Nest Management

My sister's Facebook post about her husband asking her if she was going to clean the house before she left to pick the kids up today reminded me of a moment I had last week.

I came home from a quick trip over the hill to find my own husband at the tail end of a cleaning fit; you know, that deep clean that happens after you find something gross, get pissed and freaked out at the same time then gut the house of any evidence of dirt, grime or disarray.

I stood in one spot, overnight bag still hanging from my shoulder, mouth gaped open as I watched him buzz from room to room, in various stages of cleaning, giving me a list of all the things he had done and a long list of things that still needed to be done, in an exasperated tone that well, frankly, I had only heard come out of me before.  

He was like a disheveled Tasmanian Devil on crack-cocaine, talking with his hands, a broom in one hand, a bottle of cleaner in the other, a rag tucked under one arm and a garbage bag hanging from his elbow.  Was that sweat on his brow?

A big smile crept over my face as cardboard and expired food goods began flying out the pantry door and I cautiously, gently and lovingly said, "Oh honey, you are nesting!"  In that single moment, I was both grateful for his efforts and SOOOOO thankful that he wasn't like that very often.  

Now, I don't mind being "the one" with the responsibility of keeping the house in order.  Not only is it my excuse to have a housekeeper come in and help me a couple times a month, but living on the flip side of a cleaning fit is downright terrifying!  Who knew?

I also now completely understand why hunting season and fall cleaning coincide.  Next year, I hope he gets his deer tags.

The Parley Cocktail

When you'd rather ask for forgiveness than for permission:

3 oz Mandarin Absolute Vodka

1 oz St. Germaine 

4-6 oz Cran-pomegranate  juice

Cherry gelatin powder

Honey or corn syrup

Ice

Rim glass with honey or corn syrup then coat with dry cherry gelatin.

Add ice to shaker with vodka, St.Germaine and cranberry-pomegranate juice.

Shake until outside of shaker begins to frost, pour and enjoy! 

As Quiet as a Spouse

I grew up in a loud house.  We didn't whisper, the dishes clanged and banged when they came out of the cupboard and there wasn't a big difference between walking and stomping.  Sneaking wasn't sneaking - it was more like not getting caught because someone else in another part of the house was being louder.  To top it off, I'm clumsy and have really crappy vision, especially after I take my contacts out.

My nightshift life keeps me up late.  Jeff's farm boy schedule puts him to sleep early.  This means that I spend my nights attempting to sneak around a dimly lit house and I am terrible at it.  You would think I would improve with practice but no.  It has yet to happen.  Jeff can get out of bed every morning, shower, get dressed and leave the house like a ghost.  He grew up hunting.  The guy is freaky quiet in sneak mode.  

I've spent 7 years of nights running into door frames, walls and doors.  I bend over in the dark to take off my socks and whack my head on my nightstand.  I've missed steps both on the way down and up the stairs.  I've dropped pans.  I have shattered more than one glass.  I've tripped over the shoes I've just taken off.  I've tripped over thin air.  I've lost my balance sneaking into our pitch black closet feeling my way to my PJs.  I've walked into the screen door - and the glass slider.  Cupboards slam, electronics malfunction.  I was once listening to my earphones only to realize when I took them out that the sound was playing through the speakers, too.  I think you get the idea.  I'm not really quiet.

So last night, I stayed up late.  I wasn't sleepy.  The outside temp was suppose to hit nearly freezing. (Eeeeee-gads!  What about the tomatoes?!) Scout, the wonder Aussie, was restless.  So I was up until just past 4.  I got ready for bed and didn't make a peep...  I'm practicing.  He will never take me hunting if I can't manage how much noise I make.  I was so proud of myself!

I was on the homestretch.  All I had to do was move my clothes off the end of the bed and slip in without waking him up.  I reached my hand out into the darkness to grab my sweatshirt and heard a yell.  I screamed.  Well, I had miscalculated where I was in the room and when I reached out to grab my sweatshirt, I mistakingly grabbed Jeff's warm, wiggly foot instead.  He came out of a dead sleep, doing the drowning man as he came to.  I screamed, not only because what ever I had a hold of was alive and moving but Jeff's yell startled the bajeezus out of me.  I would have wet my pants if I had anything in my bladder.  What a disaster!  And who can sleep after an adrenaline rush like that? 

So tonight there will be no sneaking.  There will be no darkness.  There will be no quiet.  I'm less loud when I'm not trying to be so quiet.  Better yet, I think I'll sleep upstairs and just face the fact I will never be a stealthy hunter or quiet spouse.  

Herbed Zucchini Rice

So good and so simple!  A perfect use for a prolific garden zucchini crop.

Dice 3-4 cups of zucchini with skin on.

Dice 1/2 Walla Walla Sweet Onion

Mince 1-2 garlic cloves

Add 1-2 tablespoons of olive oil to rice cooker.

Add zucchini, onion and garlic

Add 2 cups of dry rice

Add 3-4 cups of water

Sprinkle with sea salt and about a teaspoon of dried rosemary.

Cook as you normally cook plain rice and enjoy!

 

A Fine Tuning

I grew up writing every day.  Not until a thought travels down a neuropathic network into the fingertips and out does it truly find fruition.  It's my catch and release.  If I don't get thoughts or ideas out; they ruminate, grow, expand and take over until there is gridlock.  Wine is pretty good at erasing most of them but too much wine is rarely a good thing.  (Take note:  I said RARELY.  Not never.)

I cut back my hours at work to invest in the things that matter most to me last year - my family, my dogs, my friends, my home and even myself.  Don't get me wrong.  I love what I do.  I find great peace and joy in being a nurse, especially an emergency room nurse.  I love helping patients.  It's important we all recognize our strengths and nursing is mine.  It keeps me thinking; it connects all the dots for me.  It gives me strength and reminds me of all the little things we tend to overlook -- like what a miracle life is in the first place and how everything can change so quickly that we don't even see it coming.  I enjoy making people feel better and if we can't get them better, at least we can bring them comfort. 

BUT...

It's a demanding job.  I don't half-ass things.  When I am at work, I am giving 100%.  There is no autopilot.  There is no "taking it easy" for the day.  I work with amazing people and we all care about our patients.  We may beat our head against the wall after caring for a few but it's because we care that we are so frustrated.  If we didn't care, they wouldn't matter.  They do.  A strong team is self-supportive.  We feed off of each other's energy and we give it back.  It's a reciprocal collaboration.

When the team is broken and there is no energy left to give, it's time to seek another source for replenishment.  We lost a significant part of our team and we lost them all at once.  We lost the cornerstones and cheerleaders.  We lost the people we count on most to hold us up when we are too tired to stand on our own.  We lost our strongest leaders.  With each exit, the void grew.  It's not that the replacements aren't good nurses themselves, it's that it takes a little bit of time to build a connection like that and we were pummeled.

So I cut back.  I rebalanced my equation.  I invested in the parts of my life that have a guaranteed return.  It was an odd transition and not always joyful.  Letting go of something that has always been such a giant part of me was a little bit alienating.  I realized that I didn't really know how to be myself without it and there were moments of, "Oh my God.  Who AM I?"  (Thank goodness I still work often enough to circumvent most of those moments.)

It's also come with moments so full of pure joy and happiness that I can't believe I didn't do this a very long time ago.  The other side of my brain is waking up.  I want to create.  I want to write.  I want to grow things.  I want to be alive.  I want to taste new foods and see new places.  I remember why I married that cute boy I met 20 years ago.  I want to gaze at the stars and watch every beautiful sunset from beginning to end.  I want to wonder about things and then go explore them.  I want to feel connected to that energy we all call by different names.  And it's happening.  Each day has new purpose.  I'm waking up.  I'm remembering how to be me.  I feel present for conversations that were taking place all around me that I never noticed before.  I watched my mostly non-verbal 3 year old nephew with Down's Syndrome communicate all day with a dog that would usually rather hang out with other dogs than humans.  They have their own language and it was amazing to watch.  It gave me goosebumps and I'm so glad I didn't miss it.

So I'm tuning up my blog in hopes to stretch a little more of that goodness out of myself.  The more I write, the less stagnated my mind feels and the more alive I feel.  It takes practice to sustain a good flow of thoughts and I am not a bestselling author to be sure.  I am rusty.  So bear with me while I practice, practice and practice.  I think there are some pretty amazing ideas stuck in this head.  It's just a matter of bringing them to life.

The Revolving Herb Tower

I saw a few different things on Pinterest that I thought I could combine to make something that would work for me.  These were the inspiration pieces:

 

 

So I gathered my supplies:  canning jars, paint, lazy susan, wood scraps, wood glue and duct clamps then went to work. 

 

 

 

I added a tray for rocks to help weight it down due to our wind gusts and detailed it with a monogram to personalize it a bit more.

Then I filled the jars with a gravel base, potting soil and seeded them with herbs.  I added chalkboard tags that can be marked with which herb is growing where and then altered if I replant with something different.  When the temps drop, I will bring it in for the winter.  I have 8 jars of tiny green sprouts!  It will be interesting to see how they grow.

This was project took more time than most due to the drying time of glue and paint between steps.  In hindsight, I wouldn't have used the scrap wood I had on hand.  It wasn't all straight or the quality I would want to use on a project that turned out this neat.  I'd opt for the quality stuff.  I think the hardest part was sanding off the fresh paint to give it the "shabby" look I was going for.  To a perfectionist, doing things intentionally haphazardly is not easy.

Ahhh... There you are.

I have a confession to make.  I lost the Little Dipper.  I can't explain it.  I have known how to find Polaris since I was about 10.  It doesn't move.  It's impossible to lose, and yet...  I couldn't be certain which star, exactly, was the infamous North Star.  I can't tell you how many times I searched the night sky from the comforts of the hot tub only to let curiosity get the better of me.  I walked barefoot through doggy grenades on the lawn in the darkness, precariously stepped around the house through the sharp gravel, just knowing it had to be behind the big juniper tree or on other side of the roofline.  I knew where it was suppose to be.  It makes it's home between the Big Dipper and Cassiopeia. But - WHERE WAS IT?

And then tonight, while I was watering my flower baskets before bed, I glanced up into the darkness and like an old friend, just as clear as could be - as if it had never been lost - there it was.  The Little Dipper.  I walked out into the darkness, as if called by the stars and let the moment absorb me.

It's a warm, beautiful night.  There is no wind and the air smells like sweet alfalfa as it blooms.  There is just a touch of humidity but not nearly enough to call muggy.  This is the desert.  It doesn't take much to feel the moisture in the air.  I can sense the presence of cows more than I can see or hear them.  The calmness of the herd is peaceful reassurance that all is well with the world.  The crickets and frogs are harmonizing with an occasional hush, just long enough to hear the trickling of nearby water.  This side of the planet is tucked tightly into bed, dreaming their dreams, and I feel like I have this moment, of this night, in this spot, all to myself.  It's a perfect summer night and I want to etch every tiny detail into my memory.

This is the good life and today was a good day.  It may have started way too early but it ended on a perfect note.  Though never really lost in the first place, an old friend has been found and all is once again right in the night sky.  I can't help but think of it as a sign for stability and happiness to come.