Friday’s Sloppy Solace _ Let Me Eat Cake

Tomorrow my day will be eaten in what I have decided is my final stint of civic duty as a Democratic voter of Washington State – the Congressional District Caucus** is tomorrow. I am not looking forward to it. The venues seem to always be rented for four to six hours for a process that takes 7 to 12 – or pity me, more hours to complete.  So a frantic quality that evokes anger and shouting in everyone ensues as it becomes apparent that the time will be surpassed and the rent will rise in 15 minute increments or so.

FullSizeRenderSo, since we will take food and drink to not fall down in exhaustion and low blood sugar? I baked a cake.  Kind of messy glaze/icing job, eh?  I am concerned with taste and portability of slices, however, not pretty.

I “pinned” the recipe from here.  But everyone knows I can’t leave “well enough” alone, right?

So in the recipe, my changes were as follows:

Instead of 3 c all purpose flour, I used 2 c Immaculate Organic All-purpose Flour and 1 c white whole wheat flour

Instead of 2 1/2 c sugar, I used 1 c sugar and 1 c Monkfruit in the Raw baking sugar replacement

Instead of 5 1/2 ounces of bittersweet chocolate, I used what I had: 2 3 oz 70% cocoa chocolate bars

Instead of jarred peanut butter?  I used 3/4 c PB2 (the fat-free dry peanut butter powder) and about 2 T of whey ( or use milk)

Instead of milk, I did use 1 1/4 c whey, saved from our Greek yoghurt making.

In the messy glaze, I used about 1 1/2 c cornstarch free powdered sugar and 1/2 c PB2 and then some water and cream to the desired consistency to pour over hot cake!

Is it healthy?  Not really, but the un-health is mitigated somewhat and I used pretty clean ingredients.  Slices of this will make tomorrow more bearable after sandwiches with black sourdough rye bread!

See, if Democratic caucus rooms were still cigars and scotch, I wouldn’t NEED to be a-baking solace for myself….

**Now,  a word to the pundits and politicians telling Bernie Sanders to cash in his chips and shut up.  (And the same is doubtless being said to delegates like myself.)  I am so not sorry we are not making it easy for Hillary Clinton to announce herself the next President of the USA.  But, a bit of truth for you all: That is not how it works, folks: The democratic process allows for caucus and primary activities ALL THE WAY TO THE NATIONAL CONVENTION.  

So get over yourselves.  One reason I am going and voting for Sanders is that I am a DELEGATE; I was elected to be the voice of others and will NOT countermand their will for my own OR anyone else’s will. (For the record, when I “ran” to be elected, I stated I would stand with Sanders all the way to the Convention; but that if he did not have the delegates to be the candidate, my own personal vote would support Clinton in her run for the White House.) Sanders supporters want their voices to be heard; the fact that the Clinton camp is acting snarky, snarly and as if we are all some sort of deluded nitwits for having the opinions such as:

Money  is NOT free speech

Corporations are NOT people

If Europe can provide health care and education at public cost, how can America claim to the the “greatest nation on earth” and NOT do the same?

It is time for the Democratic Party to stop moving as far right as Eisenhower and get back to some progressive polices!

That yes, in fact we all HAVE met wars we definitely did NOT like and we don’t want more of them, based on fear flogging, lies, and profits for war mongers.

So unknot your panties, unclutch your pearls and remember we are all supposed to be on the same side AFTER the National Convention, NOT BEFORE.  And IF we are not on the same side after the National Convention?  It just might be because Clinton’s advocates are acting about as ill mannered, snarky, and asinine as people screaming Trump’s name and it pisses us Sanders advocates off!  Do not poke this bear tomorrow.  I will eat my cake and have yours, too.FullSizeRender

Scaling the Plateaus of Hell

This post could be filed under “first world problems” or “bloody drama queen”, depending on one’s point of reference and view.  It is not a secret that my marriage has been a study in contrasts and often painful and storm-wracked.  A sort of nuclear detonation of PTSD crisis happened in 2011 and all since has felt like an emotional version of a horrid famous painting. (Yes, yes…more drama.  Don’t say I’m not Romantic, though, ok?)

witch inner courtBut I congratulate us both for effort to fight our way back to each other.  It has been painful.  We have hurt each other and we have hurt ourselves.  A struggle for a marriage, for a relationship is like any other struggle – there are falls, backslides and there are progressive climbs to better moments.  There are also, however, plateaus.  We are on a plateau presently. While the moments of progress feel like a sort of bliss and the backslides have the sharp acute pain of a stabbing; the plateaus have the sucking dreadful boredom of quicksand – or mythic hell.  One is alternately frozen with dread or burning with fear and/or fury.

ruby slippersWhile we have been like any other troubled couple and shouted at each other and said bitter hurtful things, we also both have generally never lost sight of the humanity and pain of the other person.  We have always returned to the basic logic, “Yes, I hurt — but this must be hell for _____, too.”  That serves well enough to engine our way back from the backslides and falls.  It doesn’t work for plateaus.  One feels caught in the center of the kaleidoscope – every direction has a terrible sameness and one feels incapable of discerning anything more functional from less useful.  You cannot click your ruby heels together and find your way “home”, no matter how much you desire it.  It seems impossible to know which way is up and which is down.

star heartsBut stasis is death.  The plateau must be battled, beaten, scaled, surpassed.  How?  I have been considering the conversation with our counselor.  He asked what our ‘go to’ was for stress and ptsd triggers.  Answers like “calming music” and “time alone” came forth from the Minotaur.  I have plenty of time alone, myself, and only usually crave that when i am burning with the desire to murder someone.  Perhaps the plateau is ascended or descended(?) by breaking out of the usual “calming” methods?  Perhaps music that gives voice to the fears, the angers, the triggers, the pain is a better solution?  Wrapping pain in layers of preserving insulation doesn’t seem to me very likely to get one off that field of continuously futile dreams?

bead cathedralIf emotional paralysis is the problem, why would it be best handled by continued static behaviors?  Fear of pain from a backslide or fall might incline one to sit in comparative peace, but isn’t risking the feeling of pain and living through it, fighting through it more promising in terms of eliminating the frozen fires of failure?  I see a reluctance to pick the harder, sharper, brighter way in my own marital struggles and in my nation.  It makes me curious — are we, personally and nationally, so exhausted that we put our trust in a stagnant, impotent mental Maginot Line rather than being willing to charge the problems in our lives?

peacock starPhysical therapists get people up between the bars, learning to bear physical weight on damaged limbs.  Should we not be our own mental/emotional therapists and insist that we stand to face the issues instead of bowing to crippling enigmas of human emotional pain?  A villain in a recent Netflix binge said something revealing to the hero.  He said that you didn’t have to be afraid of pain.  I think he had a point – at what point does protecting yourself from pain mean you don’t react to a necessary pain?  If you don’t act to eliminate the cause of the pain, rather than hunkering down with lulling distractions to help you bear the pain, how do you get better?

Time to leave the fortress, brave the minefield?  What enemy will be met there?  I cannot drive my fellow citizens into battle for America.  I cannot even drive my husband into a battle for our marriage.  But me?  I am picking up javelins and strapping on spiked sandals…a loss of will is the kiss of death.

(All photos are taken with an i-Phone thru the view hole of a kaleidoscope.)

 

Mothers’ Day?

I got my gift from husband and sons some weeks back. Don’t worry, they got their Fathers’ Day gifts already, too. You might guess I am about the spirit of the occasion more than the date?

When it comes to Mothers’ Day I am more than a bit ambivalent.  I don’t much like my own mother.  I didn’t want to be a mother, myself.  Obviously, I have a mother and I certainly was a mother.  As a Buddhist pal of mine used to say, expectations will screw you up every time.

But truly, some expectations are reasonable, aren’t they?  The expectation of a child to be fed, clothed, sheltered and not beaten?  Those expectations were not realized in my childhood.  When my mother engaged in the mind-fuckery of telling me that “Yes, they were; you aren’t remembering right.”  I was done.  I clearly recalled being told not to eat, while my preferred siblings were fed.  I clearly recall spending my lunch money on school supplies because it was all I had.  I clearly recalled beatings.  I clearly recall money I earned elsewhere being mostly taken from me.  I was not a beloved child, I was a family financial asset.  My grandparents called me “Cinderella” and they were not joking so much as wrying acknowledging a problem.

My children were fed, clothed, sheltered, and not beaten.  But they were shouted at too often.  They were exposed to the stress of a struggling marriage.  They were not engaged playfully because I didn’t know how to play.  My childhood was partially over at age six and finished for good by age ten when my toys were collected and put in the garbage can.

No parent, no mother is perfect.  I’ve apologized to my children for my failings.  My mother could be waterboarded without giving a word of apology.  Ditto for my mother-in-law who was even more abusive to my husband in his childhood.  One thing I do not do on this day?

I don’t waste one second, nor one postage stamp, on pretending my mother was one.  I don’t waste an instant on guilt for not loving her, not serving her or on finally taking my own life into my own hands and taking my own risks instead of obeying her eternally.  Toxicity deserves no sweet cards, nor flowers, nor gifts.  I don’t care what Hallmark tells you.  If YOU had a toxic mother, cut that cord and walk away.

Adrift

I am still busy dealing with some life shit. I love boredom, folks, I DO.  Because interesting times are so stressful.  

broken goddessesI am spending much time and energy wondering exactly what the hell I am doing with my life.  Even as I wander through it performing on cue.  No, this isn’t a “dark night of the soul” thing.  It is more of a minority-of-one thing as I look around and wonder what is wrong with people.  Even people I know.

So, no, I’m not carrying my phone.  Not checking email often.  Not taking texts.  And barely posting.  I am alive and haven’t killed anyone yet in spite of severe provocation.  Possibly this is a pity party due to feeling picked on more than usual for being female, but hey, it is’t paranoia if they really ARE out to get you, right?