The Lost Story

In the wee hours this morning, I wrote and wrote and wrote.   Slowly my headache and lethargy left me.  Next time I will save it. 😞

GF Flexibl Flatbread fmd

toya Just made gf flat bread with chickpea flour garlic and chia. It’s more like savory pancakes than bread. There are two pieces left to go with last night’s curry. I’m surprised it’s so tasty. As usual I read a few recipes and then did my own thing ( i.e. added chia and garlic)

GF Flatbread

1 cup chick pea flour

1 teaspoon baking powder

1 clove garlic

2 tablespoons chia

Pinch salt and pepper

1 cup water

extra water and oil to cook
Soak chia for 5-10 mins

Put dry tree ingredients in bowl

Make hole in dry ingredients

Pour in chia, water and crushed garlic

Mix

Add more water until like pancake mix (nearly a whole cup)

Heat non stick pan (mine is ceramic) to moderate/hot heat (between 6 & 7)

Add a little oil (1/2 teaspoon) to pan

Pour in mix and lift and angle pan to allow to spread

Cook until top is dull and underneath has set

Flip and cook until the other side has browned

Serve but don’t burn your tongue by being too eager!
*The original mix is quite thick and the first bread did not spread well – I added water until it was a pancake viscosity – nearly another cup.

*The bread is flexible and can be used to wrap unlike many gf breads

Bon Appetite to the vegans out there and to the GF who miss Flexible bread.

#vegan #gluten free #Flatbread #delicious GF #gf flatbread #vegetarian #cook4fun #cooking

Discovering “The Opposite of Loneliness”

 My writing brain has been jammed for a long time!  Last night I finished reading The Opposite of Loneliness by Marina Keegan, which I picked up from the NYC Library bookshop two weeks ago. Maybe 10 days ago. Life has been busy.  Apparently you can Google the essay with this title and I would recommend it. It may have been an address she gave at Yale – I am not sure but several issues are raised which served to invigorate my brain to clear its fog and find words to write.  Not the least of them is that the author, Marina Keegan’s young life was tragically cut short in an automobile accident. 
The opposite of loneliness is the sense of community, of belonging and of sharing goals as a team.  It’s having an abundance of people with like minds,  like the feeling of being in a concert crowd knowing everyone is enjoying the experience with you.  

The word team was used when I worked in retail. There were team goals and contests but I did not fit well. My back and hips ached from standing and I needed to lie down when I reached home after a day’s work. A day’s work was irregular too – casual staff member’s  work week could range from 3 hours to 5 whole days and anything in between with a weekly roster filled with notice of a single day. I was never a fully functioning part of that community.  The pain and anxiety were too taxing and the pay was not good. Only over the Christmas – New Year period were the pay and hours decent.  

It was an interesting time though being the counter side of the shop.  Perhaps the most amusing memory is the women (many of them) who needed help to put their pin in the eftpos machine because they could not see the numbers.  Too much pride to wear glasses – they must not have been able to see the price tags either.  

The rolling pins also come to mind. Particularly the smaller ones in the hands of a staff member idly stroking during times of low customer numbers.  It still brings a smile – I am not sure that it was ever mentioned to him as that would have destroyed our secret signals to each other to giggle to ourselves at the sight.

So The Opposite of Loneliness struck a chord with me. I do belong despite being 1000’s of miles from the groups I belong to.  Here though, the groups are tentative. There’s been a force holding me back, keeping me alone.  The fear of losing the sense of belonging that resides in a country many miles away. I don’t need that fear. I can lose it. I can pursue the goals that are not being submerged by the need to earn an income right now in order to survive and it’s OK.  I have been allocated some time to peruse  my soul and to express the feelings and intuitions that reside there.  The fog is lifting.  #friends #love

 

On The Other Side of the Equator

Time does not have meaning.  The 7 am alarm still beeps.  At times I do not hear it.  On occasion I reach for it and switch it of.  Gone is the series of beeps to coax me out of bed and into the shower before breakfast.  There were many beeps: 6:45, 7:00, 7:15, 7:30 and 7:45.  Over compensation for the bad habit of rolling into the pillow with my left ear, blocking the world from existance.  Each beep was part of my morning routine,  guiding me out of the house and off to the workplace to arrive just in the nick of time if I was lucky.  8:15 am rarely features in my concious state now except for Saturdays and Sundays.
With my morning routine in shatters, my days are strange.  Right now I’m still dressed as I was 28 hours ago.  Since then I’ve not stepped from this enclosure.  On waking at 1 pm today, I breakfasted, watched some news then found my novel The Second Time we Met and began to read.

My morning coffee gift was long cold by the time I emerged. I left it standing on the bedside table where it had waited  since 8 am. Stupidly, I did not replenish my caffeine level and by 4 pm was feeling decidedly unwell with a nasty headache knocking.  The lethargy which gripped my body and mind refused to act on logical solutions beyond swallowing 2 Panadol with the aid of water from my bedside waterbotle and following basic daily ablutions.  

When my husband returned from work, he noted that I had changed beds (4 am was too close to his waking hour to disturb him the night before).  As the headache progressed I was little interested by the idea of eating dinner and mentioned lamely that we could have Mexican (corn chips with beans, tomato, yoghurt, cheese and guacamole).  Too complex.  A shopping list for dinner to go with the much needed milk for breakfast.  Could I drag myself up for that?  Checking the cupboards for ingredients I know are there.  Too difficult by far with a painful, foggy head.

“Ahah,” he says.  “We can have the spaghetti bolognaise from the freezer! I will make another batch next week. Where is the gluten free pasta?”

I’m feeling relieved.  I don’t need to dress and go shopping. I am freed from the task of preparing food. I sigh contentedly and begin to read another page,  pretending that this is not an issue although the pain in my head tells me otherwise.

“It’s on the left hand side of the cupboard, in a box. There are 3 boxes.”

Rummaging noises send distress pulses through my nerves.  I know it’s there.

“Fuck!”

It’s short and sharp and spoken with venom.

“I can’t fucking find it!”  It means dinner cannot happen as the pasta is lost in the pantry. No patience to look. I sigh and roll my legs off the bed as I sit up.  Nice plan which failed to execute without assistance.  Three steps from the cupboard and

“Oh here it is.”

Three boxes are brought to me to examine. Inside my head I’m like

“What the fuck!  Surely you can read gluten free?”

Alas it requires finding reading glasses … perhaps also the problem with finding groceries in the pantry.

“Use this one.”

I retreat back to the bed, stressed by the volume of the radio. I cannot read. The announcer is interviewing an author.  The words echo in my head and new words sound amongst the echoes. My headache worsens, locates into my temples.  I am afraid.

At last the water is heating and the sauce defrosting and off he goes to buy milk. No sooner than the door closes, a beeping sounds and hard as I try it cannot be ignored.  It has joined the orchestra of words bouncing within my skull daring me to shut it out. I can’t.  Eight steps and it stops. Two more and the volume is bearable.  I anoint my temple and neck with Tiger Balm.  I take my night tramal and lie down again.

All is well.  Dinner is under control.

“Oh fuck!”

I hear grumble noises, too difficult to destinguish words, if they are that.

“What’s wrong?”

“Argh, nothing. This Parmesan is shit! It’s ok.”  I block it and sit on a chair by the TV, not sure if dinner is on its way or if there is a major drama. No drama here’s my bowl of pasta with shit cheese.  We eat at the dining table. It clears my head.  He has a call at 7pm. International.  Thats why dinner  needed to be out of the way.  I go back to my novel nursing my head. I nod off until I hear the conversation. He paces as he talks and is pacing near the door.  It’s nearly 9 pm.  Finally it’s over, but he’s wired.  I get up again and have the energy and drive to put the kettle on and make a strong coffee.  I use the new grinder for the first time.  We settle to watch another episode of Game of Thrones.  It relaxes us both. A shared treat. The coffee works, my headache dissapates.  I feel good at last.  I finish the novel and begin to write.  Now it is 2:38am.  I must be and out by 9 am tomorrow or else I will melt into these walls.   #confined #kettle on #noise #daily life #existing

 

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