While having a lovely meal with some friends, I couldn’t resist asking one of my friend’s what happens to all the cosmetic fillers people put in their bodies after the person has died. What I wanted to know is if there would be proof long after a person was deceased that said person had used fillers.
Now a brief aside here, all of my friends are used to these odd questions, typically posed while we are sharing food and/or drink. In other words it wasn’t completely out of the ordinary and everyone, well other than Beloved, was okay with this question. Beloved was repulsed by the question. Mostly because he had been enjoying his food and does not want to think of decay while he is eating. I know, he is odd.
I am still waiting for an answer to this question, by the way, as my friend didn’t know. But she promised to check with a few other doctors who do that work more than she does.
And this one, innocent question I posed lead to a most delightful conversation about what to do when you don’t know a loved one’s wishes after s/he has been deceased. My doctor friend causally tossed out the fact that bodies are never released to families any longer, instead just funeral homes etc. The reason being is that some people would not deal with the remains appropriately. She shared stories with us about people who basically lived with their deceased relatives, unembalmed etc. for years.
By this point Beloved was no longer interested in eating and so he pointed out that in some cultures, those who aren’t “afraid of growing old or dying”, have ceremonies where they bring their deceased relatives out each year. Mostly bones of course, but still.
It was around this point the waiter came and asked us if we were finished, not because the restaurant was busy or because we were loud, but rather because he disliked the conversation. So we paid our bills and left, heading to my friend’s house for coffee and such and to carrying no the conversation. We also made a note that we wouldn’t be dinning at that establishment again because we were a bit miffed with the waiter. Although Beloved did point out that the conversation wasn’t one to inspire ones appetite.
I am not a fan of breakfast in bed. To be honest I’m not a fan of any meal in bed, this may be a result of too many hospital stays. And then again, it may be a case of feeling that where I eat should not be the same place where I sleep.
This doesn’t mean that I don’t eat in bed, obviously that’s the case when I’m staying over at the hospital. And yes it is true, Beloved has served me breakfast in bed a few times as well as other meals. I just don’t enjoy it as much as some people seem to like eating in bed.
it isn’t just because of the crumbs and such getting in your sheets. You see friends, I don’t spend a lot of time in bed when I feel well. When I’m in a horrible lupus flare however I may spend days in bed. Those days pass by in a blur of sleep, pain and medications.
Perhaps it is because I’m a product of my upbringing where unless I was very ill my parents expected me to be up and about doing things. Heck my mother subscribed to the theory of get up and get dressed because you will feel better. Sometimes it works, sometimes I don’t even have the energy to get out of bed. At best I pull a brush through my hair.
So why am I telling you all this? Because recently someone told me they thought the most decadent thing in the world was eating breakfast in bed. Now I’m sure she didn’t mean the jello cups that I get in the hospital, but I just can’t see how eating in bed is decadent. How about you? Has lupus ruined a good thing for me?
A full day of listening to Etta James while creating and experimenting in the kitchen resulted in aching feet and legs. Aching from standing too long on the hard kitchen floor while ingredients were prepared for multiple meals, cooking devices sorted out and food mixed together.
I tend to underestimate how long it takes me to do the preparation as well as how long I will be standing while cutting and chopping, stirring and folding. And each time I get it into my head that assembly line cooking will work for a week’s worth of lunches for work is a good idea, I forget how long it takes. That’s why I always add the week’s evening meal preparation work to the lunch meals. Why not indeed.
The end result is aching feet and legs, drained energy and a vow to never do this again. Until the next week or so when clearly I’m buoyed by energy which helps me forget why this isn’t a good idea. So out comes the ideas, books and paper to write out my list.
Energized by coffee, I hop in the vehicle, head off to the store where I buy what’s on my list, recklessly eyeball produce that I’ve never tried before. This is followed by a short debate of which one ends up in my cart, and once that has taken place I head to the checkout.
Once home with my purchases I commence sorting and setting out everything for assembly line cooking. Oreo is sorted and completed based on ease and like, followed by cooking and cooling and then packaging. While cooking is taking place dishes need doing and evening meal preparation just be completed with everything labeled so that after a day at work it’s easy as pie to pull together and enjoy.
The price to pay for all this is a small amount if aches and pains, but trust me it’s worth it. Especially when lupus flares start up again. Because in some cases I can just pull stuff out of he freezer and defrost or just have to cook the already prepared ingredients. Now if only my feet agreed it!
Beloved decided today was th day to do “assembly line” cooking. I guess he flat it would be a way to get ahead of meals for this week. Not that I would know as I’m not home, I’m at the hospital.
He told me about his fun when he came up to see me today. You see the puppy felt a huge need to help him cook. By tripping him up when he walked. And jumping up as high as she can to see what he is doing. Perhaps even to help herself to some of the food, if he wasn’t looking. Except she can’t get high enough to reach the counter just yet. I’m sure with practice she will.
Beloved said he set up various stations in the kitchen for his assembly line and all was going well to begin with. Because the puppy was sleeping. And then someone phoned, which woke the puppy up. And so after the phone call the puppy needed outside and needed play time. Followed by helping in the kitchen. Until someone came to the door, but alas they had the wrong address. Apparently every time he got in the rhythm of getting stuff pulled together he was interrupted.
He said going forward he may not bother with assembly line cooking because it takes too long. Or rather it takes too long with the interruptions. And he hasn’t figured out how to deal with the interruptions because it would be his luck that when he ignores the phone he will miss an important call. And if you don’t take the dog out it only leads to huge messes in the house.
As he put it, Ford never had these issues. But then Ford was making cars. Dogs weren’t an issue, nor were phone calls or visitors. It was work and things were designed for efficiencies around building a car. Beloved was trying to pull together a few meals, more elaborate than simple. He was doing so in the family home, with a puppy. I’m not sure his comparison works, still like managed to get the wheels on so to speak with meals cooked and ready for later on.
When I was young the idea of having cake before a meal seemed like the perfect thing. My plan was to have cake, then have a second helping and thus be too full for the horrible veggies. It was the perfect plan. The problem was my mother.
You see my mother felt it was more important to eat veggies than cake so she never left me have the cake first. And my mother made sure that there were plenty of veggies so if someone was a little more hungry they could fill up on the wretched things. She meant well and apparently colorful cheeks were very important in my life.
As an adult I eat veggies, but I’m also not afraid to have cake now and then. Soemtimes I start a meal with cake and then that’s sort of the end of the meal. Just cake. Not often, but now and then. You see what my mom didn’t understand was that now and then a little something silly like cake for a meal won’t hurt things too much.
Not that I blame my mom, she wanted what was best for me. She wanted to have a healthy child. She had no idea that hidden in my body lupus was waiting for just the right moment to pounce. Because lupus pounced and continues to do so now and then, I learned that rules sometimes must be bent or broken. That means if cake seems like a good idea or a way to make me smile, then so be it. Cake it shall be!
The other thing cake for a meal reminds me is that okay never stops being important just because we get a little older. So have a piece of cake, and play a little. It’s, well, a piece of cake and you will be glad you had a slice!
Young children, it seems, can sleep anywhere and through just about anything. I’ve seen them sleeping during fireworks going off. I witnessed a few fall asleep while eating. And some have dropped into the depths of slumber in the midst of play.
I have been told that old men can do the same thing if given the chance. I doubt old men fall sleep in the midst of eating or while busy playing. Maybe they do. If I’m lucky Belived will provide me with the answers! 😉
But somewhere along the lines some of us develop this weird thing. This odd habit that prevents some of us from sleeping any where, any time, no matter how tired we are.
What happens? What turns us from having a very natural thing, sleep, become a very private affair? Why do some of us startle at a slight sound or the shifting light? Why is it, no matter how loud and desperate our body gets for sleep we simply cannot achieve this if we are in a public place or away from bed?
Now lease don’t think I want to fall asleep in my oatmeal, or when I’m driving or working. But just once I’d like to have the luxury of knowing that if I needed to, I could sleep on a plane, or in a chair in the middle of the day.
It started with longing look, a subtle licking of the lips. Then it was shifted body position, moving a little closer to me. This was followed with big, woeful eyes and then the whining commenced. The low, mournful whining that was meant to play upon the strings of my heart.
It isn’t that my heart doesn’t have strings, as I’m sure it does. It wasn’t that I’m deaf to the low, mournful whines, because I’m not. It isn’t that I couldn’t see the shifting of the body or the big, woeful eyes because I can.
No my dear friends, it wasn’t for any of this those reasons. Instead it was for the simple fact that I wanted to enjoy my meal. Not have to listen to the whining and look at the sad eyes. It also happens to not be a time when I want to take up weight lifting, the weight of another body on my arm.
No friends, when it comes to enjoying my meal, the only weight lifting I want to be doing is of food. Food being lifted to my mouth on an eating utensil.😉
I know what you are thinking, why let the dog eat with you. Normally he’s rather content to eat his dog food and doesn’t beg at the table. The same,however cannot be said for Beloved! 😉
If I get home after he has eaten, and my food smells good he puts a dog to shame witj his begging and whining skills. the man has been known to offer to do a quality assurance check of my food. Just to be sure emit’s still up to standard. Yes friends he is willing to make that kind of a sacrifice for me. And still I won’t share! Mostly because he already got his so why should we haven on split mine as well?