A blog is a terrible thing to waste

A blog is a terrible thing to waste

Words - my shield, my weapon of choice, my solace, my refuge. 

Words often come to me at the most inopportune times … when I’m asleep, when I’m sitting with no way of recording their importance, their urgency. 

Words of fiction, of fantasy, of fact. 

Words end up scribbled on random scraps of paper, the back of a used envelope, the inside cover of a nearby notebook, notecards - oh so many notecards. 

Words come, persistent, alarming, emotional, stoic, clinical, and timid - some words slither, some assault, some whisper from the shadows, barely, if at all, perceptible - but even those refuse to be ignored - coming back to the fore and demanding immediate, undivided attention.

Words I will honour here - on this disused, misused blog.

A place, a chance to give voice to the words that haunt me, that tease me from the depths of past trauma, from an inimitable imagination.

Please be patient

Please be patient with me

Please be patient with me as I accept and navigate my new reality

Please be patient with me, this suggested diagnosis is difficult to swallow -- as much as I know it fits, it answers so many questions -- as much as it's almost epiphanic in its simplicity

Please be patient with me, I truly thought I knew what was going on

Please be patient with me, the path through "severe depression" cannot be rushed

Please be patient with me -- I know you're used to my highs, my "everything's fine"s, my ability to know the bright side of everything

Please be patient with me -- I, too, am used to those highs, that vantage point

Please be patient with me, the realisation that it's all been a cover, a facade over something deep, something tumultuous -- is difficult for me to handle

Please be patient with me as I (again) work to rebuild myself

Please be patient with me as I struggle with the amount of work still yet to be done.... especially when I feel I've come so far

Please be patient with me as my own patience, my sense of self, are battered and torn and shredded

Please be patient with me as I search for the right words, the definitions, the explanations, the realisations that I hope will serve me well in communicating what I, myself, don't understand

Please be patient with me as I struggle

Resolution versus Intention

As defined by the OED, a Resolution is: A firm decision to do or not to do something. Stemming from “Late Middle English: from Latin resolutio(n-), from resolvere ‘loosen, release’ (see resolve).” To resolve a problem.

An Intention is defined as: A thing intended; an aim or plan. The etymology being: “Late Middle English: from Old French entencion, from Latin intentio(n-) ‘stretching, purpose’, from intendere (see intend).”

Greece - December 2018

Words have meaning and the inherent meanings of words bring power to the messages conveyed using those words. Consider the impact of some of the greatest speeches held in the annals of history, the words therein where carefully chosen for their meaning, to increase the intended impact of the message being conveyed.

As a writer, I am blisteringly aware of the power of words, so it recently became important to me to understand my aversion to the concept of making New Year’s Resolutions.

Each time the Gregorian calendar approaches the 1st of January, friends and family members begin discussing the concept of Resolutions – some in earnest, some in jest, some even with a hint of sardonicism – and each year, my participation in the conversation wanes markedly.

My hesitance in sharing what I resolve to do in the coming year is that I find resolutions to be strict, unyielding, unaccepting of change, of movement.

A firm decision to do or not to do something. Historically, I have decided to “go to the gym 3-4 times a week”, as an example. I had been resolved. I had made a firm decision to do something. When an unavoidable change in circumstances then happened and I could no longer afford my gym membership, my resolution ceased to be, it failed. I felt, on several levels, disappointed. I was let down by life, the Universe, and by me. I had made the decision and I hadn’t been able to fulfil my own rigid expectations.

After several such disappointments, I decided something I now believe to be invaluable:

I don’t need to resolve. My life isn't a problem to be fixed. I don’t view my life as something for which I need to make ‘firm decisions’. I don’t live my life in such a way that my life needs to be resolved, released, loosened. I my life has a purpose. I live my life in such a way that I am ever stretching; my mind, my body, my goals, my plans… My life has purpose, it has direction. I intend.

When things happen that are unexpected, or ‘against the plan’, as they inevitably will, I merely adjust the plan, I re-aim, I stretch.

This flexibility, I find, is crucial when it comes to my emotional, mental, and even physical health. The knowledge that I am allowed to change, to adjust, to just “go with the flow” as life brings me new challenges and opportunities enables me to better accept my place in the world.

Each year, as I age and learn and grow and stretch; I make intentions… Flexible plans that perfectly fit the life I am designing for myself.

I intend. I intend to choose my words carefully. I intend to live my life free from limiting, damaging language.

I intend.

"She'll be fine"

Not so long ago, I had my feelings dismissed. This is nothing new to me.

When questioned about their decision, the person in question simply said (of me), "She'll be fine."

To that person, I write:

Of course, I'll "be fine".

Your summary dismissal of me and my feelings isn't enough to do me any real or lasting damage - you're not that important. 

Far greater people in my life have treated me far worse and done much deeper damage. 

Dismissal and neglect are the hallmarks of my childhood - a childhood that has caused me to develop PTSD. 

A childhood for which I have undergone countless hours of very expensive and comprehensive therapy.

Let me assure you that, if my psyche can withstand the childhood I endured, no damage you can do would compare nor could compete with what I have already endured and, most importantly, overcome. 

I will be fine.

But not because you have decided that my emotions are unworthy of your consideration but because I have decided that you are unworthy of my emotions. 

I will be fine.

Our relationship, however, will not. 

You have just proven to me that, like may adults before you, you do not respect me. 

I will act accordingly.

I will be fine. 

It's what I do.

Learning to Advocate for Myself

A recurring theme in my life, not being "Good Enough", has reared its ugly head again.

I am allergic to the wool carpet in our new house. This is a known allergy and we presumed I would suffer a bit when we moved in but had hoped that it would be mild enough that replacing the flooring could wait until we went, room by room, and redecorated the whole space.

Unfortunately, my reaction to the house has been swift and total. Inhalers needed, skin erupting in rashes... the works.

In dealing with all of this, already feeling low physically (it's exhausting being itchy 24/7) and emotionally (I find I'm still horrendously embarrassed by my eczema, even after more than 40 years with it), I took a backseat. I sat back and allowed Spouse to make decisions about how and when the flooring would be replaced because I didn't want to make waves, I didn't want to add stress where it wasn't necessary. And I started to feel worse. My health, I felt, wasn't being taken seriously. I wasn't being "heard".

Spouse and I got into a very slightly heated discussion about the flooring and timings, etc, about what I thought we should be doing versus what Spouse thought we should do... And why my needs were being ignored... and it was pointed out to me that I wasn't being "heard" because I wasn't saying anything!

I had been grumping around the house, miserable, sore, itchy - not telling Spouse how bad I felt, not communicating how much I was suffering.

I expected Spouse to know - and then was upset to discover that they didn't. Not to the extent that I was feeling it. Of course Spouse knows I'm suffering. It was obvious to anyone who sees me.... What Spouse couldn't have known, however, was how I am feeling, how much it's actually affecting me, how I feel emotionally and mentally because of the situation.

I briefly struggled to figure out why I would have trouble telling Spouse what my needs were. It didn't take long, though, to work out... In various, large portions of my life, the things I said, when I declared my needs, fell on deaf, impatient ears.

Throughout my life I had been ignored. Directly, wilfully, deliberately, indirectly, ignorantly, unwittingly... I have been ignored by my most primary relationships. Not all the time, of course. And sometimes, I was simply dismissed.

Through all of this, I learned. I learned that telling people what I needed, how I felt, what I wanted, even, was an exercise in futility at best and, at worst, in pain. It hurts to be ignored or dismissed and I can't tell you which is worse.

Now that I'm in my first healthy relationship, I'm having to relearn a lot of my behaviours and responses... I'm having to learn that it's not only OK to express what I need, it's essential, it's vital in a healthy relationship.

And I'm having to learn that my words will be listened to, that my voice will be heard.

I am learning that I am Good Enough.

10 Things You Probably Didn't Know About Me...

As it's been a while, I thought I'd ease myself back into blogging regularly(ish) with something simple... One of those ubiquitous, annoying "10 Things..." lists.

Bugger off. It's my blog and I can do what I want to, so there!

Potters, Hopton-On-Sea August 2017

Here goes!

10 Things You Probably Don't Know About Me:

1. I absolutely loathe photos of me. The above photo was taken by my lovely Sister-In-Law at her insistence. I understand her reasoning, hence why I stood for the photo(s! She took more than one!). Hopefully, someday I'll be able to look back on photos of myself and be OK with them. (Let's see if I can leave that photo there and not chicken out and take it down before this post goes live!)

2. I struggle with the concept of Good Enough. This has been an on-going theme throughout my life and I have actually had some very good, very expensive therapy regarding it. Throughout my life, I have felt that I am a disappointment to others, to myself. It's coupled with a strong sense of Perfectionism/Fear of Failure that means I hold myself to a far higher standard than I hold others and means that I am often overly, and even damagingly, self-critical. I have a fear of starting things, projects, because of this fear of failure - because if I don't start then I can't fail, right?! I frequently need to remind myself that I am good enough, that I am deserving of good things, deserving of being treated well and with respect. I am far better than I was but I acknowledge that I still have a long way to go... and that's good enough!

3. My favourite colour is Aurora Borealis (AKA "Iridescent"). It's actually a collection of colours; blues, greens, pinks, etc.

The surface of my bed-side table. Glitter under bartop resin. iPhone camera. Unedited.

4. I can't stand the word "toppings". Even saying it in my head makes me feel weird. This makes loving and ordering pizza rather difficult!

5. I have never eaten shrimp in any form. Does this make me strange(r)?

6. I am a big child. One of my life mottos is: I am forced to grow old; I refuse to grow up!

Card-carrying member. iPhone camera. Unedited.

7. We're moving! We're moving (further) away from London - eek! When I moved to London in 2004, I presumed that that was it. I fell in love. Love, I tell you!

I was first an "EastEnder" (but never on the soap). Then, in 2009, I moved "south of the river" gasp! And, again, became an EastEnder in 2012ish for a short while. Since then, I've lived for about 4 years in Essex, just beside London. London, for the past 13 years, has - at the very least - always remained in arm's reach! I'm not sure how I feel about being a 2-3 hour drive from my favourite city. The implications and my emotions surrounding it are, no exaggeration, bittersweet.

We're moving to a lovely part of the world called "Lincolnshire". It will be a significant change of lifestyle and will include the chance to develop hobbies, join clubs, exercise more.... All manner of things that the frantic pace of living "down south" doesn't seem to allow.

8. I love taking photographs. I have loved taking photos since I was a smaller child. We couldn't afford a decent camera so I spent my childhood working through a succession of cheap, crap cameras that used 110 film and did nothing to enhance my ability to take a photo. I even had a micro 110! How on earth one was supposed to get any kind of quality photos with one of those, I will never know!

In high school, I had wanted to take a photography class but it required having a 35mm camera with which to take the pictures. Again, the budget didn't allow this. I took it on the chin but was definitely envious of classmates who had access to a decent camera and felt an almost physical ache when I saw the photos they'd taken for the class.

When I was in my late 20s/early 30s, I was able to afford a decent and expensive (at the time) camera. I was super excited! Then, as life moved on, I never learned how to use it properly. It sat. I played with it a bit. I never really did anything with it other than use it in fully automatic mode, defeating the purpose of having that camera over a "point and shoot" version.

When we've moved, I plan on snapping more and joining a local camera club (there are at least three I can choose from!). I've recently bought some new lenses, some instruction books, and my desire to take good photographs is now even stronger than ever as I get one step closer and I'm super excited!

Random building in Southend-On-Sea. iPhone camera. Unedited. 19th August 2017

Potters, Hopton-On-Sea. iPhone camera. Unedited. August 2017

9. I love to sing! Like, seriously, love to sing. Thing 2, however, means that I am convinced I can't sing very well. People who are professional musicians/professors in music have told me that I can carry a tune and I still shy away from singing in front of anyone with whom I am not 100% comfortable around. I was in chorus all through grade school and junior high and a big part of me wishes I had carried on through high school... not because of who I could have been through singing; I have no aspirations... I just lament that I could have continued doing something I love instead of backing away because it wasn't cool.

When we move, however, there are three local choirs that I plan on investigating and, though it will be a genuine struggle to get the guts to do so, I plan on auditioning for at least one! I know! I'm just as surprised as you are, maybe even more so!

10. I am slowly writing a book about me. It will be a fictional adaptation based on my life leading up to age 40. Do you know enough about me to tell the difference between fact and fiction?

What are 10 things about you that I probably don't know?

I want...

Yesterday I paid for drugs.

Lots of drugs, actually, worth over £700.00 in total.

This fact leaves me feeling all sorts of emotions at the same time. So many that I am not sure I can articulate them coherently, but I feel I should try.

In 14 days our home will, once again, be filled with needles and alcohol wipes and my abdomen will again become filled with tiny holes. Holes through which I will inject the necessary hormones for trying to conceive via IVF.

Spouse and I have travelled this road together before. After "forever" of trying naturally, we started in October 2016. By December we learned that we'd not been lucky.

Of the eleven eggs removed; four fertilised. Two perfect embryos were implanted - and two perished before they could be frozen. The two that were implanted didn't "stick" and so the seven pregnancy tests I took that fateful day all came back negative.

No one knows why our embryos didn't "stick". I wrote cryptically about my reaction here and, to this day, the box has not been opened.

But it's not such a large box that I am unwilling to perhaps create another.

I adore my daughter; she's one of the most amazing people I've ever met, hands down, but I want a baby. I want a child with Spouse. I want to see his little face on a tiny human that he and I made together. I want to help raise amazing people who will change the world. I want to once again see my heart outside my body. I want...

I want.

The decision was fundamentally down to two things: me and finances. Spouse has been amazing throughout all of this. He cannot bear to do the injections or even watch me do them myself (I have no problem with them, thankfully), but whatever I have said, done, wanted or needed, he has been there, done that - no questions (other than the occasional checking in to make sure I'm not holding something back - I do have a tendency to do that).

As an aside, when this works and our child/ren ask where babies come from, we're going to tell them: When two people love each other very much.... Mummy becomes a pin cushion!

Or maybe not. But the chance to have to make that decision is a chance I cannot pass up.

So, I will be drugged and we will hope for "sticky" babies this time and I will be grateful that this option is available to us for we have tried and I am ageing and I want...

I want.

I now have another box.

Traditionally, I am ever the optimist. I am easily led from sadness or melancholy and straight back into, if not happiness, then comfort, certainly.

I have finally built a life around me that means I can be this way. I can be happy. I am happy.

I have found a system that works for me when it comes to Bad Things in my life. When they arise, as they always will; it's Life, after all - I simply deal with the emotions and thoughts straight away then move on. I do not have enough time on this earth to be dealing with negative thoughts or emotions any longer than absolutely necessary. I have too much good I want to do. There is too much fun to be had.

But, as with everyone, there are things in my past, things in my history which are not happy. Memories, thoughts, feelings, events, circumstances that I cannot move past.

I put these things into Boxes. Boxes in my mind that store the things with which I don't want to deal, the things with which I am, to varying degrees, frightened would break me.

Some of the boxes are doodle-covered cardboard, covered in dust, simply taped shut. Eventually, I think, I might open them and see what comes out. Thankfully, I don't have many of these boxes.

Some of the boxes are solid metal chests with locks of the kind Houdini couldn't even open. I have two of these boxes and I hope I've lost the keys.

Sadly, a new box was installed yesterday.

I don't yet know what it looks like as I keep wilfully ignoring its presence, hoping it will go away.

I know what the box contains, I can hear it whisper to me in the quiet moments, taunting me - the Thing inside still so new that it hasn't yet learned its place, its fate inside that box.

But I don't want to know. Not now. I might not ever.

There's a Thing inside a new Box and it's calling to me and I refuse to look for the key.

It's OK.

I have needed to write this for myself for some time now.

I hereby give myself permission not to write.

Yes. I am allowed to not write.

How scary is that?!

Since this time last year, I have taken an unintentional hiatus from my writing - and felt wretchedly guilty about it the entire time.

I stopped taking a specific medicine I was on for reasons in October of 2015 and have struggled since then to get my head back into the process of writing. It's like that part of my brain has been temporarily suspended. (I say "temporarily" because I do plan on resuming the medication in the medium-distant future.)

I am tired of feeling guilty for not putting words down, creating those magical sentences that seem to come from thin air... I'm tired of wondering if I'm good enough, if I'm actually a writer if I'm not actually writing. Well, I am and I'm not. I am a writer. I am a writer who is currently not writing.

And I am OK with that.

Or, I am trying to be OK with that.

Because it's a choice. I have chosen to take this particular path at this particular time in my life and, if a temporary side effect is that I don't write for a relatively short while in the grand scheme of things while I take this journey, then that's OK. It will be worth it. Hopefully.

But most importantly, in the mean time, I won't feel guilty about not writing. It's OK that I am not currently writing. I am doing something else. Something important. And the writing will be there when I am ready and able to get back to it.

Good enough...

Feeling "good enough" is something with which I have struggled my entire life.

I wasn't good enough for my parents to treat me well.

I wasn't good enough for the boys I liked to like me back.

I wasn't good enough to be "rescued" from various difficult stages in my life.

Several years ago, I even went through some CBT in relation to my self-worth issues. I "graduated".

So, I wonder... how is it that a chance encounter with a complete stranger can send me instantly down that spiral of self-loathing and create within me a feeling I have fought so long and hard to be rid of...

"I'm not good enough."

According to Random Stranger, I wasn't thin enough. They called me an elephant and said that I bumped into their cohort simply because I was so fat that I required the entire pavement to myself. I should have been smaller. I should lose weight. I should know my place, take up less space and not be so damned self-righteous in my assertion that I am a deserving human.

According to my lame-ass retorts, I wasn't clever enough to throw anything more back at them than trying to yell my excuse that it was *they* who bumped into *me*. I should have called Random Stranger a "clever little boy" and asked him, if it took me X amount of time to lose weight, how long would it take him to not be such an utter prig.

According to my rampant self-loathing immediately following the exchange, I wasn't feminist enough. I didn't stick up for myself against this person of the opposite gender who decided to be offended and rude on the behalf of the person with whom he walked. A woman. I should have asked *her* if she was offended or hurt. I should have ignored the man completely and, instead, asked the woman with whom he had been walking if *she* realised that *she* had walked into *me* - Or, better still, asked her if it was a requirement that he fight all of her battles for her, if he ever let her stand up for herself.

According to how this is still affecting me, more than 24 hours later, I wasn't strong enough to let this go. I haven't allowed it to wash over me. I am still damaged, hurt, seething, embarrassed. I could have realised that there is nothing wrong with my size. Yes, I am large, but I am not "obese" and, even if I were, I have nothing to prove to Random Stranger. I could insist that the problem is with him. The problem was with him presuming that he and his friend may walk two-wide down the pavement and spare no thought for anyone who might be passing in the opposite direction; They Will Wait. We Are More Important.

But I didn't do any of those things.

Because I'm not good enough.

And so here I am. Feeling like I'm back to Square One.

I will pull back up out of this. I always do. And I have been trough far worse.

My personal theme song isn't ACDC's Back in Black for nothing.

I do still wonder, though, if I have been through all that I have and come out on the other side cheery, smiling, bright-eyed and full of promise - why has this affected me so deeply?

Lots of love and a personal challenge for 2011

MrB and I don't celebrate St Valentine's Day in any formal, traditional way. (Several years ago I told MrB that if he were to send me flowers at my office that year he'd then be off the hook for the rest of our Valentine's Days together. He sent gorgeous balloons instead, one even being a giant frog, and he was very definitely off the hook.) Instead we celebrate the anniversary of a special day in our shared history on the 13th of February each year and treat the 14th as any other day of the year, specifically trying to avoid the commercialism that surrounds it 'nowadays.

Today, though, I thought I'd share a recipe I created last month and hey! I made it heart-shaped!

Happy Valentine's Day!



Almond Cookie-Press Cookies

1 cup dairy-free margarine at room temperature (plus some for buttering baking trays)

1/2 cup vegan cream cheese

1 cup granulated/castor sugar

3 cups plain flour

1/4 teaspoon salt

1/2 teaspoon vanilla extract

1 1/2 teaspoons almond extract

1/4 teaspoon baking powder

Fully combine margarine and cream cheese in a medium bowl. Add sugar and cream together.

Add salt, baking powder, vanilla and almond and blend well.

"Butter" (read: coat with a thin layer of dairy-free margarine) several baking trays (this recipe makes a LOT of cookies and I forgot to count how many but I'd comfortably guess it's more than 40!) before you start pressing your cookies. I was making cookie-press cookies based on recipes/videos I'd found online and when they recommended buttering your trays before you start; I though I'd be fine to just use baking paper. Boy, was that a silly move! The cookies won't stick to the baking paper which means they won't pull away from the cookie-press which means you're pressing cookies for no good reason. Please, people, learn from my mistakes! *grin*

Using a flexible spatula, fill cookie-press with dough and choose your shape disc. I chose the disc for making heart shapes (largely because I couldn't figure out which discs made which shapes) and away I went. My cookie-press has two cookie-thickness settings so I chose to use the thinner cookie setting and I pressed once for each cookie as I wanted them to be little morsels rather than "cookies", if that makes sense.

I then baked the cookies at 200C/350F for about 8 minutes. Too much longer and they started to colour. I wanted them to just be set with a hint of goldenness.

Allow to cool on baking tray for at least 10 minutes, remove to rack to cool completely.

I can't wait to use my cookie-press again! This time I might have to use each shape disc just to see what each produces!

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I'm on a self-induced (though inspired by futuregirl's*) craft diet this year.... A Challenge, if you will, to use what I have rather than buying more and more and making less and less.

What follows are photographic evidence of why I need to make this commitment to myself, to my bank balance, to the world (- why am I such a consumer?!) but please don't judge me too harshly... I do need to organise the whole set-up (that's on my list and it starts with filing about 45 years worth of paperwork) - and get a desk chair - but I know I've got at least a year's worth of crafting in there!

Want to know the worst part?.... That's not even any of my yarn in there! There's more *gasp* in other rooms in the house (living room, closet in the bedroom, etc)!

So, I've got a list longer than I am tall of things I want to make this year with the supplies I have so I now just need to get the motivation to actually do something other than brainstorming and dreaming and coveting!

Did you know that this is the first year in three years that I haven't been to my favourite two yarn stores in London to splurge on the Rowan Yarns sales? One of these retailers reported a drop in January sales as compared to the previous two years. *sigh* I know it's not all down to me but it brings home just how much I'd been spending on craft items and not getting many, if any, craft Finished Objects out of those items.

Have you set yourself a personal challenge for 2011?

*If you get the chance, peruse futuregirl's blog a bit... She's a Crochet Badass and totally inspirational for all "makers" out there.

Laundry "spiders", cookies and other life detours...

When I started this blog it was with the intention of showing you, dear readers, what it is that I love to do and how that love affects my daily choices, especially regarding my eating habits.

What I love to do is bake. I love to bake vegan sweet goodies that people are surprised about and utterly melt over.

This blog isn't very old and yet I already have a plethora of tags that aren't at all related to baking. This, for me, is a bit annoying but completely not surprising. I've always had many "layers" in my life and having begun to share more of them here seems, now, like a natural progression.

I'm sorry if you came here wanting only vegan goodies (sweet or savoury) and aren't that entertained by the rest of me. I wish you well on your own personal journey but this is a journey that I must make and, therefore, am taking the wheel and consciously deciding that it shall be reflected in this blog. All the layers. All the Me-s I have to offer.

If you don't mind and/or enjoy seeing more of my layers; welcome! We're in for a strange and wondrous trip, indeed!

Since it's been so long since I last posted I have a few things I'd like to share today so stay tuned or tune out. Either way I've numbered them so you can skip topics (or refer back to them) as you like....

1. Laundry "Spiders"

I have long hair. Very long hair by some standards, though it's not yet as long as I'd like it (and yet, simultaneously, I wish I could sport a chic, shorter style that better befits my physical age but alas, the build of my body makes longer hair aesthetically necessary *sigh*).

Because I have long hair I end up with it everywhere. On the floors, in the shower drain, on MrB's back as he's leaving for work, worked into a knitting or crochet project. That part's a nuisance, certainly, but OK as they're in small numbers and easily contained and removed.

What utterly annoys me, however, is the little balls of hair that I find in the laundry. Every. Single. Time.

I call them Laundry Spiders and toss away several of them every time I do a wash. (The record for one load is 7. SEVEN! from one load of mostly socks.)

Am I the only one who gets these?? Surely I can't be!

What do you call them?

Do you have any hints, tips, tricks for getting rid of them? I'd LOVE to know!

2. Baking

And now for something you may or may not have been waiting for. My original Chocolate Chip Cookie recipe.

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Vegan Chocolate Chip Cookies

1cup dairy-free margarine, at room temp
1 1/4 cups sugar
1 tablespoon plus 1 teaspoon molasses
2 teaspoons vanilla extract (when I mix it up a little I use 1 teaspoon vanilla and one teaspoon almond)
2 1/2 cups all-purpose/plain flour
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon salt
2 cups semi-sweet chocolate chips (or vegan carob chips)
3/4cup vanilla soy yogurt

Preheat oven to 350 F

Cream the margarine and sugar with a hand mixer until fluffy

Add the molasses and vanilla and incorporate. Add the dry ingredients to this mixture and mix until a dough forms. Fold the chocolate chips into the dough.

Drop by tablespoons onto ungreased cookie sheets or an ungreased, unlined cupcake tin. Bake for 8 to 10 minutes (my oven is -definitely- 8 minutes) until lightly browned. (Two notes: Due to their vegan status and chemistry, the cookies will not spread as much as normal cookies but that's good! Also, Don't worry about under cooking them as there's no raw eggs to worry about, though, the 8-10 minute rule, for me, leaves a cookie that's gently soft-crunchy on the outside and wonderfully soft and gooey on the inside!)

Allow to cool on baking sheets for 5 minutes then transfer to cooling rack. (At this point baking sheets can be rinsed under cold water to prepare them for the next batch.)

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I know there are a ton of other good, vegan chocolate chip cookie recipes out there and respect that they are probably very good. I only decided to invent my own recipe when I realised that most of the better recipes which yield a softer cookie contain flaxseeds/linseed and I know a lot of people have seed allergies so wanted to avoid them if I could.

If/when you make these, please do let me know what you thought of the recipe. I live for feedback and won't necessarily know I need to change something unless you tell me. Yes, you.

3. Life

Just recently (last Thursday, to be exact) I went to see a psychiatrist who has diagnosed me with Adult (Inattentive) Attention Deficit Disorder and my life has been quite strange since that moment.

I went to him thinking I had it or something akin to it (Would it really be me if I had gone to a doctor without investigating the jeepers out of something first?! I thought not.) but when he confirmed that I do, indeed, have it I can't accurately describe what I was thinking or feeling.

There was some relief, some disbelief, some shame, some anger, some fear, some impatience... gosh, the list is virtually endless.

At the suggestion of a dear friend I purchased some books by Edward M. Hallowell (Driven to Distraction and Driven from Distraction - both can be purchased from Amazon.com/.co.uk) and from what I've read so far I truly believe my life will change for the better with this diagnosis. I'm almost through the first book and it's almost as though this book was written specifically for me. Mr. Hallowell certainly seems to understand the condition (as he well should, he suffers, too).

I'm sure there will be a lot more written on this blog about ADD in the future so I'm going to stop here now that I've introduced it.

4. AOB

Stay tuned because in the next few days I'll be introducing a Tomato "Soup" recipe!

There's always room for...

I have a lot to talk about in this post, so please, bear with me.

It's quite difficult to express what it is I want to say sometimes so if I tend to drone on for a while I promise I will, eventually, come to the point and there -is- a point.

So, you all know about what I'm currently doing (not specifically - specifically I'm typing :P but in a much more -broad- sense). I'm currently starting afresh. Starting anew. It's something I've become quite good at over the past couple of decades. Adapting. Changing. Rolling with the punches.

Now, don't et me wrong, I've not always been "punched". This is a skill I've developed regardless of whether times are "good" or "bad". I like to mix it up, keep it flowing.

I suppose you could say: I refuse to grow up. I -still- don't know what I want to be when I grow up. I truly don't. A butcher, a baker a candlestick maker... all sound good to me... OK, perhaps not "butcher" if I'm being completely honest but I'm open to just about anything and I haven't yet found my niche. The one role that makes me Me.

On this journey of exploration, this journey of chances, I've come to discover some things about myself. Some of them wondrous, some baffling and some of them not so nice but I'm grateful for each and every lesson. No matter how painful or difficult to learn.

Of the things I've discovered I've managed to discern a few more... concrete things about myself. One of those things is that I don't like being an employee. I have very high standards that I set for myself and those around me in a work environment and I don't suffer well any failure to meet those expectations. If you've ever been an employer of mine you will well remember me complaining (often and I'm sorry) about the ineptitude of others. About the injustice I felt was happening when I put so much of myself, my energy, my skills into something and the person beside me/down the hall/in the next department wasn't capable of tying their shoes without direct supervision. One of my favourite-ever bosses (at a financial PR firm) was able to show (teach) me that the way I was perceiving everything wasn't necessarily the way it was. Nor was it healthy. With her and because of her (thank you, Ms C) I'm working on becoming more accepting of the work habits of others. I do regress quite often, however, and I stress myself out unnecessarily but I am learning.

Keeping this and other character "quirks" in mind I've been working on some projects here at home in the hopes that I can, at some point, be self-sufficient and won't have to again trouble a boss with my near-constant complaining.

These endeavours have taken a slight backseat as I rebuild our post-holiday lives. (Man! Living out of suitcases for a month takes it's toll!) There are also some things I am doing around the house that I had neglected while I was at my most recent job. Organisation things, mostly, some cleaning here and there. Nothing major, physically, but there are a few things that I'm working on that involve some major secretarial work.

One of these is the problem we're having with the DVLA (the UK's agency that registers cars, makes sure the tax has been paid on them, etc.) and a person whose name appears to be "Jhon" that used our address to register his car and then proceeded to park illegally, drive through the Congestion Zone and not paying, speeding and a myriad of other "fun" things. Because our address has been used -we- are responsible for the fines, penalties, etc. (In the UK your life isn't tied to a number like the Social Security Number in the US. We have National Insurance Numbers but they are issued when a resident turns 16 and are usually only used for tax and employment purposes. Credit and other liabilities are linked to a physical address.) This all means that I had to compile eleven separate envelopes containing a total of, are you ready for this? 33 charges/infractions. I called the police when we first got wind of what happened and everything's been reported to the DVLA who say they've taken our address off of the system so it's no longer linked to that car but for some reason the letters keep coming. We even received two letters from Metropolitan Police dated after I had reported everything to them. We have to send proof to each of these agencies that it's not us who's responsible, that Jhon does not and has not lived at our address in the 3+ years that we've owned our flat and that they can whistle for the money for their fines.

Yeah. Tons of fun. Tomorrow I head to the post office to send said letters and get tracking numbers for them. We've decided that any more letters that land after we've sent all of these off will be responded to with phone calls and I honestly wish I knew where Jhon actually lives so I could sue him for the cost of printing all of the durned things and posting them!

Another of my little secretarial tasks is hunting for a landscaper/ing company to fix our back garden (yard). We've lived here for over three years and have never used outside our back doors because of the maintenance it's required of us. I would very much like to use this area of our "house" so am finally putting some of MrB's bonus this year towards making it a usable space once more.

I'm also sorting out all of our files (bank records, receipts, mortgage statements, etc) and getting all of that in order. And doing a general organisation of our flat (man, I have a lot of stuff!) to sort of streamline how we live. To make a little space in our lives. To stop leaving things sitting around because there's no space for them to be put away.

My major stumbling block is MrB. He's a pilot, you see (of ships like this). We joke that he's "a pilot. He takes stuff from one place and piles it in another" (Pile it) - Unfortunately, over the years I've absorbed some of this tendency. Here's proof. Our dining room table this morning:

and now, our dining table tonight...

And I promise I didn't Pilot! It's all put away nicely or ready to be taken upstairs and put away (the box and bag of papers on the chair).

I'm not sure as to the exact cause of me becoming a Pilot. I think it's a mix of laziness on my part and a bit of feeling like I'm fighting a losing battle. Either way, it's something I've recognised about myself and I'm going to quash it. (Can't say what will happen to MrB but if he wants to "hire" me to be his full-time housekeeper, I'd gladly consider it! ;) )

While MrB and I were away I picked up some great "bits" to use in my jewelry endeavours and some recipes/ideas/jumping off points for my baking but these have taken a backseat at the moment while I sort through the tornado that is my organisational process and what we brought home from our travels (where am I going to put more stuff?!). There's a suitcase in my kitchen, for goose's sake! Once I get my kitchen and crafting areas back it will be time to continue with my business related plans.

I did pick up some treats for myself that are Vegan and I'm so excited. I can't these (or anything like them) here in the UK...

After this I've also got some knitting and crochet commissions that I have to complete. A lovely blanket in some beautiful, organic cotton that looks a lot like pewter. A scarf/wrap and beret in a soft, blushing baby pink and finally a snuggly, smokey grey neckwarmer.

Another thing I've learned about myself along the way is that I'm a starter. I love to jump head-first into a problem or a project and get my hands/feet/face dirty. This, when it comes to work, is a good thing. I'm not afraid to take the lead. I'm not afraid to get it wrong. I'm not even afraid of complete failure. The ride, the joy comes from the doing, the experience of making, creating, solving, experimenting. Whatever it is that I want to accomplish in that instance I love the doing of it.

When it comes to crochet or knitting, however, this can be a bad thing. A very bad thing. I've started and not finished more projects than I can count. For example: I asked myself "Can I knit socks?" I found this amazing tutorial, bought some gorgeous needles for the task and began experimenting with some inexpensive acrylic yarn. I successfully cast on, knitted the rib of the cuff, I even successfully turned my first heel (I'm SO proud of that fact) and started knitting down the foot. Then I had that project-fatal thought "See? I can do that!" (in this instance "See? I can knit socks!")...

...aaand I stopped knitting that sock. This happens way too often in my yarn-crafting life. So, a new challenge to myself is "can I finish the yarn projects I've started!?" I'll keep you posted on how that goes. (I've already started two more projects but, but in my defence they're for my adorable niece and nephew and they're small. I swear!)

Another part of myself that I've been working on is my diet/eating habits. While we were away I ate a Vegan diet whenever MrB and I ate just the two of us but I didn't want it to be a "thing" with family so when eating around them it was usually what was on offer and/or I'd pick the non-Vegan bits out. Not Vegan, I know, but for me: this is a process. A gradual thing. A fundamental change that I don't want to jump in and out of on a whim.

When MrB and I arrived back in London the full switch was made to a plant-based diet. I can't say that it was Vegan as there were a couple of times I had "trail mix bars" that contain honey but I can honestly say that I switched to a Vegetarian diet that also excluded milk and eggs.

I wasn't quite prepared for this, it seems. I know all of the nutrition aspects and the fundamentals for any diet/eating regime but when I switched I didn't cope well. I was going to bed hungry (I have a hiatus hernia so I can't eat after a certain time before bed) because the nuts I was consuming as my sources of protein (I'm severely allergic and/or intolerant to most standard forms of Vegan-friendly proteins. *sigh*) don't seem to satiate my stomach for as long as meat was always able to. I was hungry for longer between meals but I was scared to just start snacking or eating Little-and-Often because I didn't want to suddenly balloon in weight when the whole goal of this endeavour is to become healthier and I know the pitfalls of constant snacking and it accidentally becoming A-Lot-and -Often or -All-The-Time.

The sudden increase of fibre and lack of "stodge" threw my IBS for a loop as well but I shall spare you the details. Let's just say there was a lot of pain for a few days.

On Thursday I had a business lunch and was feeling particularly wretched. I sat there hoping that once I started eating lunch I would feel better, blaming it on low blood sugar. Then I stopped to think (half way through the meal when I wasn't miraculously feeling better) that I had vanilla soy yoghurt and bran cereal for breakfast only 4 hours before. I wasn't starving. There was enough protein in that meal that I shouldn't have been suffering from low blood sugar... and I wasn't. But, man, was I a wreck.

I feel almost whole today, thankfully, so all is well on my little planet, but I am making no commitments and reviewing my diet carefully.

I've also got to review my thyroid levels again with my endocrinologist. I've been getting some of my old symptoms back and, remembering what I lived through before I started thyroid-replacement therapy, I am determined to get this nipped in the bud. I cannot, will not go through that again. I say this because it's something I'm keeping in mind as I'm dealing with the nutritional aspect of my days, to ensure that I'm aware of any connections/contraindications, etc. between the two.

I think that about sums up what has been going on on my planet for the last few days but I'll be "in touch" again soon as I'm planning (another) Celebration of Love, Life and Happiness party this year (November) so I'll excitedly be telling you all about the process here.

See you soon!