Good luck eggs and pear pie cake

Today I made a recipe called pear pie cake, a takeoff on an apple pie cake from foodnetwork.com. After cracking open the second egg, I had a great surprise that there were two yolks inside. I don't ever recall this happening before and immediately assumed that it was a sign of extreme good luck. The cake came out okay, pretty good actually, but pretty good just isn't good enough for me anymore! I am now thinking what I would do to make it better... more pear, more spice. I also discovered that I was out of baking powder today. This is another thing I cannot ever remember happening before. Doesn't baking powder last forever, like ten years? It's probably not the best idea to keep your baking powder around for that long, but I am the child of someone who lived though the depression and I tend to use things up to the very last drop. So, curious me goes back to the internet for the second time during this recipe. The first time was to ascertain that my double yolk egg was indeed good luck. The second time to figure out what to substitute for baking powder. Low and behold, I discover that baking powder is nothing more than baking soda and cream of tarter, plus some preservative made from aluminum that I don't need anyway. So, now I am the proud maker of my own baking powder sans aluminum, the cracker of a double yolk, and a crazy return to blogging foodee wannabee writer. Life is fun.

Time to talk about food and cooking

Now that a few years have passed since I chose the name for my blog I realize that I have the perfect name for a site related to eating, cooking, and reviewing all things food. It so happens that I am an amateur foodee, wannabee writer-type person, so this fits in perfectly with my fantasy life. I still think that life is delicious torture, especially the romance part. Thank goodness I have deleted my two posts on that, so that you are not tortured with those stories! I am leaving the first two posts and who knows what the future will bring with my blogging. One reason I looked myself up again with this blog is that I wanted to post a pic on Pinterest, but unless it hooked up to a website it won't let me. So, maybe I can do it through here. Even if not, this is fun exercise for me. Here's back to some happy blogging.

Joy and Sorrow-Story of my dog, Lilly

Three years ago I decided that one of the things I wanted for myself as an adult was my own dog. I had dogs as a child, but never as an adult. I saw this as an expression of my living in the world. I knew it would be a big commitment, but I was very excited about that too, and nervous. What if the dog wasn't good? or made alot of messes? or got sick alot? or bit people?

I did a lot of research on breeds, and decided that I wanted a German Shepard, or at least part Shepard dog. We found a dog (my daughter and I) that was part Shepard, part Chow. This dog was huge and hairy, and oh so sweet with people. But Chows are known for their agressiveness, and this dog had some doggie interaction issues. I did some research on that, and thought, okay, I can take this on. The day before I was to adopt the Shepard/Chow mix dog, I got a call from the SPCA, the dog had broken away from his leash, and tried to kill a puppy. They just couldn't let me adopt a dog like that. I asked if they had any other Shepards, and told them I really wanted to adopt a German Shepard Dog, if possible. The girl mentioned they had a dog that had just come in from around Las Vegas area, she was a shepard (3 years old) but kind of funny looking, skinny with really big ears. I went to look at her on the first day she was available to be adopted. When they brought her out (Lilly), I took one look at her and thought she was just beautiful. She had beautiful dark brown eyes, huge beautiful shepard ears, and yes, she was pretty skinny, but not emaciated, and she actually looked quite graceful. They told me she really liked other dogs, in fact she had scaled a six foot fence to visit with them since she had been at the SPCA. She came when you called her name, too.

Lilly was pretty nervous the first time I met her. She pulled and pulled on her leash, and just wanted to be outside and walking. I took her over to my car to see if she liked it and when I opened the door, she jumped right in. I took her out of the car, and by then I was hooked. We left the SPCA with Lilly that day.

That night, Lilly laid on my living room floor, and she was breathing quite fast. She was still quite nervous, and not knowing if she was safe I think. After an hour or so, she just took a deep breath and sighed, and relaxed that night. It was as if she was saying, okay, I'm safe now.

One of the fist times she came into the kitchen I was in one of the cupboards and turned around fast. Lilly just cowered down. It almost broke my heart. She was so sweet, and it was obvious that someone hadn't been too sweet to her. I just looked at her and said "who would ever hit you?" and then "whoever gave you up was an idiot".

I started bringing Lilly with me in the car to work. Fortunately, I have a job that I could do that with. Being a realtor, it was fun going places with this big, pretty German Shepard leaning her head into the wind as we went down the road. Lilly loved riding in the back of my jeep. And honestly, I thought I was pretty cool having her there. A woman and her dog. When cars pulled up beside us, kids and old people especially would look at her and just say, awwww.

Lilly had a pretty sensitive stomach. There I went again, research, research. I started cooking Lilly's food, and got her over her terrible problems, but, oh the work involved. Finally I found a good organic dog food that she could tolerate. And my life became one little bit easier.

Slowly over time Lilly became more and more confident. She came to my office and met all my coworkers, who all loved her. She was a very polite girl. She would just walk from person to person, sniff them a little and if they gave her their hand, she would give them a kiss, and then move on to the next. If I brought her to the office when no one was there, she would walk to each desk, checking them out, as if to say, these are my people, where are they?

I brought her virtually everywhere with me, weather permitting. My friends were so generous in sharing their homes and hearts with my Lilly. Lilly finally got comfortable enough to lay on the couch with me, and in this last year, she even went so far as to lay her head on my legs, a real sign of comfort and love to me.

Lilly started vocalizing after about a year and half with me. It was the most hysterical thing. It was not a bark or a howl. It was more like a dog trying to talk. Like bowowereroowow. She would do this if I was ignoring her when she was trying to get my attention for something. Especially if the cat needed to come in. Lilly made it her job to make sure I let the cat in and out at least 10 times a day. Up and down, up and down. That cat really had a good watch dog.

Lilly didn't know any commands except down when I brought her home. Yet she was very bright, and she learned to sit, shake, lay down, then waaay down (which was on her side). She learned commands to go up and down the stairs, go to the car, to stop, wait, and okay go! We were working on roll over, but she never quite got that one. And no one had ever taught her how to catch a ball or frisbie or play with toys. Lilly quite enjoyed watching me run after the ball, but she never would do it for me. The coolest thing Lilly learned was to go in a circle around the inside of my house. I have a fairly open floor plan with the stairs in the middle of the house. For Lilly to "go in a circle" meant that she had to run through all the rooms on the first floor and out of my sight. Then she got a big round of applause and I jumped up and down in excitement (which she loved) and a kitty treat, then the kitty got a treat too, just to be fair.

Lilly learned to read my moods, and if I was watching tv or on the phone and suddenly laughed out loud, Lilly, lieing on the floor, would wag her tail, thump, thump, thump. It always made me giggle a little more when she did that.

I lost my Lilly this past Wed.. I think she started declining over the weekend, and now I am pretty sure it was a heart related condition. And I think she waited for me to get home from work on Tuesday night. I rushed her to the emergency vets, and she was barely able to walk in, and immediately after walking in she just fell down, and they had to carry her in to look at her. Lilly died early in the morning.

Lilly being a dog and not human could have made my life very difficult and hard, and I still would have loved her. Lilly made almost everything as easy as could be though. She went to the bathroom at the edge of the woods, not the lawn. She never barked, except in joyful play with other dogs, or if she thought she was protecting me from a big bad dog. The first time I heard that bark I was shocked, but I knew that if I was ever attacked, that sweet dog would protect me.

I took on the responsibility and joy of having a dog in my life. I didn't know how close I would become to her in that process, and how on the day she left my life I would feel my heart breaking, and miss her so much. But I wouldn't trade my time with Lilly for anything. Lilly was almost always happy. She was happy to go in the car. She was happy to come back home. The only time she was unhappy was when I left her. And she was full of unconditional love for me and all the people in my life. It didn't matter what we looked like or how we felt, or if we were smart or dumb, or big, small, had the right clothes on, wore makeup, did our hair, anything. Just being with her was enough. That unconditional love of other beings, that might be the thing that were meant to learn here. I am so grateful to my Lilly for allowing me to experience that with her.

Not a knitting disaster, but something involving a needle.

My good friend Heather has this cute blogsite called Gourmet Knitting Disasters. As I was reading her posts, I was thinking about my own recent disaster at work, and wanted to post something on her site, and then I realized that I really wanted to have my own little blog site in this vast world of technology. Should something REALLY disastrous happen to me, then maybe this could end up being some kind of memorium or something. How else will anyone remember me? Now that my daughter is out of the house, and I am still searching for my purpose in life, or maybe my true love, this might prove to be a useful journal and way for me to connect with myself, and for my friends to connect with me in a new and different way. And how well do we really know each other anyway? We share many of the things that happen in our lives, but do we share our deepest feelings, or even some of the mundane things that happen that have an impact on us. I am thinking about this, as I read Heather's site, and learn about a few new little things, and events that she and I haven't had a chance to share in "real" time. Of course there will be things that cannot be said in a public forum. Secrets we share only when we are one on one. And there is no replacement for actually "being" in the company of a close friend. So, on to my first blog attempt to anyone who happens along, I hope you enjoy, and feel free to leave a comment.

I just started back at my local hospital as a nurse this past month. I am a little bit rusty with all of the physical aspects of the job. I am re-orienting to my space in the hospital and I am relearning all of these skills. Getting medications out of vials, checking medications to make sure the right drug is given to the right patient, in the right way, etc. Dealing with needles, and jars, and doses, and names, and numbers. While getting a patients medication ready, which is something called Lovenox (commonly referred to as a drug thinner), I had to waste (get rid of) a small amount of the drug that was provided in the prepackaged syringe with a needle on the end. So, over I go to the nurses station sink. You would not believe how tiny the numbers on the side of the vial are (no my eyes aren't going yet, don't even think it!!). And the light over the sink is out, so I am trying valiantly to see what they say, by turning the vial, up and down, and all around, all the time I am squinting, and moving . I was delicately holding this syringe, with the needle pointing straight up in the air. Well, my focus on the numbers must have been more than my focus on holding the syringe, because suddenly the syringe is out of my hands, and falling (I would swear it happened in slow motion), and the next thing I know I feel a little poke, right on my right breast, sort of up high, just below the bra line. Now this is shocking enough in itself for me, because at that moment I was feeling like a boob myself. Not very effecient, and silly to boot. And then I realize that one of the doctors has seen this incident. So of course I pretend that nothing really happened. "Wow, that was close." The needle bounced off me and fell on the floor, and I am just fine. I get another dose of the drug, and more carefully hold the syringe this time, and prepare the correct dose. As I am getting ready to go off and give the shot to the patient, I look down and there is a nice quarter size blood stain on my scrubs, right on my right breast. Oh jeez, now I can't pretend that nothing happened, I have had an official "stick". I ignore this for the moment, and go off and give the patient their medication. When I come back and check myself out I fine I have a nice little swollen area where the needle hit my skin. Now I have very sensitive skin, so this in itself is not alarming to me, and it seemed apparent to me that I did not really get any bit of a dose from the needle, except for perhaps the most microscopic drop, which wouldn't really do anything anyway. But, now I feel I have to do the "right thing" and notify my "preceptor" and the employee health nurse of my clumsiness, and fortunately, because I have had a "clean stick", I don't need to file any forms or anything, I just need to clean my scrub top. Of course the comment of the day was that if my breasts were smaller, the needle would have just fallen on the floor, oh ha ha. All seemed well and good, except that I must have gotten a tiny bit of the drug when the needle hit my skin, because I ended up with the most beautiful fist sized bruise you could ever imagine. I look like I've been hit hard, and I haven't even been touched (if you know what I mean) in months. So much for getting gracefully back into the swing of things. Hmmmnph.