gratitude-a-thon day 350: small bites friday

Unknown-5

My new favorite billboard.

Sounds like the government has alzheimer’s when it comes to alzheimers. Kudos to Seth Rogan for speaking out.

With the Academy Awards coming up (THIS SUNDAY, FASHION ALERT!), I’m wondering if anyone will be sporting one of these

If you are gluten free, or you just like really good tasting stuff in your mouth, make this. No really, stop what you’re doing and make it this minute.

How’d the Dalai Lama get so smart?

Ok, Marc Jacobs, way to make us old girls feel pretty.

Yeah, Um, NO.

Spring: Only 21 days away.

This is creepy, but in that way that makes you look.Please don’t make me stand with my old permed self.

Step this way. Sex and the shoe designer.

Because by now, you know what always gets me.

gratitude-a-athon day 349: i’m just fat–yippee!

Unknown-2
Yup, I was in a big traffic jam. Big whoop.

I had one of those scares this week with a health thing that makes me bargain with God, wish on eyelashes, and just plain keep my fingers, toes and legs crossed. I went to the doctor on Monday because under one of my arms feels like it has a rash, but it doesn’t. I love my doctor, she’s very thorough, and she looked at it, saw nothing, and then felt it and said, “I think you have a thickening under that arm.” I have never heard the word thickening used with regard to fatal illness, but let’s face it, my underarm is near my boob, so I’m thinking whatever is wrong with me has something to do with said boob, and that something is probably going to kill me and by the time I left her office with the number of the Breast Center I had to call for an ultrasound, I had my goddamn funeral dress picked out.

This is how I am. And those who know me well, know that I have a Stephen Spielberg imagination when it comes to my health. I’ve always been a bit of a hypochondriac, but I’ve also had my share of health issues (none that were life threatening, but a parade of them since I was little), so drawing the most dramatic conclusion with a really thick magic marker is not based on just having a fertile sense of drama.

Anyway, I had to wait for two nights and one full day to go to the ultrasound to find out that apparently my lymph nodes are beautiful and what my doctor felt was just probably fat. YES, FAT. And guess what, I’m so fucking happy to be fat under my arm, you can probably hear me yelling  from wherever the hell you are.

I left that appointment, sped out of the parking lot and got caught in horrible route nine rush hour traffic, but guess what? I didn’t care. I sang to the radio. I sat in the jam smiling. I was going to live. No need for a funeral dress. Or the gift bags I was going to have handed out after the memorial service. Nope, not this time.

gratitude-a-thon day 347: words to live by

memento3

Member the movie Momento. It was about a guy with a memory issue, who tattoos his whole body with stuff he has to remember. Actually, it’s a story he has to remember about something that has happened that he’s trying to avenge (I think, because actually, I don’t remember). Anyway, it’s a really good movie, but it reminded me of this post of mantras about how less is really more. I’d actually like to have some of these tattooed on me like the guy in the movie. They are all really true, really smart, and they seem to me to really be words you could live by (if you could remember to).

gratitude-a-thon day 346: that bread

IMG_6499The Rye Bread from Rein’s Deli in Vernon, Connecticut is like crack cocaine, heroin and meth mixed up into a loaf of addictive heaven. I tell you, this stuff is impossible for me to resist if it is anywhere in my vicinity, which is why I’m glad I only encounter it a few times a year when I go visit relatives. At least it’s not readily available, taunting me 24/7. Truth: if it were, you could count on me to do pretty much anything for a piece. I would be in the Tab Incident Reports. I might even make something like People magazine. Yeah, that bad.

I don’t have celiac, but I have a gluten sensitivity. So basically, I mostly try not to eat gluten, but it won’t hurt me if I do, except I might get a stomach ache if I’ve had too much. I try and keep it out of my diet, but all bets are off, and stay outta my way if the Rye Bread from Rein’s Deli in Vernon, Connecticut is nearby. Honestly, lock up your young.

When it’s fresh, you can practically eat the whole loaf in a sitting. It’s firm, but chewy, and like the most luxurious summer day. After that, you need to toast it for maximum enjoyment, and slather it in butter for optimal results. This is a sensory experience of such gustatory joy, there are really no words that have yet been invented to properly express what happens when this bread meets your taste buds.

I am grateful for the maker, the baker, the people who cut these loaves in their fancy bread cutting machine so that I may place a piece in my mouth and create a parade. I like those people. A lot. Like, really a lot.

gratitude-a-thon day 345: what you can’t imagine

images

It’s funny how you can’t imagine some things. You give them some space in your mind every so often, to graze like cows on a farm, considering what they might be like. But not enough actual room to conjure up the real deal. This is the case with watching people you love get older and what happens to them, and how you don’t really think it will happen, even though you know it will, but there is such a gigantic leap across so many thousands of imaginary miles you have to take to believe it, that you ultimately just can’t until you’re in the actual situation. And even then, you feel like you’ve gone down the rabbit hole with Alice.

My uncle Louie has been in my life since I was born. A sturdy, funny, history teacher, master gardener, stellar  chef, superior eater, realtor, and really good cheek pincher. His three boys have always been like brothers to me. His wife, as close as a blood relative. And when my mother, Lou’s sister died, they became like parents to me, and then like grandparents to my children.

Uncle Louie has a form of dementia now that has stolen his ability to speak. This, for a born talker, is cruel. This for a doer and mover and shaker is mean. His strong body is still going as hard as ever, but his mind has had a “gone fishin'” sign for quite a while now. And so here we are. In that unimaginable place. And though we’re here, it’s still unimaginable. I miss that guy, although he’s still alive. It’s ridiculous and terrible not only for the person (although is it? Hard to know), but for those who are still here. It’s a bitter challenge to grieve someone who is walking around.

It would be a good thing to figure out how to die better. The end part of life can be so harsh, robbing everything a person is, infecting them with all sorts of maladies that make them into shadows. Should we be more like library books? Should we have return dates?  So grateful to have known him. My uncle. So lucky he once was mine.