National transitions

The normal progress of transition from one monarch to another is underway. Saturday night (NZ time), I watched the official proclamation of King Charles III at the Palace of St. James in London, an event that, of course, last happened when Queen Elizabeth II was proclaimed 70 years ago, but this was the first time it’s ever been televised (the full 1:10:35 long video of the “Accession Council and Proclamation Council”, which includes the actual proclamation at the end, is available on ”The Royal Family” YouTube Channel; to skip directly to the official proclamation, click here). The events have never been televised before, so few people alive today would ever have seen it before.

Yesterday, the New Zealand government officially proclaimed Charles III as the King of New Zealand (video above) in a ceremony that’s been established for ages, and that clearly borrows phrasing from the UK’s proclamation. As with the UK’s ceremony and proclamation, this is the first time New Zealand’s was televised, too, though television didn’t officially begin in New Zealand until 1960). Canada has also proclaimed Charles III as their new king (WATCH), and so has Australia (WATCH). I think it’s fascinating that only Australia dropped “Defender of the Faith” title from the proclamation, even though neither New Zealand, Canada, nor Australia have an established church, and so, there’s no “faith” to be defended as there is (officially, anyway…) in the United Kingdom.

As an ol’ political science major, I find all this fascinating, and it’s especially interesting to be able to witness history that so few people alive have ever seen. And there’s more still to come..

London Bridge is down

When I woke up this morning, the first thing I did was to check my phone for the news I was expecting to see. I’ll have more to say later, but I’m personally saddened by the death of Queen Elizabeth, even though I’m a firm republican (lower case “r”). She devoted her life to public service, and I admire her for that: I absolutely couldn’t have done it.

For most of us, she is, at the very least, a link to a constancy within our own lives: She was always there. Presidents and prime ministers come and go, but the Queen was constant. As we get older, we all lose the links, the anchor points, that have kept us, for lack of a better word, moored in our own lives. But everything and everyone ends, and so, too, do those moorings. We adapt.

For me, it’s going to be weird to be in a world without Queen Elizabeth in it, and to talk of “the King”. Next year, TV ads will bring more weirdness as retailers promote their “King’s Birthday Sales”, and it’ll be a reminder again that we have all dealt with repeated and absolutely massive upheavals and changes over the past several years—and that reality’s clearly not changing for the foreseeable future.

I wish good luck for the new King of New Zealand, King Charles III—he’s definitely going to need some. And while I may not be a fan of monarchies, I can nevertheless admire the Queen for a job well done. London Bridge is down. Farewell.

This post was originally published on my personal Facebook Page. The title and phrase “London Bridge is down” is the code phrase for the UK Government’s ”Operation London Bridge”, the advance planning for what would happen following the death of Queen Elizabeth II. The portrait above of the Queen is being used for official mourning.

No special reason

Sunday was Father's Day in New Zealand, and I could pretend that the Sunday brunch I made for myself (photo above) was because of that, but it wasn’t. Leo has no idea what that’s all about, oddly enough. The truth is, I was planning to make this for more than a week, and Sunday just happened to be the day. Sometimes “no special reason” times are the best for making something special.

My brunch was poached eggs and bacon on an English muffin, something I’ve made before. This time, though, I made a sauce out of mayo, a bit of American mustard (for colour), a tiny bit of turmeric (ditto), thinned with a bit of olive oil and white balsamic vinegar, and with dill and salt & pepper. I ended up adding just a tiny bit of sugar to cut to the acidity of the vinegar.

I came up with the sauce because I knew it’d be faster and far easier than making hollandaise (which I was too lazy to make). It was nice.

I’m pretty good at poached eggs now, actually, and these were no exception. Nowadays, I sometimes make poached eggs on toast for dinner instead of any that are fried in any way, and normally I don’t put any sauce or mayo or whatever on them. I also don’t have bacon.

Speaking of bacon, this time I used a different variety from the same brand we’d bought for years, but one I’ve never had: It was “NZ free-farmed”, which was the only bacon in the supermarket that didn’t use imported pork, something that surprised me. I’d never even looked at the label until last May, and it turns our that the same brand I was annoyed about back then (because of the “NZ Made” in big letters on the front despite the pork coming from Europe) was the only one available that was made with NZ pork. That’s the reason I bought it, despite saying I wouldn’t buy the brand again—maybe I should’ve said “variety”? At any rate, I try to support New Zealand farmers when possible, but this special bacon was, of course, quite expensive. I only cook bacon a couple times a year, usually, so I have plenty of time to find cheaper versions made from NZ pork, but at least this one is an option. And, it had eight slices in the 200g pack, which is probably better when I’m cooking for just me.

The meal turned out so well that I thought about licking the plate, so I did… (…not—I’m not a savage!). Seriously, very nice and much faster and less complicated than actual eggs benny. In the photo up top, it’s sprinkled with a bit of dried parsley just for pretty. I didn’t use S&P because I used that in the sauce, and because bacon is always salty.

That evening I decided to make devilled sausages for dinner (photo below). It was, I think, the second of Nigel’s favourite regular meals that he taught me to make, and I made it many times—but I can’t remember the last time I did. That’s probably because these days I mainly make meat-free meals or else something with chicken.

In any case, I used what my mother-in-law calls “magic potatoes” (frozen mashed potatoes), something Nigel and I introduced her to. They’re much easier than making from scratch, of course, especially because we seldom had actual potatoes on hand: We had fresh potatoes on hand so rarely that they would inevitably start to rot before we got through them all. That’s why we started buying the frozen product.

That night, I used up the last of my “magic potatoes”, so when I had the leftovers the following night, Monday, I used all my fresh potatoes to make mashed potatoes from scratch. I made too much, planning on using the leftovers from that for, well something (I wasn’t quite sure).

In the end, I decided to make a sort of potato pancake in panko breadcrumbs and put a couple poached eggs on top, similar to a dish I’d had (and enjoyed) at a cafe here in Hamilton. I added a little but of curry powder for flavour (not enough), and fried them.

When I turned them, I realised I probably should’ve read an actual recipe first: The first one kinda fell apart. Nevertheless, they were tasty with the poached eggs (have I ever mentioned I’m getting pretty good at making poached eggs?), though the potatoes needed more curry powder.

I have a couple sausages left to cook, plus the last of the leftover mashed potatoes, so that’ll be tonight’s dinner (with some frozen veggies). It’ll be the last in the linked meals that began on Sunday night.

In the end, my “no special reason” Sunday brunch was both pretty good, and it led to other meals, the leftovers leading on to the next meal, and then the next. Sometimes those end up being the best times, whether it was intended as something special or not. This was definitely one of those times.

Mowing down challenges

Sometimes, our personal reality starts to shift, things start to change, and then, sometimes, it just keeps going. This seems to be one of those times.

The image above is something I posted to my personal Facebook yesterday. I clarified in the comments, “Just kidding about the nap—all I need is to sit and cool down (already had drinks of water),” but that’s pretty much all I had to say about it, unless you count explaining how I’d used up the lawn mower’s high-capacity battery due to the thick growth and high moisture.

Today, I added the rest of the story, and explained its importance. “Who dis?!!” I asked on my personal Facebook before laying out the story of my day:

Day two of outdoor action: First, I used the line trimmer along the entire boundary in the back, and along the perimeter of the house itself. Used it to chop at weeds on the slight bank that leads from the “lawn” up to the fence along the west-ish boundary (aka “Leo’s Domain” because he runs back and forth barking at his friends next door, even when they’re not outside). Finished up one battery and started another to complete the job, then went inside for a rest.

Round 2: Took the line trimmer out front, went along the front of the house and did one side boundary, and part way round the damn “rain garden” (looks like a concrete cattle water trough, and is for catching heavy rain runoff; I hate the damn thing) before the battery died. Went and got my third and last 18v battery, which has a much lower capacity. It died before I finished the final side boundary. Oh, well.

Then I mowed the front lawn, using the second 36v battery from yesterday, but still didn’t use it up. I put mower & trimmer away, then grabbed my outside broom and swept the clippings from the footpaths and driveway (WTF?!).

I also did two loads of laundry and loaded and ran the dishwasher. Also charged up the batteries I drained (all using solar power, of course).

I mention all this not so people will tell me how awesome I am (I mean, the fact that I’m awesome is obvious!), but to make a point: Absolutely NONE of this would’ve been possible a few weeks ago. This ability to get shit done is only possible because I insisted on changing my blood pressure medication. Since it’s now been five weeks (as of today), I feel confident in saying the change has made a huge difference. Things aren’t perfect by any means, but they could well get better still. And even if they don’t, things are now good enough that I can get shit done. Right now, that’s good enough.

The lessons for me: Advocate for myself and my health. Manage my expectations to avoid disappointment, sure, but mainly to capitalise on what’s good. And most importantly, never f*cking give up. I’m tired (good tired) now, but also feeling vindicated—and just a wee bit proud of myself.

One thing I didn’t mention in that story is that I also had to load new filament in the line trimmer, something I last did in December last year, and that I could only do after finding a YouTube video showing the process (I have no idea where the manual is; Nigel and I bought the trimmer in 2018, I think). It didn’t go smoothly, exactly, but I got there in the end, and without going to watch the video again.

Actually, the fact that I remembered how to change load new filament, and without having to re-watch the video, is likely also related to the medication change, because the first thing I notices is that the brain fog I’d complained about seemed to have improved as soon as I started the new medication, something I described a couple weeks ago as me feeling “brighter”. It’s also the reason I was able to decide to sell the garden shed I never assembled. Remembering (some) things and being (somewhat) better able to decide (some) things is, I believe, also related to the medication change.

And, so what if I’m wrong? What if, even after five weeks, this is an illusion, or placebo effect or whatever. Even if the worst is true, I still got my lawns mowed and other things done. And, overall, I feel better than I have in many months. Look: Things aren’t perfect, and I’m not trying to pretend they are, but the difference is remarkable, and I’ll take it. I’ll let the future take care of itself.

AmeriNZ Podcast episode 368 is now available

AmeriNZ Podcast episode 368, “Sunshine”, is now available from the podcast website. There, you can listen, download or subscribe to the podcast episode, along with any other episode.

The five most recent episodes of the podcast are listed on the sidebar on the right side of this blog.

Nigel would’ve been 58

Today would’ve been my Nigel’s 58th Birthday. There’s never a day I don’t think about him, of course, but his birthdays have always been the day I’ve been most keenly aware of how much I loved him, and how thankful I was to share life with him. That’s still every bit as true, except the sharing life part is now past-tense, filled with memories of happy times, his laugh, and that cheeky grin he had when he was joking mischievously—including when it was at my expense.

This whole widower thing is far harder that I ever would’ve/could’ve imagined, and the birthdays after he died have been among the hardest days, not just because I miss him so much, though I do, but because I miss not being able to spoil him on his special day. He always acted like his birthday was no big deal, and he told me that he enjoyed spoiling me on my birthday more than he enjoyed his own. But I also know how much he actually liked having his day remembered and celebrated—just without TOO much fuss.

I didn’t do anything to celebrate his day today. I didn’t have any small observance like last year, and there certainly was no party like the year before, 2020. Maybe that was a mistake: It turned out that this year, his birthday was particularly difficult for me, and I shed more tears than I had in a very long time. These days, it usually takes a specific trigger, not just me thinking about him, but today was different, and there were no triggers needed to set me off—it just happened. And that would make Nigel very sad. Maybe I was just over-tired? I had a short nap this afternoon and felt much better afterward. Still, maybe next year I’ll do something special on Nigel’s day, something with some personal meaning for me, for us.

I know I’ll always remember Nigel on his birthday, and that’ll mean remembering the good times—the good life—we shared, and I’ll honour the man I knew and loved: My husband, my best friend, my ardent defender, my advisor and confidante, my soulmate—my Nigel. I also know that whatever I do to celebrate his birthday, it’ll be without too much fuss, just the way he always wanted it. He’d be glad to be thought of on his birthday, and he’d completely understand that I couldn’t do otherwise.

Happy Birthday, sweetheart. Always.

Sometimes, deciding is what matters

Sometimes, deciding is the only thing that matters. On Sunday, I decided to cut my losses from a stupid decision, and that’s the only thing I don’t regret about the whole saga.

In February of last year, I ordered a garden shed online. It wasn’t cheap, but it had a smaller footprint than others I’d considered, and it’s mostly plastic construction meant I wouldn’t need to paint it and it wouldn’t rust or rot. At the time, it seemed like a good idea.

I realised later that a garden shed isn’t a good place to store valuable things, so I didn’t know what I would put in it. Outdoor furniture was the best option, I decided—except, I have a garage?

The bigger issue was that I couldn’t decide if I could build the correct base for it (A wood deck? A concrete slab?), and otherwise I’d have to hire someone to do it for me, which isn’t cheap. I also felt that at a bit more than 2 metres in height, it would tower over the boundary fence, which isn’t ideal—well, assuming I could decide on where to put the thing. Another barrier.

And that’s where it’s been stuck for a year and a half. That’s 18 months with the thing taking up a LOT of space in my garage: I have to carefully inch past some of its large panels to get to my side door, where the rubbish and recycling bins are. I also haven’t been able to get into the storage cupboard in the garage since maybe March/April of last year.

This has caused me a lot of pain, guilt, shame—you name it. That ended on Sunday.

NZ’s online auction site was offering 50% of success fees this weekend, and since I assumed I’d be eating a big financial loss, every cent saved helps. So, I listed it.

The shed quickly reached my reserve and that means it’s sold (the auction closes on Sunday, a week after listing). The listing has several watchers, and that means it’s likely that the final price will be a bit higher, but still much less than I paid—and I don’t care!

Buying that damn shed was a stupid thing to do—my biggest, hugest regret since moving into this house, and I’ve since decided I wanted it gone—out of my garage and outta my life. It soon will be.

Sometimes, deciding is the only thing that matters. And when that’s true, it’s also incredibly liberating. I can feel a huge weight lifting already, and all because I followed another impulse, to correct a big mistake. Onward!

Pro Tip: If you’re going to sell a kitset thing, like, say, a garden shed, and it’s not in the original box anymore, print out the parts list from the user manual to use as a checklist to make sure all the parts are there. After some 18 months in my garage, and after I moved pieces several times, it was a good way to verify everything was there so I’ll have happy a buyer who’ll leave a good review. 🙂👍

This post is a revised and expanded version of something I posted to my personal Facebook on Sunday. The photo at the top of the post is a detail from the shed’s user manual. The photo at the bottom of the post is something I posted to Facebook the next day, Monday. The caption for the lower photo is the same as what I posted on Facebook.

Substitutes teaching

Food: We like some things, don’t like other things, and sometimes it switches back and forth as our tastes change. or maybe we just get tired of something. Sometimes, though, we want to make changes for specific reasons, and the hard part is finding substitutes or changes that we like, not ones we merely tolerate. Success depends on it.

My quest for alternative food ingredients began mainly because doctors “suggested” I limit the amount of red meat I ate, so at I decided to try meat substitutes. The first of those experiments was with an imported beef mince substitute, something we first tried in late 2018. That experiment went well, but an experiment with a similar substitute was a total failure. That major failure made me uneasy about relying on meat substitutes, and I started to have other misgivings about them.

In May, 2019, we tried we tried Beyond Meat’s burger patties, and we liked them. In that post, I noted that I’d read a story that claimed that plant-based burgers may not be any healthier than meat-based burgers, and while I was sceptical of that claim, I also noted that less-processed foods are better for us, and that “whole foods, simply prepared, are better for our health.” That was non-controversial, but it didn’t address the affect on the planet from farming animals for food, which is much harder on the environment, and consumes more resources, than does plant farming. Still, what if we made meat-less meals without using processed meat substitutes?

As it happens, I was experimenting with that at the same time we were trying meat substitutes. In July 2018, I made a lentil bolognese with pasta for the first time, and we both liked it. In the years since, I’ve slowly refined the recipe and it remains one of my go-to standards. The following May, I made pasta with a puttanesca sauce, and that eventually became something I put into rotation alongside the lentil pasta. But both of those were Italian-influenced, and, while nice, they can get boring if that’s all I make.

More recently, I experimented with other meals, like the Red Lentil Dahl I tried, and have made a few times since. In general, I prefer the idea of making meat-free meals that are made directly from plants, not from things processed from plants—not that I have anything against meat substitutes, of course. In fact, another meat-free burger pattie product is now available in New Zealand, and I plan to run it through my Test Kitchen.

In addition, I also started experimenting with substitutes like plant-based milks. The photo above shows some of the substitutions, and while the chick peas became one of my pantry staples, the milks didn’t fair as well.

I’ll admit that I bought the oat milk because I liked the brand name (and it was on special…). I tried it in coffee, and while I thought it tasted odd, compared to cow’s milk, it wasn’t offensive. I also tried soy milk because so many people seem to practically sing about it. I tried it in coffee and thought it tasted really weird. However, I also used it when I was making a cheese sauce for macaroni and cheese (substituting it for about a third of the total milk), and it was fine in that. A few weeks later, I ran out of cow’s milk and for several days used soy milk in my coffee. I’m now certain that I don’t like it. I might cook with it, but once opened you’re supposed to discard the unused contents after 7 days, so I always end up throwing half the carton away. That’s way too much waste.

Something I learned only recently is that the soy milk available in supermarkets is made overseas and exported to New Zealand. Oats, on the other hand, are grown here, and some oat milk (like the brand I bought) is made in NZ from NZ-grown oats. That’s a better idea—if I don’t waste much. I bought another bottle to try, and to try cooking with it, so, more later?

The logical question is, why am I doing all this? Having meat-free meals began as a way to have a healthier diet, but I realised early on that it’s also a way to live my values, and that’s become one of my main motivators.

By having a largely plant-based diet, I’ll tread a little more lightly on the planet than I would if I had a mainly meat-based diet—to be clear, however, my prime motivation for cutting way back on meat was my heart-health rather than the planet. Be that as it may, meat farming and processing IS much harder on the planet than food crop farming and processing. Dairy farming is even harder on the planet, and that was my specific motivation for attempting to cut back on dairy (in addition to my same health concerns, of course).

Here’s the thing: Most of us aren’t, and are unlikely to ever be, purists about any of this, especially when times are tough, as they are now. It’s always much harder to live our values when we’re struggling to get by. Still, even when times are at least “normal”, not all of us can be as pure as maybe we might like, and so, I believe our objective ought to be to tread as lightly on the planet as we’re able.

This is heresy to the dyed-in-the-wool vegans, animal-rights activists, and climate change warriors, but I—and most folks, I think—believe that a little change is better than none at all, even if a lot of change is, in a perfect world, clearly better than a little. And, let’s be real: Nothing short of purity would please the purists, so anything less than that would earn their condemnation, regardless of what we do or don’t do.

For me, all this meant installing solar power generation because at the time I could do it. I also want to grow more of my own food this coming year (if my energy and stamina levels cooperate…). It’s also meant eating a largely plant-based diet, but still consuming dairy because, so far, I simply don’t like the substitutes. And, it also means that, yes, if I want a steak or a takeaway burger, I’ll have that. Little changes are better than none.

In the months ahead, I may be talking more about my efforts to achieve some level of sustainability. Growing my own food, apart from tomatoes and herbs, is something I haven’t done since I was a kid (my parents had a large vegetable garden for a few years). That’s assuming I’m able to achieve anything (I really didn’t last year, after all).

The one thing I know for sure is that this is a work in progress, and I’ve enjoyed learning and experimenting. Sometimes substitutions have been successful, other times, less so, but finding that out has been interesting and fun for me. As long as that continues, there’ll be more to talk about.

There will be a lot more substitutes, too, I’m sure. Successful or not, they all teach me something.

Good ideas aren’t always the best ones

There are times when good ideas end up being not the best ones, when the consequences almost cancel out the benefits. That happened to me this past week.

On Thursday, I went to have my second Covid Booster shot. A second booster is only available to over-65s, I thought, but I found out recently that I’m eligible, even though I’m not yet 65, because of my coronary artery disease. Pretty much the only time that’s been an “advantage”. I seized the opportunity.

The night before, I went online to make the booking at the pharmacy nearest to me, and, at the time, all the Thursday appointments were available, so I was the only one booked in at that location. That didn’t surprise me, because the vast majority of New Zealanders are double-jabbed, many already may have had their first booster, or they’ve had Covid and have to wait three months for any booster. The staff there told me that most of their vaccinations are given to walk-ins without appointments.

I had my jab around 10am Thursday, then stopped at the nearby supermarket for some bits and pieces for the week, and went home. I didn’t plan on doing much in case I started to feel bad, but I felt fine all day—until I didn’t.

Around 8pm, I started to feel yucky: “flulike” symptoms of aches and a fever-like feeling, even though my temperature was normal. I eventually took some paracetamol, watched a bit more TV, and went to bed, still feeling bad.

Around four hours later, when the paracetamol was wearing off, I woke up. I got up to take some more, and immediately started shivering badly, similar to after the dental hygienist appointment last June, though not as bad. Just like I did in June, I put on sweatpants and a sweatshirt (which again confused Leo, because it’s what I put on when I get up in the morning) and went back to bed.

Four hours later, I woke up again, took more paracetamol, threw an extra blanket on the bed, and crawled back in. Leo snuggled up against me.

I woke up a few times after that, feeling utterly awful, and I started regretting having had the shot, since this was by far my worst reaction to it. On the other hand, I also knew that it meant my immune system was responding, which was the whole point, and that not going through the awfulness could’ve meant dealing with far worse from the actual disease—or not, but there’s absolutely no way to know what would happen.

Still, one thing I was certain of is that there’d be no way I’d get another jab of that particular Pfizer vaccine again, not when each of the last two jabs made me feel worse than the one before. However, there’s unlikely to be any more jabs of that one, anyway, because new vaccines are in development. In any case, it’ll probably be a year or more before I’ll have to decide.

This incident also now seems suggest that the shivering thing is the way my body now responds to what it perceives as an infection. There are things I can do to better prepare the next time I feel yucky like that, such as, I can keep a bottle of water and packet of paracetamol next to my bed, rather than having to get up in the cold and go into the even colder en suite to take the pills.

Feeling so utterly beside-myself-miserable, as I did, I couldn’t help but think about how Nigel would’ve looked after me, the same way I looked after him when he was sick—until that last time, when nothing I could do for him could possibly make any difference (though I tried, anyway, of course). Still, Leo stayed snuggled up against me all night long—and he’s laid in my lap much of Friday, too. Obviously it’s not the same, but it definitely does help.

The whole thing was over by late Friday afternoon, maybe 20 hours after it began.

The question now is, given my terrible time with this jab in particular, will my values hold up, will I continue getting Covid jabs, or will I hesitate? I honestly have no idea, but there are times when the consequences of a good idea almost cancel out the benefits. That fact, and this particular incident, will definitely be on my mind from now on.

The photo up top is of me after my jab, during the mandatory waiting period. When I shared it on my personal Facebook, I joked, “you’d think I would’ve turned my ring the right way round…” The photo below is of Leo on Friday, as he napped on the blanket on my lap. Yes, he’s using my hand as a pillow. He’s a good boy.

AmeriNZ Podcast episode 367 is now available

AmeriNZ Podcast episode 367, “Doing things”, is now available from the podcast website. There, you can listen, download or subscribe to the podcast episode, along with any other episode.

The five most recent episodes of the podcast are listed on the sidebar on the right side of this blog.

Tentative progress

Three weeks ago today, I began the changed hypertension prescription. It’s still early days, but so far, so good. Coincidentally, today is also an important anniversary: The day this journey truly began.

Six years ago today, I received the stent in my coronary artery that made it possible for me to be here today to note the anniversary, and to talk about where my health journey is at. As I’ve talked about many times, what got me through all that, including the events of that day, was Nigel, who was with me every step of the way. It makes me really sad that in what turned out to be his last years, I was far from my best, and I simply wasn’t able to be 100% present. It wasn’t my fault, of course, and—again thanks to Nigel—I kept pushing doctors to change medications, and that meant that the last year (roughly) I had with Nigel was better than the one before it, which is—something? I guess. But that also helped me to push for change yet again.

This has been on my mind a lot over the past few weeks in particular, and it’s part of what was both my motivation for making the change, as well as the source of my shame and disappointment over not doing something sooner. I talked about that last month.

I was, of course, nervous about the new drug because I knew there were no guarantees: How we react to prescriptions is often unique to us. That first day, my head felt much clearer, as if the brain fog I’d complained about had eased. I neither accepted nor disputed this was an actual change, nor that it was related to the drug change—I just noted there was a difference.

While the first day or two went well, the next couple weeks made me deeply sceptical that the new drug was any better than the old one. I was still tired, but I couldn’t tell if it was better, as bad, or worse than the other because a different feeling overwhelmed me: Sleepiness. I felt as if I could drift off at any moment—even standing up. In fact, I ended up having several naps, and on at least one day I had two naps.

During that time, I also went to the vampires for my annual blood tests. I told my doctor I wanted to get that done, and that I was particularly interested in getting a CBC (because my blood thinner can, rarely, negatively affect platelet levels), PSA (because it’s a good idea), and the usuals (cholesterol and urate levels). I jokingly told my doctor, “and you can order whatever you want, too.” It turned out that he checked my levels for blood iron, Vitamin B12, and testosterone, all of which can affect energy levels. All my results were in the normal range (my cholesterol and liver function results were slightly elevated from what they had been, but were still normal; I think this may be due to my having gained weight over the past year).

A little while later—only a few days—things suddenly changed. I began to feel better—not great, not like it was a return to the allegedly halcyon days between my stent and the start of beta blockers, but better. There was something else I noticed: I was inwardly feeling, for lack of a better word, brighter

During this time, my sister-in-law and some of her family arrived from Australia for a visit. I saw them the evening they arrived in the country, and the following Saturday, but that was before I noticed any change. By the end of last week, though, I was suddenly feeling more engaged, more upbeat, more present. By Sunday, I realised it seemed to be a definite change, and not just a fluke.

In the days since then, my energy levels and mood have varied, so whatever’s going on seems to still be settling down. This makes sense, of course, because it can take anywhere from a month, to six weeks, to several months before adjustment to a new drug is complete. That means I still have no way of knowing where all this will settle (today, for example, I was extremely sleepy in the morning, and had a nap before noon).

Today, my next batch of pills arrived, though I won’t need them until next week (I don’t think they’ve ever arrived this early before). As recently as maybe 10 days ago, I was thinking I was going to have to contact my doctor and ask for another pill change, even though I know it takes time to adjust and I hadn’t yet given it much time.

And then this morning there was the most extraordinary thing of all.

I woke up a bit early, after a little more than 7 hours of sleep, and I wasn’t quite ready to get up (and neither was Leo, who was asleep against my side). I was laying on my back just thinking about nothing, really. and I suddenly realised I felt nothing in my chest. For months I’ve often been aware of the feeling of my heart beating, especially whenever I laid on my back. At it’s worst, I felt like I’d had a bit too much coffee, or even like I was having a panic attack. But not today. It was an awesome feeling.

I’d forgotten until that moment how after I started the drug I just switched from, I often felt that anxiousness sort of feeling, and I was becoming concerned enough to take it up with my doctor—but then it mostly left my awareness. Maybe it was all the Covid dramas going on, or maybe I merely got used to it. Whatever the situation, I was often unaware of those sensations, or forgot them immediately afterward, and today it was their absence that I finally noticed.

All of which makes me think that maybe this new drug really will be better for me than the previous one was. Maybe. At any rate, it’s hopeful enough that I now think about waiting and seeing how things are going in another three weeks, rather than how I should contact my doctor about making another change. The way things have been going over the past few months in particular, that’s a pretty dramatic development.

This whole rollercoaster health journey started in earnest six years ago today. On that day in 2016, no one could have known that Nigel had a little bit more than three years left—of course: We almost never know precisely when our days will run out, and we tend to act as if they never will. On that same 2016 day, the health path I was on changed from one leading to my own final day rapidly approaching, to pushing that day years into the future. The main reason that could happen is that I had Nigel in my life—in fact, he’s the main reason I’m still here even now, even after his death, including that I’m learning to be my own advocate, as I (finally…) have been lately. I learned so much from our life together, and survival itself is the biggest lesson of all. And that’s why this particular anniversary, and the gratitude it fills me with, will always be important to me. So, too, is holding onto hope and positivity. Nigel taught me that, too.

Important note: This is about my own personal health journey. My experiences are my own, and shouldn’t be taken as indicative for anyone else. Similarly, other people may have completely different reactions to the same medications I take—better or worse. I share my experiences because others may have the same or similar experiences, and I want them to know that they’re not alone. But, as always, discuss your situation and how you’re feeling openly, honestly, and clearly with your own doctor, and always feel free to seek a second opinion from another doctor.

Welcome back

Three weeks ago today was the last time I published a post on this blog. The break was unplanned and unexpected, but it would’ve been a good idea, had it been one at all. As far as I know, this is only the second time I’ve taken so much time off.

It all began, as such things sometimes do, by accident. I’d been struggling with deep fatigue, as I talked about back in June. That fatigue often left me unable to even contemplate doing a blog post or podcast episode, and if I started one of either, I often reached a point where I had to stop and walk away. When that happened, I almost never went back to finish what I'd started. Many planned posts and episodes were never actually begun.

This was happening, of course, when I published my last post in July (the last one until today), and that post was about beginning my new blood pressure medication, how hard it had been for me to take action on that, and why. There’s always an adjustment period for any new medication, and this one was no different (I’ll talk about that in a separate post). At the time, I was trying to record a podcast episode—several times.

Then, I just stopped.

It had gotten to the point that I just couldn’t face going to my computer for anything, and I didn’t go near it for several consecutive days last week. That’s not to say I wasn’t “creating” during that time: I was posting to social media, my personal Facebook in particular, and I used my iPad to write blog posts (sometimes, as has been the case for a couple years now, based on those Facebook posts). I never published any of them, obviously, mainly because once evening set in, I wasn’t motivated to go to my desk.

During that time, I was also trying to tidy my house because my sister-in-law was about to arrive from Australia for a visit, and she’s never seen my house: I wanted it to be perfect, then pretty nice, then okay, then not totally horrible. My diminishing expectations were the direct result of that same fatigue and my inability to sustain the physical work I needed to do.

That all means that I was busy, when I had the energy, in the daytime, and not motivated or energetic in the evenings; nothing much happened, in other words. It had been about a week since my last blog post when I realised I didn’t have it in me at the time, and I decided to just stay away until I felt ready to resume. That’s today, and this post.

There’s actually kind of a backlog of stuff I was working on but never finished, and while not much of it is time-sensitive as such, some if it’s getting old enough now that if I don’t publish them soon, I should consign them to my infamous “Drafts” folder, where many blog posts that never were disappear.

So, over the next week or two, there will be some days on which I may publish several posts. Or, maybe not, but today will be one of those days (that health update post will be up later today).

While all this has been happening (or, not…), I’ve been working on a few behind-the-scenes things that I’ll be talking about soon (they’re not relevant to my recent break—my “blogcation”?). It turns out, though, the unplanned and unexpected break was exactly what I needed, and it would’ve been a good idea if had it been an actual idea. Sometimes good things are totally unplanned and unexpected, and this was definitely one of them.

Now, back to it.

Persuading myself

One year ago today, I got my first Covid vaccine jab. So much has happened in the year since (including two more jabs and fourth soon to come), but other, unrelated health things have continued. Maybe those other things will soon improve.

Over the past year, the best indicator of how I was doing at any given time was how I was getting on with projects around the house: If I got projects done, I was doing okay, but if I was stalled, maybe I wasn’t doing okay. I haven’t put it quite like that before, but it’s nevertheless a fact—although, in some cases projects stalled for reasons beyond my control, like lockdowns, unavailability of supplies, and so on.

However, a few months ago I pretty much stalled on all my projects for the house, which, as I’ve said previously, I’m convinced happened because the blood pressure medication I was on made me profoundly tired. Today, I started the new blood pressure medication, and it’s with the most hope I’ve had in a prescription change in nearly four years.

In fairness to me, the bad effects of drugs aren’t always immediately obvious because one’s body takes time to adjust to medications and changes like I experienced don’t happen all at once or suddenly. Also, since we humans are pretty good at adapting, and bad effects accumulate slowly, it often happens without us even noticing. Still, it was eventually obvious even to me that something wasn’t right, even as early as April, so why the f*ck didn’t I do something then?! The truth is that I’m angry at myself for letting the bad situation go on for so long: My life has been hell for three months and maybe I could’ve changed that—maybe.

It’s always been my nature to trust doctors and to “wait and see”—which is, if not my greatest flaw, it’s at least my most dangerous one: Doctors do get it wrong sometimes, what with being human and all. This has been a problem for pretty much my whole adult life.

I also know, though, that if Nigel was alive, he’d have told me in no uncertain terms to talk to the doctor—he could be very “persuasive”—and he’d have done it months ago. I know this in part because I went through the exact same thing a few years ago when doctors put me on beta-blockers, which turned me into a zombie, as Nigel put it when he was persuading my to go to the doctor. He had to persuade me again when the beta-blocker they switched me to was only a bit better. At the time, we were only weeks from heading to Australia, and he told me, “I’m not going to Australia with you if you’re like this!” I was thus persuaded to go back to my doctors who cut my dosage, and I felt quite a bit better after that. When I wrote about that dosage change at the time, I didn’t say why I’d changed my mind and gone back to the doctor early, but it was only because of Nigel’s persuasion. In the end, our trip to Australia was a huge success (apart from him catching norovirus…).

I now have to be my own persuader, and it’s still incredibly difficult for me to do. Even so, it’s something I absolutely must learn to do because my run on this blue ball in space may have 2 or 3 decades left, if I’m lucky (?), and I need to do for myself what Nigel used to do—I need to persuade myself to speak up for myself.

So, today I started the new blood pressure medication, and I’m realistic about it: It might be awesome, it might be far worse, but it also may be merely good enough. Good enough would be good enough—for now.

Another thing that held me back was the fact I knew my doctor wouldn’t believe me that the drug was making me profoundly fatigued, because doctors usually assume less common side effects don’t exist at all. I was right, but he agreed to change my drug, anyway. All my doctors have always done that, too—they’re not monsters!—but this is the firts time I asked for blood pressure medication to be change (doctors changed it twice before this).

Maybe this will be a turning point of sorts, letting me get back to where I was a year ago—or maybe even better? Simply getting back to where I was would be absolutely huge, because I’ve fallen so far behind where I wanted to be with this house by now (and far behind where I thought I’d be). I know that much of that is my own damn fault, and I can’t change that—but I can resolve to not let it ever happen again. I just have to master persuading myself, and that job has proven to be the hardest of all. Maybe that will soon improve, too.

I shared the photo up top on my personal Facebook this morning, only adding the “fingers crossed” emoji, 🤞.

The Super-secret Project: YOMP2

Over the past few weeks, I’ve been working on what I dubbed my “Super-Secret Project”, one that’s related to several projects, one way or another. Mainly, though, this project is a stand-alone one that’s connected to one other, but is nevertheless a project all on its own: It’s basically YOMP2.

In August of last year, I talked about buying a vintage Macintosh, and I went on to nickname that project “Ye Olde Mac Project” (or, YOMP). I did a couple updates, one on September 2, in which I talked more about the reasons I was doing the project at all, and another later that month about buying a vintage Power Computing Mac keyboard. In that post, I foreshadowed what would become YOMP2. I said:

…in my first YOMP update post, I talked about not being able to access old diskettes. I said that “somehow getting access to a working vintage Macintosh” was an option if I can’t get the Mac Classic working. The jury’s still out on whether that Mac Classic will work or not, but I made progress on the back-up option, something I’ll talk about in a few weeks (those same Covid restrictions are delaying the completion of this mysterious development). But I think it’ll be a good development.

A few days before that post, I’d bought a newer vintage Mac, an LC575 (photo above right), on our online auction site. I was so vague about it because those Covid restrictions at the time meant I couldn’t go to Auckland to pick it up, and I had no idea when I’d would. Then, the restrictions eased a wee bit, but I still couldn’t go there, so my niece was able to pick it up for me. However, even then I still had no idea when I’d be able to get the Mac—and I didn’t even know for sure if it worked (though I knew the screen worked). I didn’t want to talk about it until I knew more.

Then, things got worse: Auckland got locked down until just before Christmas and there was absolutely no way I could go pick it up, or for family to bring it to me. In the meantime, my niece moved to a new place, and that delayed things further.

I finally got it January, and I started it up. The screen showed a question mark in a drawing of a diskette, which means it couldn’t find the operating system. I checked the logic board and it looked fine: The battery hadn’t exploded (less likely than for the Mac Classic) or leaked, and none of the capacitors needed to be replaced. I thought it looked a bit dusty, though, so I bought a can of compressed air, which I mentioned at the time, adding, “It’s for a super-secret project that soon won’t be secret, but dunno whether it’ll turn out super or not (I’m optimistic, though).” And that’s where things stayed.

I don’t have any reasons, or even an explanation, for why I didn’t work on it, apart from having so many (too many, probably…) projects, and then there was that whole fatigue thing to contend with. I do think, though, that I was also afraid that it, too, might be beyond my abilities to get going again.

It wasn’t just a vintage Mac that I bought, it was a vintage bundle: It came with two keyboards, a mouse, and a Colour StyleWriter 2400, a thermal inkjet printer that Apple started making in September 1994, about the same time the LC 575 was made. While ink for the printer is still available, it’s hopelessly out of date: It printed only 3 pages per minute in black and white, and 0.3 in colour. If I was a collector of Apple products—and, by default, I guess I am—it would be a “nice to have”, but not something I needed or sought. Everything else was useful, though.

However, one of the two keyboards was damaged in that move, but that didn’t really matter because if I ever get the Mac Classic (the first vintage Mac I bought) going, I’ll now have a keyboard for it (because I’d already had that Power Computing keyboard). All that’s good, but then it got even better.

The seller later offered to give me some USB Iomega Zip Drives, and some used Zip disks they had. I told them that those drives have value (they can be quite expensive if in working order and good condition), but the seller didn’t want money for them, especially because they knew the Mac was going to someone who really wanted it. That happened after my niece had already collected the Mac for me, so the seller dropped the drives off, which is probably how they got separated from the stuff I’d bought.

I got those drives recently, after my niece found them in a box, and I plugged one into my current Mac and was able to access one of my Zip Disks. I couldn’t get any other disks to read, however, I didn’t know if the drive was faulty or if, like with floppy disks, my current Mac was too new to access the files.

The next step, I decided, was to to see if I could get the LC575 itself running again. My idea was to plug my own SCSI Zip Drive into it. It took a couple goes, but I eventually got the LC575 to boot up; there were a few old-timey things I needed to do (using long forgotten techniques), but the important thing is that it had been so long since it was last used that it took the hard drive some time to start spinning again. Once it did, it was fine.

The first task I took on was checking all those 800K floppy disks I hadn’t been able to read before. Out of the 45 I’d found, I checked 35 (the other 10 had software files on them), and of those, 17 had files I wanted to have (most of the diskettes were either blank or had files I didn’t want, like software updates). I was, right, though, that among those 17 were some of my oldest files—but not all of what I wanted.

I’d discovered that I didn’t have the correct SCSI cable to plug my Zip Drive into the LC575 (I think I still have it somewhere, though), so instead I plugged one of the USB Zip Drives into my old MacBook Pro, and I was right: It was able to access all the files on the disks. By that time, I’d found 11 Zip Disks (I’d found another one since last mentioning them). Two of them were Nigel’s files, and appeared to be Windows updates, but the other nine had files I wanted, including the biggest prize: Our emails to each other from before I came to New Zealand the first time, in September 1995, and from during the time between that visit and when I moved here in November. I still have even larger disks to access, but I can’t do much with them because of the limitations of the LC575.

The problems I face are, first, that the LC575 doesn’t have a network connection. In those days, Macs generally used a networking protocol called AppleTalk (later called LocalTalk), often using phone cables with special connectors. In fact, at my first job in New Zealand I set up and maintained such a network, though that one used coaxial cables. The LC575 had an expansion slot, as most later Macs had, and the LC575 takes a card that plugs into the Processor Direct Slot (PDS) to provide an Ethernet connection, and that’s what my wired home network is.

That matters because I the larger external SCSI storage device I have is called a SyJet, sold by SyQuest Technology, a company that at its height was THE way to transfer large files (or lots of files). The Syjet cartridges held 1.5GB each, and was a competitor to Iomega’s Jaz Drive, the cartridges for which held 1GB. I bought the Syjet Drive not just for the larger capacity cartridges, but also because Jaz Drives were notorious for their failures—the infamous “click of death”. Both companies are long gone, and their products are rare. The advent of CD writers and FTP made the Syquest and Iomega products unnecessary and obsolete.

All of this matters because unless I can connect the LC575 to my ethernet network, it’d be an absolutely HUGE job to transfer files. If one of the Syjet cartridges was full, it would take more than a thousand floppy disks to move all the files, however, because the LC575’s hard drive currently only has around 40MB of available space, I’d have to do lots of small batches over and over and over.

In the interim, I’ll check the Syjet cartridges for any files that I want right now. There may or may not be any files like that—I simply don’t know. But finding what’s on them is at least possible now.

The Super-Secret Project, then, was really just a joking name for a revised version of the original Ye Olde Macintosh Project, and it exists for the exact same reason as the original: To get access to my oldest files. But that’s not where this ends.

I have lots of games from that era, including one of my favourites from that time, like “Marathon” from Bungie software (it was a forerunner of their later “Halo” series). It’ll be fun, in a nostalgic kind of way, to play those games again (although parts one and two of the “Marathon” trilogy were ported to Apple’s iPadOS, I find it too difficult to play without a keyboard). In true Apple fashion, there’s one more thing.

The Macintosh LC575 is the model that Nigel had before I came to New Zealand, and for some time afterward. I brought my own Mac with me, and I have vivid memories of us both sitting in the room we shared as an office, him on his LC575, and me on my Performa 637. We both upgraded many times in the years afterward, going back and forth between Windows machines and Macs, before we both ultimately settled on Macs. Nigel’s LC575, then, was an integral part of making it possible for there to even BE an “us”. I didn’t buy the LC575 because of that—I knew it was a good machine for its era, met all my criteria, and as an all-in-one Mac, and that meant I wouldn’t have to find a vintage monitor or work out how to adapt a newer one to work with a vintage Mac. Even so, the fact it’s an LC575 is definitely a nice bonus.

This project, whether it’s called YOMP or YOMP2, isn’t completely finished and done, but I have accomplished the main driver for this whole project: I now have the old files that were the most important to me, especially those 27-year-old emails. And that feels bloody awesome.

More on the Mac LC575: It was available February 1994 to April 1995 (the one I bought was manufactured in August 1994). It has a Motorola 68LC040 33MHz processor; the “LC” in the processor name means it had no Floating Point Unit, which affects graphics, and the same processor with an FPU would be labelled 68040. The LC versions of processors were used in Performa Macs and in LC models. It could run up to MacOS 8.1, and shipped with System 7.1. They started with an 80MB hard drive (the one I have has a 250MB hard drive), and had 4MB built-in memory, expandable to a 68MB maximum. They had a built-in 14-inch Trinitron colour CRT monitor, a 2x CD-ROM drive (read only), and a SuperDrive for floppy disks. It originally cost US$1,699. In today’s money, adjusted for inflation, that would be about US$3,049. The 2022 US amount would be around NZ$4993 in today’s dollars, which can be compared to current models: The new Mac Studio with an M1 Ultra chipset would cost NZ$3,999, but without a monitor, and the more comparable 24-inch iMac with maximum memory and internal hard drive would be NZ$2499. Modern Macintoshes are definitely a LOT more affordable now, even if it sometimes doesn’t feel like it.

Cooking from the cupboard

One of the cooking challenges I enjoy the most is making something new using, and using only what I have on hand makes it even more of an interesting challenge for me. Saturday night, I did exactly that. It was very inexpensive, meatless—and far too much work.

The dish (photo above) was Kūmara gnocchi with Garlic Cream Sauce. I made the gnocchi myself, from scratch—I’d never done that before. I mention that first because, frankly, doing that was the most important part of it to me, and the motivator for trying the recipe.

The meal is adapted from a recipe from New World’s YouTube Channel (WATCH), however, theirs had a garlic cream sauce, with pesto sauce as a sort of garnishy thing (and that was supposed to be homemade, too, but, yeah, nah, that wasn’t going to happen). Instead of that, I combined store bought pesto with the cream sauce. The result was okay, I thought, and the original would’ve been okay, too (though I think the original should’ve included some onion, based on similar sauces I’ve made or had).

However: This recipe was waaaaaay too time-consuming: It took an hour and a half all up, so I won’t be making it again. I’m also highly unlikely to make gnocchi from scratch again, or, at least, I’d only make ordinary gnocchi, not the kūmara one (it was okay, but nothing special). Supermarkets sell really nice pre-made gnocchi, after all. still, I don’t regret making it—it was just too much trouble for not enough payoff. IMHO.

When I sat down to cost out the recipe, I realised I’d accidentally left out the 1/2 cup of parmesan cheese. Oops. The costs are probably more or less the same, though, because I used store-bought pesto. Your mileage may vary. The costs were:

Kūmara – orange: $4.00/kg, 500g used: $1.06. Plain flour: $1.33/kg, 1 cup (120g) used: $0.16 $2.50/250g jar, approx 10g used: $0.10. Cream: $3.6/250ml box, 1 used: $3.60. Grated parmesan cheese: $34.10/kg, approx 45g in the recipe: $1.53. Olive oil (panty staple): $10.70 per 1 litre bottle, approx 15 millilitres used: $0.16.

This means it came to a total of $6.55 for the entire meal (today, around US$4.04). This means it’d be $3.28 per person (today, around US$2.02) if two people were fed, $2.18 per person (today, around US$1.34) if three people were fed, and $1.64 per person (today, around US$1.01) per person if four people were fed.

It’d be fine for two people, definitely, and most likely okay for three, but I don’t think it makes enough for four people. Adding chicken would definitely make enough to feed four people, or the recipe could be increased—at additional cost, of course.

Thinking about it the next day, I thought the meal would’ve been better with the garlic cream sauce that the original recipe used, or, maybe if I’d included the parmesan cheese I would’ve liked it better. Regardless, neither of those changes the fact that making the gnocchi from scratch was too much work—and far too messy—to justify the effort when it’s just for me. I might do that if I was making it for the family, or if I’d made it for me and Nigel, but, yeah, it’s a lot of work. And that’s why if I make it again, it’ll definitely be with store-bought gnocchi. And maybe chicken.

Still, as it was, this recipe was cheap to make, meatless, and, for a change, used only stuff I had on hand, and that means it’s something I could, theoretically, make at any time. Yes, well, nice in theory.

A day better than expected

Every once in a while, days turn out differently than we expected at the start. When it’s a better than expected day, it can be pretty great. Like yesterday, for example.

Yesterday ended up being a good day because of lots of unusual things. I caught up with my cousin-in-law, which is unusual because of all the plague and winter illnesses (on top of ordinary busy-ness) have meant the family hasn’t had much chance to get together over the past few months.

Next, I looked through some boxes of my own stuff, packed away for years, to look for something I need for the Super-Secret Project. Didn’t find that, but found lots of personal treasures I thought were lost in the sands of time. I was surprised, but also happy to find those things, relics of my life from decades ago.

I made my awesome dinner, fed Leo, and that was followed by the most unusual thing of all: I took Leo for a little walk.

The back story is that walking three dogs alone was impossible, but Jake was arthritic and couldn’t go on walks, Sunny always pulled on the lead (then her health started to fail), and Leo couldn’t walk far, so I always ended up having to carry him home. Plus, I have a large fenced yard and the dogs could run around as much as they wanted to, though Leo was the only one who actually ran.

On top of that, I’ve had that ongoing issue with often deep fatigue, so I wasn’t up to walks. Leo and I play The Chase Game all the time, though: He has me chase him around the house, sometimes he chases me, and he clearly loves it. He especially likes it because he gets far better grip on the carpet than he gets outside, and he can change directions quickly (important for the game). I haven’t been up to playing the game with him as much or for as long as I was last year, and I’m pretty sure the medication I was changed to late last year is the culprit (a few days ago, I talked about the new medication I hope will help this problem, and that starts in about two weeks).

So, why a walk last night? The neighbours over the back fence were having a small party, sitting outside in their covered area (I presume they have some sort of patio heater…), and Leo does NOT like people on the other side of his fence! If they’re talking and laughing, he hates it even more. Just before dark, I had to go outside because he was barking at them through the fence, and then I had to make him walk back into the house. He just kind of glared at me when I gave him a verbal command, so I had to herd him into the house. I knew he’d run right back there if I let him out into the yard, and that’s something I always do after he eats his dinner.

So, the only solution was to take him for a walk. Thing is, Nigel and I only walked him once or twice, and I haven’t since I’ve been in this house, so he doesn’t quite get the concept: He never sniffed the spots other dogs had visited, and he never, um, emptied his tanks (which was the whole point).

We walked down to the end of the street, and then someone from the area walked their dog toward us a young (>2 years?) black Lab sort of dog who was on lead, of course, but a little rambunctious (I wasn’t sure whether the guy had complete control). I picked Leo up, and he was NOT happy about that: He did his high-pitched bark/whine thing, which seemed to echo; I was a bit worried that neighbours might think he was hurt.

I carried him part of the way back to our house, and he squirmed. I put him back down (I still hoped he might empty his tanks…), but he wanted to go find that other dog, and I was afraid be might wriggle out of his harness (he’s done that before), and I’d have no hope of catching him if he did that.

I picked him up again, walked a bit further uphill toward home, and put him down again. We got to our house, but he wanted to keep going. I walked him onto our front lawn (which he again never sniffed), and still wasn’t keen on going back inside. I, however, had reached the end of my energy reserves.

The walk was short, but apparently enough to tire him out: He usually plays with his toys in the evening, but yesterday evening he mostly slept. In the end, he didn’t wee in the house, and preventing that was the whole reason I took him on that short walk. Maybe he was too tired?

We were lucky that it wasn’t raining at the time (it’s been raining a lot in recent days), but we’d have been luckier if I’d had the stamina to walk him farther/longer. Hopefully one day we’ll both get to have longer walks. But last night, we got a little one. And Leo got to have his very own good and unusual thing his day, too.

Sometimes, unusual things can make a day turn out better than expected. Yesterday was just another example of that.

Further meal experiments

Yesterday evening, I tried another meal experiment, one that was a bit unusual because I got the recipe from a YouTube video, and it was similar to a recipe I’d tried a week ago that I got from a different YouTube video. I felt the first attempt needed changes, and when I saw the second video, I knew it would be much better. It turned out I was right. If nothing else, this experimentation is showing me that I’m becoming able to pretty accurately anticipate what a recipe will be like.

The first recipe, the one I thought was “alright, I guess…”, came from a YouTube video posted by a New Zealand supermarket chain. I originally subscribed to their channel so I could more easily find their TV commercials to share here on the blog—but they seldom post the ads any more, and it’s now mostly just about recipes. This one was the first I thought I’d like to try making.

I’ve never actually cooked red lentils before (only brown), and I didn’t realise that they can turn mushy when they’re cooked. I thought about adding a can of chickpeas to bulk it up, but added a can of brown lentils instead. The results was okay, but not awesome. I also served it on basmati rice, which wasn’t really necessary.

I was thinking about how to change it to improve it, when I saw a video by a British YouTuber I subscribe to, Luke Catleugh. I watch all his videos, but that particular one caught my attention because of the title: “MEALS FOR UNDER £1”. I’ve been fascinated lately by trying to make yummy, nutritious meals (especially meatless ones) for as little money as possible. This particular recipe stood out for me because it seemed to fix all the problems I felt the first recipe had—and I was right (the video is at the bottom of this post, queued for this recipe, or you can watch it on YouTube).

The first difference was the use of chickpeas—I should’ve followed my instincts with the first recipe! The spice blend was also somewhat different (a lot less ginger for example), and the blend that Luke used suited my tastes better. My only real variation was that I used dried chilli flakes instead of fresh chilli, something I’ve never cooked with and am leery of because I don’t like food to me too hot.

Repeating what I did when I talked about my homemade chicken soup, here’s what’s in the recipe, the unit cost, and the amount used, and actual cost:

Dried red lentils: $2.70/375g bag, 90g used: $0.16. 1 can chopped tomatoes: $1.20. 1 can coconut milk: $3.00. 1 red onion: $4/1.5kg bag, 150g used: $0.40. One low-salt vegetable stock cube: $3.90/box of 10: $0.39. Various spices (pantry staple): approx $0.25. Olive oil (panty staple): $10.70 per 1 litre bottle, approx 15 millilitres used: $0.16.

This time, I included the cost of pantry staples, mostly because I happened to need a new bottle of olive oil, so I had the current price available; I don’t know that I’ll always do that. In any case, with all the things I could cost out, it came to a total of $6.05 for the entire meal (today, around US$3.75, or £3.12—I mention the prices in pounds sterling because Luke originally priced it in that currency). This means it’d be $3.03 per person (today, around US$1.56 or £1.88) if two people were fed, $2.02 per person (today, around US$1.25 or £1.04) if three people were fed, and $1.51 per person (today, around US$0.94 or £0.78) per person if four people were fed.

In my opinion, the amount the recipe as presented (and as I made it) makes would probably suit two to three people, unless, maybe it was extended with a salad, naan or other bread, etc., which would add to the cost, of course. However, doubling the recipe to have larger portions, to feed more people, or even just to have leftovers would still be quite inexpensive. In fact, it would be pretty comparable in cost to my homemade chicken soup, and arguably heartier.

I really liked this meal, so I’m adding it to my list of meals to make several times a year; the only real barrier to making it with any kind of frequency is that I don’t normally have coconut milk in my pantry. Maybe I can make it whenever coconut milk is on special (or stock up so I have it in the pantry when I want to make this).

All of this is part of my effort to live more frugally/sustainably, while still eating well and more healthily. I’m enjoying the challenge of doing all three at once, and this recipe is definitely one to help me achieve my food goals.

Wins all around!

Here’s the full video, queued to start with the recipe I followed:

Another attempt. Again.

About 3 weeks ago, I had an “incident” and said I was going to change my blood pressure medication. That was a bit cheeky, since I hadn't yet said anything to my GP. It's now official, and, as per my request, I'll be changing to a different drug at my next prescription renewal, in a couple weeks. This is, in fact, the first time I've ever asked to change BP drugs.

The new drug is called Losartan, and is an “angiotensin II receptor antagonist”. Like (nearly?) all medications used to treat hypertension, this one has other uses, too. It’s often used for people who can’t tolerate ACE inhibitors, and both my current drug and the discontinued one before that are that type.

I could've predicted that my GP would be sceptical that the current BP medication is causing my ongoing (but not constant), excessive, tiredness, because doctors are always sceptical whenever I suggest a problem with a medication—even when it turned out I was right. I'm used to it. Still, if I report that I don’t feel right, it’s worth trying other options.

This will be the third BP medication I've been on. The first two didn't seem to cause excessive tiredness, but when I was overly tired, they were combined with other drugs that could’ve had that effect, either alone or in combination, so, maybe they did? I was on the second drug from when I got my stent, and only changed because it was discontinued. The tiredness is definitely greater now than it was under my previous drug, though I was tired then, too.

Obviously, I can’t know if this change will help or not, or whether I’ll experience any side effects. Honestly, though, even a small improvement would mean a big improvement in the quality of my life. I’ve learned how to ration my energy, after all, and if there’s more energy to ration, then I’ll be able to get a lot more done, and that, in turn, will help me get moving—in every sense.

If this doesn’t help, then I’ll just have to keep pushing until a solution is found. It could well turn out that there is no good solution, just one that’s less bad than others. Pushing and trying is the only way I’ll ever know, or have a chance to move forward again.

Important note: This is about my own personal health journey. My experiences are my own, and shouldn’t be taken as indicative for anyone else. Similarly, other people may have completely different reactions to the same medications I take—better or worse. I share my experiences because others may have the same or similar experiences, and I want them to know that they’re not alone. But, as always, discuss your situation and how you’re feeling openly, honestly, and clearly with your own doctor, and always feel free to seek a second opinion from another doctor.

An unusual thing happened

This morning I had an unusual thing happen, something with plenty of rational explanations, all equally plausible. But it’s the implausible, impossible to prove or refute that gripped me: It felt like I got a visitation from Nigel.

It was about an hour or so before my target time to get up, I was lightly asleep, deep enough to not be aware of my surroundings or to have conscious awareness of dreams, and also not awake enough to have any sort of self-directed dream. In fact, at the time, it didn’t seem like I was dreaming at all.

So, I was in that thick fog that lies on either side of the border between sleep and wakefulness, and I heard Nigel’s voice saying clearly and distinctly, “Are you there?” There were no visuals of any kind, just the sound, and it startled me awake. I felt kind of frightened, to be honest, for no rational reason, except, maybe, that it sounded so real, and that’s physically impossible.

When I dream, the people in them don’t sound much like they do/did in real life—they sound kind of muffled, mumbling, often kind of vague (all of that’s also actually true for “characters”, people who don’t seem to be anyone I actually know). What I heard was nothing like that: It was totally clear, distinct, and left no doubt about who was saying it.

Here’s the thing. People often assume that I don’t believe in anything supernatural (including any of the thousands of gods and goddesses that humans have believed in over the millennia), and some even assume I reject all of that. The truth is more complicated, as it always is: My core belief is that, based on the evidence, there’s probably nothing beyond the physical world. The important words there are “probably” and “evidence”: I won’t take someone else’s beliefs or feelings or hunches as a reason to believe something, but verifiable, reproduceable evidence that doesn’t require metaphysical interpretation would convince me, and although that’s never happened, I’m happy to have my mind changed.

I know plenty of people who have had dreams they believe were visitations from Nigel—in fact, I think there were probably many I was never told about because people know about my scepticism. However: I don’t for one second doubt that those people feel they had a visitation; the issue for me is that I wasn’t the recipient, so how can I have a personal feeling about the experiences of others? I take what they tell me at face value and accept it as a possibility that I simply have no way to prove or disprove on my own.

The difficulty for me is that I’ve never had anything I’d interpret as a visitation from anyone who’s died—never. Or, have I? Certainly no one has ever appeared to me in a dream and delivered a message, but there was a time at least seven years ago when there was one particular weird thing that happened, a tale I haven’t talked about before.

This was at our house on Auckland’s North Shore, and I think it was before my stent. Whatever was going on that particular night, I wasn’t asleep yet, but not far from it. My eyes were closed, but through my closed eyes I “saw” my mother walk up along the side of the bed, reach over, and then I felt her stroke my hair. She didn’t say a word, and when I opened my eyes, she wasn’t there. Of course. But it definitely felt real, both physically and in that sort of ethereal way we feel when we’re physically close to someone with whom we have a strong connection.

Rational me can list all the ways this can be explained, such as, random brain cells firing, that it was possibly a replaying a real scene from my childhood, that it was my mind trying to make sense of/cope with some worry. Or, maybe it was exactly what it seemed like—after all, I can neither prove nor disprove that.

Which brings me back to Nigel. He and I had very similar beliefs about such things, and I would have told him about my experience. His attitude would have been similar to my own: It was whatever it was.

When Nigel was in his last week, we were talking about death, and I said to him that if there was anything after this corporeal life, he had to find a way to let me know. I also told him it had to be clear, unequivocal, and not need any interpretation. I’ve never had any sort of sign or whatsoever, though after he died I thought of something that only he and I knew about that he could tell someone in a dream, and if they then told me, I’d know it was the evidence. But no one has ever told me that thing, or anything else that only he and I knew about.

A simple clear message directly to me would be nice, but even if it’s possible, that doesn’t mean it’d be likely. The closest I ever felt to a visitation from Nigel was one night in this house, and again through my closed eyes, where I “saw” a dark, cloud-like shadow near the ceiling above the bed. That ethereal feeling was kind of like Nigel, but it was weak, so I didn’t think it was a visit from him, and, of course, when I opened my eyes, there was nothing there but the ceiling.

There’s another bit of background to what happened. Yesterday I read a post on one of the LGBT+ widows groups I’m on from someone who said (I think—there were a lot of typos) that they were an empath and had a message for someone in the group that their partner had been trying to reach them and couldn’t. It’s fair to say that I’m especially sceptical of such things: They remind me of horoscopes, where there are enough partial, kinda, sorta relevant details that someone can convince themselves, without any rational reason, that the message is really about them.

That post, though, reminded me that I’ve never had a visitation or message or whatever from Nigel, and there have been times I thought to myself that maybe he just hadn’t been able to get through. That post could well be the actual reason for what I “heard” this morning, and it wouldn’t be the first time that something a I read online or saw on TV popped up in a dream.

And yet, it definitely didn’t feel like a dream, and it “sounded” just like real life, which doesn’t happen with my dreams. On the other, other hand, the specific words are what someone might say when trying to establish communication, like in that post. On the third hand, it’s also something Nigel would’ve actually said to me.

There are cultures around the world, and have been throughout time, who believe the dividing line between the corporeal world and the non-corporeal world (“spirits”, if you prefer) is at night, and connection between the two is easiest through dreams. There’s absolutely no possible way to prove either one, and, obviously they can’t be disproven, either. I often wonder, what if they’re right? However unlikely it may seem to rational me, that same rational me also knows it’s not necessarily impossible, either.

So maybe it really was Nigel, maybe it was inspired by something I read online, maybe it was some combination, or even none of that. I don’t have any way to be certain, so, as with everything else that some people consider metaphysical, supernatural, spiritual, or whatever they call it, I remain sceptical, but with an open mind.

And yet: “Hearing” Nigel speak, without me having to play an old recording, made me happy. Even if it was nothing more than random brain cells firing, it meant something to me. Seeing/hearing doesn’t always mean believing, but it also doesn’t have to. Rational me knows that, too.

This morning, an unusual thing happened. I don’t care what anyone else thinks about it, because I don’t know what I think about it. But I’m open to finding out. And so is rational me.