How Lupus Colors My Life

My favorite color is not blue.  I also have never called red nor purple my favorite colors.  It’s not that I hate them, they just don’t happen to be my favorite colors.  You’d never know it though by the way my body behaves.

Typically my fingers/hands and feet will be blue or purple when I’m mildly cold.  My hands and feet, during these times, are not mildly cold, they are freezing cold.  As a matter of fact if I place my hand in a freezer for a few seconds on a hot summer day, my hand will remain freezer cold and purple or blue for hours.

My hands and feet will turn brilliant red if I get too warm.  (This isn’t all that common for the record.). When my hands and feet are brilliant red they are also swollen and itchy.

Both the turning blue or purple and the redness are courtesy of a condition known as Raynaud’s.  In my case Raynaud’s was a secondary bit of fun that came along with lupus.

Lupus also adds color to my life, well body through purples and reds.  My charming butterfly rash, when present, gives me red cheeks.  Lupus, when attacking my joints, will turn them a puffy red mess.  As for the purple, well I seem to bruise easily with lupus.

So you see it’s rather interesting that my body thinks that red, purple and blue are my favorite colors.  Granted if my body were to display my favorite color I’m pretty sure I’d end up quarantined!

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Summertime Colors

I’m not bragging, but NASA has our number on speed dial.  I know, it takes some getting used to, but it’s for an important reason.  You see when we get glorious “hot”, sunny days, we try to enjoy it.

And by enjoy it I mean we go outside.  Sometimes with bare legs and arms.  Sometimes we even go out on a friend’s boat, at which boat now and then Beloved has been known to take off his shirt.  And that’s when NASA comes in.

You see Beloved has alabaster son.  Well okay it isn’t made out of alabaster, but he is incredibly pale.  We’ve lost him a few times in a snowstorm!  So when you get pale, almost luminous white skin bent hit by the sun it can be blinding.  Add the water reflectng the brilliant sun rays as well and clearly you have created a safety issue for astronauts.

Tofay was one of those days and Beloved couldn’t result the call of the waves.  Board shorts, a t-shirt and flip flops were on the appropriate attire list for board the boat.  Since I wasn’t up for all that brilliance I stayed home with the puppy.

Which means I took the call from NASA.  “Ma’am, we have a problem,” the voice said in a lilting southern accent. “The glare coming back from your partner’s body is a bit much.  The astronauts missed an important sighting because they couldn’t see past the glare of the sun on pale man-flash aboard a vessel on the water.  Please advise your partner and his friends to put their shirts on.  We are doing important work.  Thank you and have a nice day.”  And then they hung up.

Now I meant to call Beloved, but the puppy required my attention.  And then I forgot.  Until a lobster came through my door.  The lobster had been thoughtfully cooked, dressed in Beloved’s board shorts and saying a shirt was too painful.  Upon his crustacean feet were Beloved’s flip-flops.

The puppy was having none of this creature in our house.  Until the creature spoke to the puppy in Beloved’s voice.  And I remebered, so I told him “NASA called.  Again.  An important sighting was missed because of you and your mates.”

He shrugged his briallant red shoulders and headed off for a cool shower.  By the time evening comes around he won’t be a lobster anymore.  He will be a potential threat to NASA once more!

 

It’s A Serial Thing I Fear

Friend the orchid and African violets are still holding their own in this household.  So we bravely added some friends, something called Christmas moss, which seems to be doing well.  Sadly the poinsettia is not exactly in the same boat.

The plant looks ok, but some of the lower green leaves are turning yellow or just falling off.  I don’t speak poinsettia, and to be honest I don’t remember anyone having them beyond Christmas so I’m not sure if this is normal or if it’s a case of my typical plant-keeping skills,  well really lack thereof skills!

But the orchid and the African Violet’s plus the moss prove that I can do something with plants.  Just only a select few I guess.  The rose bushes seem to be doing well outside, granted it isn’t their season right now, but they seem fine.

So the poinsettia puzzles me.  Because the plants and I have been doing well and then bang, this cute little red plant seems to prove that I’m not there yet.  That I’m really still a danger to plants.

I never intended to be a serial plant murderer.  It just kind of happened that way I guess.  I’m pretty sure my picture is up on some wall somewhere as a wanted plant killer.  Oh I know I’m not alone in this, and I’m sure somewhere if I looked hard enough I’d find a support group for people like me…plant murderers.  Even ones who thought we were reformed or rehabilitated, and have learned that we aren’t really “fixed”.

Seeing A Good Kind Of Red

I have a love hate relationship with tomatoes.  I love them to bits, ripe juicy, red or dark almost purple in color; perhaps they are yellow or orange, or maybe even muti-hued with color.  Fried green tomatoes and pickled green tomatoes.  Juiced, roasted, stewed or raw, I love tomatoes and there in lies the rub.  You see too much in the name of tomatoes and my luous gets worse, I develope sores inside my mouth.

But it’s tomato season and they taunt me with their lovely jewelled gone flesh.  They tease me with their promise of something lovely inside.  They whisper to me, make something good with me you know you want to.  They sing, eat me because you know you want to.  And it’s true.  All of it is all so very true.

I promise myself each time I won’t over do it, I will indulge in this thing called moderation.  But who am I kidding?!😐  Moderation and tomatoes do not go together in my world.  I’m an all or nothing kind of girl when it comes to these lovely tasty fruits.  And you  that’s the tricky bit with a tomato; we tend to treat them as a veggie when in fact they are a fruit.  They are in disguise. The ultimate  of imposters.

And so throwing caution into the wind, okay so throwing any hope of behaving like a normal human being off into the air, I gather herds of tomatoes.  (yes I know in theory they don’t come in herds, but I like to think of them in that way.)  I get all manner of tomatoes, I put them in bowls so my eyes might feast upon those lively colors before my tastebuds savour their lovely flesh.  I out them in my mouth, loving the feel of them, firm and yet yielding.  Sweet or not so sweet as their juices burst across my tongue.  Sometimes they have salt and pepper added to them, some times it’s garlic, or oil or basil and often times it’s nothing.  Just the honest goodness of the fruit.

Tomatoes are summer to me.  They are sunsets and sunrises.  They are hot mid-day sun, warm nights and cool rains.  You can taste all of this in them, if you just close your eyes and let your tastebuds do the work.  And speaking of work, I have yet to have a year where at least one tomato plant wasn’t in my possession.  As you may know I’m not good with pls tell, but some how these hardy plants seem to tolerate my incompetence and they reward me with their love fruit.  And when it comes to tomatoes I get greedy.  I gather them and save rm for myself, even when I know have too many or shouldn’t eat thst many.

Now don’t get me wrong, I’d never be a tomato farmer, if there is such a thing.  But I’d be willing to sign up for a job doing quality control in terms of taste-testing tomatoes! 😉

So with the season upon us, me knowing already knowing I will end up with too many all at once (and my desperate   attempt to not eat too many at a time) I’m on my knees (okay not really because then I’d never get back up) begging you for help.  Please help me with ideas and recipes for these lovely delights!  Please, I beg save me from my tastebuds!

And Then It Happened

It happened today. I knew it was coming, I knew what to expect and still….it happened today and knowing what I know didn’t make it any easier.

The trees my friends, oh my goodness the trees. They are a-changing! Where just a moment a go there was a lovely green tree it is now flaming red. Where there was only leaves, now there are berries, loads and loads of red berries.

I’m a child if the city, I understand concrete and roads. But even I know that Summer is gone now. A memory and something. That once was. Sure Summer will come back, but not until, well, Summer time.

Fall is a time of crisp air, apples, colored leaves, pumpkins and wishing I was a bear. Yes a bear. Why? Because they hibernate during the Winter. I could hibernate. And so Fall, if I were to be a bear, is a time of feasting in preparation for the long sleep.

I confess it must be lively to wake up to things in bloom. Of course the question is, does one appreciate them as much if one hasn’t experienced Winter? I’m not saying there isn’t beauty to be found in Winter, I just happen to not be able see it all that much.

Beloved adores this, the leaves going from standard green to brilliant colors. I love seeing those leaves in waves of brilliant colors too, but it’s a bitter-sweet thing. Perhaps like Demeter felt as she said goodbye to Persephone once again.

Cheerful Accents or Kitchen Accidents

I thought it would be wonderful to make homemade tomato sauce. And why not make it in a white kitchen? I mean the stark, pristine white was just asking for some cheerful red hints and accents for a bit. Right?

Listen friends I even followed the recipe, just to be safe. I peered cautiously at the pot, just checking and making sure the good kind of magic was happening. All was going to plan and running according to schedule when IT happened.

It started small and innocently, just a few tiny little eruptions here and there. But then without warning a massive eruption happened. Tomato sauce was sent high into air and splattered all over white paint.

Cheerful it was not. 😦 Well I suppose if you weren’t worried about the stains it might be somewhat cheerful. It was probably even funny. Except all I could think about was removing the stains. It would probably mean repainting. Which means ladders and stuff.

And because I was fixated on the stains I ignored the bubbling volcano in the pot, which was threatening to spew forth all of its tomato goodness. Which of course it did because, well Murphy’s Law. A law which states that anything which is white must be stained with tomato whenever possible, as much as possible.

Anyone want to come over and fix the mess? By the way the little sauce I tasted was good. Hey I’ll make you a deal, you come and clean the stains off and paint it all nice and white and I will feed you some nice tomato sauce! 😉