sugar Babies, Junior Mints, Clark Bars, and Milk Duds. These were my childhood favorites although as an adult I gravitated toward Payday. But I didn’t put my nose up at a 3Musketeers Bar (my sister’s favorite), a 5thAvenue, or a box of Good & Plenty.
I wondered, though, about the missing candy bars. Nestle Crunch. Milky Way. And what about Twizzlers? Didn’t they deserve to be included?
If you get a chance to try it, I recommend it. But you can’t have this one. We’re taking it apart and returning it to our friends.
Wednesday’s Wandering Thoughts
The barista yesterday asked, “How’s it going?”
“Going well, thanks. You?”
“I’m looking forward to lunch. I have leftover mashed potatoes and chicken.”
“Ah, comfort food,” I responded.
She grinned. “Exactly!”
Well, you can imagine what I ended up having for dinner: mashed potatoes, chicken, and brussies. Comfort food.
Right on.
The Writing Moment
My sloppy and unscientific observations draw me to a bottom line that five minutes of writing in my head requires thirty to forty minutes of intense typing to put the scene into the ‘puter.
Your results may vary. Also, this only applies to this manuscript in progress. Also, beverages might play a role in the outcome. Like beer, wine, coffee.
Deeper study is needed for more insightful results. Donations are requested. Like beer, wine, coffee. Maybe a wedge of pie.
Thursday’s Wandering Thoughts
I added radish leaves to my breakfast this morning. We bought radishes yesterday at a store. Organic and local, they have the leaves attached. As I was checking out, the cashier told me she’d been told by a Persian guy that eating radish leaves are good for the respiratory system.
So I tried it. Tasted like grass, or wheat grass. I ate lawn grass back when I was a kid. I was curious and wanted to see what cows saw in it. Fortunately, we had little money and didn’t use anything on the lawn.
The radish leaves seemed to have an immediate effect on my airways, as congestion seemed to immediately drop. Could’ve just been a placebo effect, though.
Certainly was interesting to try.
Sunday’s Wandering Thoughts
My wife and I met with friends for coffee at 10:30 this morning. I ordered espresso with ice cream: an affogato.
My companions were appalled. “Ice cream, at this time of day?” they asked.
“Why not,” I retorted. “It’s time to do away with the provincial idea that ice cream can’t be consumed in the morning. I’m retired. WTF not eat ice cream in the morning with my espresso?”
So, Chipotle
I won’t be eating at Chipotle restaurants for a while, if ever.
The Guardian had an article that mentioned Chipotle by name.
“As inflation shot to its peak around mid-2022, Chipotle’s prices also rose, pushing up what customers paid for burritos and bowls by as much as several dollars. Since then, the fast casual restaurant’s costs have broadly fallen. Prices have not.
“Chipotle’s decision to maintain high prices helped boost profits 110% in recent years, while its executives boasted to investors that they raised prices higher than inflationary costs.”
There’s a list of companies and their profits in the article. Like Cheesecake Factory, with a fat 471% increase. Won’t be going there, thanks.
TBH, I only visit three of these places and it’s not that frequently. My exception is Starbucks. They’re one of my regular Ashlandia coffee haunts because the local places that I loved are gone. That just sucks.
Meanwhile, as you prepare to vote and you hear people complain of inflation and high prices, mention this article. Also mention that energy companies have seen record profits as well.
And let’s not forget grocery stores.
Face it, boys and girls, as voters scream about inflation and corporations complain about wages, regulations, and taxes, corporate executives are becoming stupidly rich.
All at the nation’s expense.
Limitations
I limit what I share. That’s true in life and includes my blogging.
One, I’m a private individual. Two, I don’t want it to appear as if I don’t respect and appreciate that I have it pretty good. Three, I’m boring and lead a boring life. At the same time, I sometimes decide to share because I endure something in isolation, hunting information, coping and struggling. I suspect that I’m not alone.
So, Ima gonna talk about my feet and ankles. Yes, but this is actually about edema, sodium, and hypertension.
Hypertension has plagued me my entire life. Brief doctor checkups were required when I was a child in my early teens first trying out for an organized sport. The first time, the physician said two things: “You have high blood pressure, and your ears need cleaned.”
When I was in the military, physicians would regularly order me to go through a week of coming into the clinic, hospital, or infirmary daily to check my blood pressure every day. I never paid much attention to it. It was always kind of high and never changed.
I should have been paying attention. That’s on me and my overconfidence and ignorance.
My hypertension finally caught up with me and began manifesting as edema several years ago. I have Mom’s very slender ankles, ankles which my wife always envied. Now they’re puffy. Swollen. Discolored. Stiff.
My healthcare team isn’t quite sure what causes my edema, whether it’s actually my lymph nodes, or venous insufficiency. I don’t want to oversimplify; multiple factors influence it. I always figure venous insufficiency played a large part, but I’ve also discovered that my body doesn’t deal well with sodium. Sodium is used in cooking, baking, and food processing as flavoring and a binding agent and preservative. My body decided it can’t stand sodium. When my blood results come back, high sodium levels always stand out as critically high.
This all came to a huge issue for me when I sprained my right ankle, first in May, then again in June. Both times, I was just moving when — snap – crack — my right ankle gave out and I went down in a blaze of pain.
The second time this happened, I couldn’t believe how much my foot and ankle swelled. Suckers ballooned into huge sizes. Shoes would not fit, limiting my footwear and activities.
I’ve been on amlodipine for several years to help with my blood pressure. I’d quit taking it for reasons I couldn’t even quite define for myself. I don’t know what I was thinking, for real. I resumed the med in early June. But when I went in for my annual check with my PCP in late June, my BP was 169/89. That concerned her.
It concerned me as well. She urged me to track my BP for two weeks and report the results back to her. Take your blood pressure morning and evening every day, she said. If it stayed high, we would need to address my meds. I agreed.
The first week’s results were horrendous. My right foot and ankle were also regularly swollen during that period. So was my left ankle. All of this was depressing. After the first week, I stopped tracking my blood pressure for a day because I was so upset. I had to make changes.
I’d been watching my sodium levels since the edema began manifesting. Now I carried it to hyper-vigilant levels. High levels of sodium are in so many foods. Condiments like mayo and mustard were gone, along with any salad dressings, pickles, olives, etc. I mean, I’d already cut them substantially back but now they were completely verboten. I’d treat myself to bacon once in a while before; no more. The butter we use has sodium; it was cut off. Bread was cut out. Rolls. Cheese. Salsa. Guacamole. Many favorite foods were simply eliminated from my diet. Raw fruits and veggies, which I’d always eaten in regular quantities, were eaten more frequently. I also increased my water intake. I cut down on my coffee consumption, and whenever I go to the coffee shop, I order a glass of water with my coffee. Desserts and treats are off the table.
The results paid off. My two-week average when I turned in my records to my PCP was 134/79. I had several second week readings in the 120/70 range. I had one reading of 117/72, and another of 106/69. My right foot’s swelling subsided. My ankles’ swelling declined. Besides that, I lost six pounds and an inch off my waist. I became more limber and flexible and slept better.
What I sort of realized/hypothesized was that the edema and swelling which I saw in my feet and ankles were happening internally as well. As things reacted to more fluids and less sodium, that unseen swelling also diminished.
Anyway, that’s my story. If you’re out there dealing with hypertension, high blood pressure, and struggling with edema and sodium, you’re not alone. I feel for you. I hope you can make changes and that those changes result in improvements.
They did for at least for me. It’s not over, though. I remain on that strict, almost completely sodium-free diet. Sometimes, we need to face it, this is how it must be.
And that’s how it is.
Cheers
Sunday’s Theme Music
Mood: heatthargic
Didn’t get too cool last night. Was only supposed to reach 99 F yesterday but my place saw almost 103 and then the heat hung around long after the sun said adios. Today, Sunday, July 14, 2014, I see clouds in the western sky. 73 F now in my zone, the heat is expected to push the mercury (or digital mercury) to 96 F.
Just finished the breakfast ritual. For a long time, I ate oatmeal, serving it up with fruit and walnuts mixed in. The fruit was mostly blueberries but blackberries were sometimes subbed. Once in a while, strawberries, peaches, or nectarines were installed on the menu. A few years ago, I switched to bagels. I nuke them to warm them and then butter them up. Fresh fruit has been added. Today, I had a kumquat. Then three plump blackberries. A dozen fat blueberries followed, and then a prune, several almonds, and a small slice of watermelon. The fruit varies, depending on what’s in season and what’s bought.
Now, doesn’t it feel good know what I had for breakfast? No, I’m sure it wasn’t at all interesting to you except for you to mutter, why is he writing this? Just a whim.
Today’s music began as “Richard Cory” by Simon & Garfunkel. But even as I protested, I did that song earlier this year, and then asked The Neurons why that song was in the morning mental music stream (Trademark stretched), the song changed to “Find Your Way Back” by Jefferson Starship. I had an idea of why it was there; I’d read of a hope that a coalition of Democrats will find their way back and support President Biden in his re-election and carry us to victory in November. But then —
*dramatic pause*
Papi finished his brekkie and wandered in for some attention. As he sat beside me on the ground, permitting me to bestow needed skritches around his ears, chin, and neck, he stopped proceedings to move aside and scratch an itch. Naturally, I said, “Scratch that itch,” in the same style as it’s sung in Devo’s hit song, “Whip It” from 1980. The Neurons latched onto that like a newborn taking to a nipple, so it’s now the song occupying my mental regions.
Stay positive, be strong, and Vote Blue in 2024. Also, enjoy a healthy breakfast. Coffee is being finished. Here’s the music video. Cheers
Michael Seidel, writer 