Category Food

Return to the gym and other small successes after a week where cerebral palsy gave me hell

Angel Ackerman Leave a comment

It’s a quiet Saturday morning despite absolutely roaring winds and nasty cold outside. The Teenager and I were working out some financial details last night over tequila shooters after upheaval this week (and plans to do taxes tomorrow) in light of the fact that her check engine light popped on last night. Her car has turned out to be an enormous money pit.

I’m drinking Friendly’s Arabica Mint Chocolate Chip Ice Cream flavored coffee. I adore mint in coffee, so I picked this up. It has a light and smooth flavor, so I drink it way too fast (as I am used to my bitter dark roasts) and makes the kitchen smell fantastic, especially considering it comes out of a K-cup. Both the mint flavors I have found since stumbling on the Dunkin white chocolate peppermint, have been branded Friendly’s.

The importance of exercise when you have a disability

Last night I returned to the gym, having warned my fitness and strength coach Andrew of Apex Training that he needed to leave the sadist in him at home because my body is still delicate.

(I know he’s a personal trainer, but that doesn’t seem enough to classify what he does, so I call him my coach. Life coaching has become so en vogue right now and that sort of coaching using combines listening, some psychological training and helping people get their metaphorical shit together. Personal training to me seems very goal oriented, whereas Andrew has to deal with a lot more than that. Training implies, in my mind, sharing knowledge of an activity that relates to form and tricks of the trade. It’s giving intellectual knowledge in combination with experience to help someone develop a skill, or in this case, a habit. But, having dabbled with hobby bodybuilding in the past, I have the knowledge and we’re working with non-textbook medical issues because I don’t have a “normal” body, so I need some extra support. And I love the guys at Apex for all the support they give to me.)

Andrew prepared a lovely full-body workout circuit for me that focuses on quality of movements versus high intensity or heavy weights. He and I have noticed during our now year-long relationship that the second set of an exercise is always better than the first set. And we’ve come to believe that my body– because my brain and the muscles in my lower body can’t communicate like they do in people without neurological conditions– needs to be reminded what to do. It feels like my body needs to be shown basic movements after even the most basic hiatus to break a cycle of malfunctioning, reset, and proceed in a different and better manner.

That circuit reminded my body parts how to work together again and get all those tissues and electrical connections firing. And after a week of sometimes intense pain, emotional and physical stress, and constant discomfort, the exercises allowed me to test my movement and release any sensations of immobility or fear I was clinging to. And Andrew was there to monitor my performance and make sure I didn’t hurt myself.

And let me just add, in case anyone else struggling with a disability like mine that manifests differently in people or that the medical establishment doesn’t fully understand: It is 100% true that you know your body best, but it’s also true that our experiences in bodies that do not do what standard bodies do often blind us to what we can and cannot do. This can bubble to the surface in many ways: 1. We are stubborn and should not do many of the things we attempt to do; 2. We give up too easily; and 3. Because we never see our bodies from an outsider’s perspective so we have a skewed outlook.

These are all important reasons why I have a personal trainer. All of them. I learned this from listening to my daughter talk about my body. She didn’t mention it as a young child, but as she got older she said things like, “Mom, your feet are fucky. Fix them.” She saw me fall so many times that she began to notice the signs of when I might fall. I don’t see that. I don’t see my feet from an outside perspective. And that’s why it’s emotional painful to see photographs of myself with twisted knees. And also why I asked Joan to photograph them for Not an Able-Bodied White Man with Money. And if I’m honest, why I put the photo spread in the back of the book. (See below for Amazon purchasing details or buy from us here.)

In many ways, Andrew knows my physical limitations better than I do. THAT is why I have a personal trainer. If it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t have exercised at all last night. And this is why I get angry when people cite a disability for why they can’t work out– that is specifically why you need to work out. You can’t pound weights like a powerlifter or run marathons, but bodies need to be used and challenged.

Mundane things like food and mail order packages

Rant over… My blood pressure is elevated this morning, but looking at the patterns of the last week and my list of dietary choices, I can see the role salt has had in my numbers. Dinner Thursday night had more salt than I’ve had recently, and dinner last night consisted of a canned black bean, sheep cheese and processed mole sauce lasagne with lentil noodles, laced with that sodium.

screenshot from Goodreads

Add the tequila, of which I did not have much, and the fact that I was licking salt off my hand…

I woke to a truly distressing dream that started as one of those dreams where you need to use the bathroom but can’t find one. I was wrestling a woman in a cheetah print denim dress to beat her to the toilet, and then, in the dream, I could not pee. Despite the pain and urgency of needing to pee. I suppose my mind really wanted me to wake up, because the next part of the dream haunts me even now. I saw a baby, who appeared to be blind (remarkably similar to the early 1980s hardcover, purple dust jacket edition of John Saul’s Comes the Blind Fury. And the baby had a baby. They were side by side, a newborn and a larger infant. Which took a cheese grater to my emotions, because I don’t think they were Irish twins. I had no choice but to get up after that horrific scene.

To bring things back around to happier things… and more references to Parisian Phoenix Publishing… (Please buy books!!!)

I prepared a special mail order package with a signed copy of The Death of Big Butch. I will be headed to the post office today.

What I ate Friday:

  • 4:30 a.m., one cup Friendly’s Peppermint Stick coffee, with half and half
  • 5 a.m., first breakfast, honey nut Chex with Silk protein cashew-almond non-dairy milk
  • 8:30 a.m., second breakfast, salted and roasted pistachios, mango jerky from Solely
  • 11:30 a.m., lunch, vegan tofu spring rolls and cabbage, diet Pepsi
  • 3 p.m., snack, iced coffee with half and half and cinnamon a very berry oatmeal cookie from Panera
  • 7 p.m., dinner, black bean and sheep cheese lasagne with cheddar and mole sauce on green lentil noodles and plantain chips
  • 8 p.m., tequila shooter with pink Himalayan sea salt and a slice of lemon

(and about 60 ounces of water)

I struggled to put my underwear on, but I hit metrics at work

Angel Ackerman Leave a comment

Today I felt stiff, and a little achy, but I felt myself, and I hit the metrics at work. I’m heading back to the gym tomorrow.

  • I soooooo wanted to stop for a cold brew from Dunkin after work to celebrate making my numbers. But I didn’t.
  • I’m more or less down five pounds.
  • My blood pressure is much more normal now.
  • I finally got a good night’s sleep.
  • I still can’t really bend, so there’s no easy way to retrieve stuff from the floor, put on my socks and shoes, or slap on my underwear.
  • The next novel in the Fashion and Fiends series is at 40,000 words.
  • I had my second visit with a coach from Modern Health today. She’s adorable, and I have six more free sessions for the year. She saw Nala and fell in love with my naughty-feathered brat.
  • I am swimming in things that need to be done for Parisian Phoenix.
  • The rescheduled service dog canine therapeutic evaluation is Monday.
  • I have been taking my vitamins.

What I ate today:

  • 4:30 a.m., one cup Supercoffee, dark roast, with half and half
  • 6 a.m., first breakfast, Kind Breakfast bar, oatmeal peanut butter, mango jerky from Solely
  • 8:30 a.m., second breakfast, Quest protein bar, birthday cake flavor, 3-4 ounces cranberry juice cocktail
  • 11:30 a.m., lunch, stuffed pepper soup, diet Pepsi, one peppermint Hershey kiss
  • 1:30 p.m., Hippeas chickpea vegan cheese snacks
  • 4 p.m., Coke Zero
  • 6 p.m., dinner, sprouted flatbread airfried chips with paprika, sprouted hot dog bun with half a chicken burger, dip made with various leftovers: chicken, brie, cheddar, kale, diced carrots, Buffalo cauliflower “rice”

(and about 36 ounces of water, working on 12 more ounces as I write this)

How long do I push and how hard do I fight? Questions I have to ask as a warehouse worker with cerebral palsy

Angel Ackerman Leave a comment

The animals are all eating dinner. The Teenager has gone to care for her last client of the day. I am emotionally wiped out from all the events of the day, or the week, or maybe the last couple weeks. My friend from work, a beautiful and sassy Puerto Rican woman whom we shall call Spicy (because of her outspoken Aries nature and her abundance of passion), told me I should go home and drink some tequila.

I’m still waiting for initial contact from the insurance company of the person who hit me Friday night after work. Unfortunately, I did hear from my insurance company about my six-month-bill due next month. It doubled in cost to more than $3,000. I’m just flabbergasted.

I always have a lot on my mind and a lot of responsibility on my shoulders, and I know with my volunteer work, I put a lot of the pressure on myself by saying yes to things.

I visited my chiropractor after work, actually having left early because someone else must have booked my 3:45 appointment. She believes my current issues probably stemmed from the change at work, and started with my back and then effected my hip.

Part of me wants to write this post and submit it to the online social media forum for people with disabilities, The Mighty, because I want a conversation, but I also don’t want to risk exposing myself to issues with my employer.

So, let’s see. Summary: I work in a warehouse folding clothes. I completely disclosed my disability to the person hiring me. This was more than two years ago. In the last year-ish, we’ve had our jobs changed, our shifts changed twice meaning we’ve worked three different schedules in that time, and a recent change (December 2022) in how they measure our performance.

But, you might think, how many ways are there to count how many clothes you fold in a day?

Well, when I was hired, they took the average of how many clothes you folded over the week. If the goal was 100 a day, then if you got 98, 100, 100, 102, 100 you passed the week without incident. I succeeded with this system. I might have several days at 102 or 103 and then a day at 95. And as long as you were consistently about 90 nobody cared. Realistically, my numbers were probably 90, 98, 100, 100, 105.

Now, we work in series of 20-day blocks, and we’re allowed to miss 100 twice in that block. They look at every day independently. I knew I could not reach that expectation. I asked my neurologist to fill out accommodations paperwork. My company has been fantastic working out accommodations for me– but what to do about the days I’m more crippled than usual?

To address this, I applied for intermittent FMLA leave. The company that administers it first granted me six hours every six months. So, I did a new set after talking with my examiner, and despite my listing weekly doctors’ appointments I got the equivalent of one day a month. And because I’ve been experiencing such issues lately, and with my almost cardiac scare last week, and my service dog appointments, I have no paid time off left. I will not have that time replenished for about a month.

That brings me to the present. So, even though I did 100, 100, 110 and 90 last week, I’m already one day down. Then they moved me to a different department Friday, and my body doesn’t handle change well.

Monday I did 86% while in complete discomfort and periodic intense pain. Yesterday I did 93% while in moderate pain. They wrote me up with a first warning today. Apparently each warning comes with a month of focus on an improvement plan, during which they lower expectations. I’m told I only have to hit 90%. Today I think I hit 95%. I can’t say exactly because I had an emergency preparedness training, a safety committee meeting, a sit-down with my boss so he could administer my warning and I left early for a doctor appointment.

When I signed the paperwork, I mentioned that my lack of performance is a direct result of issues stemming from my disability which may or may not have been caused by the change in my working conditions on Friday.

I’m trying to do everything right. But it’s damn hard and I’m damn tired.

Now… the questions I wish to ask and address do not relate specifically to my company or my boss. I think the situation I am facing mimics what we see in the medical industry as well. We no longer live in a society where doctors and bosses have the power to make individual decisions.

In the interest of fairness and preventing discrimination, we have blanket rubrics that determine how every person needs to be treated. My boss knows I work hard, and he knows I will come through in the long haul. His sidekick who interacts with us all on the floor has a disability himself.

And it’s not like I was hired last week. I was hired more than two years ago. And that person who took a chance on me? They got rid of her in well-publicized lay-offs.

Apparently, they have four rounds of warnings before you “separate.” But if I recover from this current cerebral palsy episode of malfunctioning body parts, hit my numbers, and then experience something similar in a couple months, do I get another first warning? Or does it progress to second? Do I care if they “separate” me? They changed the job I was hired to do into one I cannot do, and I can’t do it because of a disability they know I have.

This is when I also mentioned that I only intend to use that leave time for unexpected occurrences. That when appointments are scheduled I will continue to used my paid time, my unpaid time and voluntary time off when offered.

The advice I was given was to have new papers filled out (the third set in as many months) requesting a full week of time off every month. That implied to me that only answer is to call off when I have any sort of discomfort– because if I show up in the building and leave when I’ve already fallen behind that will count toward my misses. But I have no paid time left, and my official leave only covers one day a month.

And sometimes the motion of the day resets my misfiring muscles.

Part of me is done fighting. I love my job. I love the company. I do hate my current schedule. But I like the routine of it all, I like that it leaves my mind free for my own endeavors. If I did give up on striving to meet the standards, I wouldn’t quit. I would still give as much as I could until the end.

But I just keep asking: when do I give up? Will I ever reach the point where I can do my job without hurting myself and will they ever reach the point where they stop upending the process of what we do? I don’t know the answer.

In better news, our neighbor brought us a fresh fruit arrangement. Which the Teenager and I devoured.

In case I forget to say later (it’s only 5:30 p.m. and there will be tequila in my future):

My blood pressure has been damn near perfect.

What I ate today:

  • 4:30 a.m., one cup Suprcoffe coffee, dark roast, with half and half
  • 6 a.m., first breakfast, Kind Breakfast bar, oatmeal peanut butter, banana
  • 8:30 a.m., second breakfast, plantain chips,* peanut butter
  • 11:30 a.m., lunch, stuffed pepper soup, diet pepsi
  • 4 p.m., herbal iced tea (rooibos)
  • 4:30 p.m, four slices cantaloupe, two balls honeydew, one strawberry, one massive pineapple heart covered with milk chocolate and sprinkles
  • 6 p.m., planned dinner, green salad, tequila

(and about 56 ounces of water)

*the plantain chips have some nutrients and are pretty low in sodium

Incremental progress brings joy

Angel Ackerman Leave a comment

If you follow my blog, you may know that I have cerebral palsy and this week has been my first episode of true discomfort and pain probably in six months. My blood pressure continues to improve with my return to a healthy diet.

Being a few days in to whatever this recent situation is, I took it easy on Sunday and struggled with intermittent but intense pain in my lower body yesterday– primarily lower back and hip on my right side and quads on both sides. My legs burned as I tried to stand, and my back and hip would experience searing pain that felt almost electrical if I moved wrong, and no matter what I did I could not ascertain what “wrong” was. I would say my pain level yesterday was about an eight.

Last night, I slathered myself with a sample of Mountain Ice that photographer Joan gave me and went to bed early. (Mountain Ice feels very similar to the Arthritis Relief CBD cream I order from Charlotte’s Web, which I haven’t had to use in months!) I woke every couple hours in pain and had to stretch and rotate.

Little foster cat tripod Louise slept in my armpit with my arm scooped around her all night, which she never does when I am restless. I think she knew I was hurting.

I thought I felt a little better this morning, but very quickly at work the familiar pains returned. Yet, they did not impact my performance as much as they had the day before. I didn’t have the burning in my legs, though I did still experience some shooting pain, especially when I tried to walk after standing at my table for two hours. I would say the pain was about a six today.

And then my poor toe– if you’ve been around my blogs for a while you’ll know I have a toe that burns as well– it started bothering me again for the first time in weeks. I’ve been religious about putting my gel sock on my toe and the irritated, swollen portion of the toe had completely healed. Not any more.

I ended the day at slightly more than 93% of fully performing according to the Stitch Fix metrics, which yesterday I ended at 86% so that pleased me.

I see the chiropractor tomorrow, so I hope her combined chiro/physical therapy brain can offer some insight into what happened. I regretfully canceled the gym for tomorrow as if the trend continues, I don’t want to risk impeding further improvement by overdoing it.

What I ate today:

  • 4:30 a.m., one cup Eight of Clock coffee, medium roast, with half and half
  • 6 a.m., first breakfast, Kind Breakfast bar, oatmeal peanut butter
  • 8:30 a.m., second breakfast, Fage Greek Yogurt with honey
  • 11:30 a.m., lunch, overnight protein oats with cacao, peanut butter and chia, banana, an unsweetened latte from the work machine, one peppermint Hershey Kiss
  • 4 p.m., herbal iced tea (rooibos)
  • 5 p.m., penne with red sauce, three small meatballs, air-fried asparagus

(and about 56 ounces of water)

My pain was terrible but Southern Candy’s soup was delicious

Angel Ackerman Leave a comment

I have made some amazing meals this weekend, all while trying to adhere to a lower sugar, lower salt, lower caffeine diet. I can’t even remember Friday, after I wrote last, but suffice to say, it happened. Gayle, my dear friend and art director, said she would bring me a wrist blood pressure cuff when we had our Parisian Phoenix meeting on Saturday. (Which, since that meeting I have built a rather cumbersome but functional direct buy web site if anyone wishes to buy books. Click here. I could really use some support, and some reviews, as the expenses right now are racking up quicker than the sales.)

Oh wait– I remember Friday! We were moved to inbound processing at work and I left feeling achy and crooked after tagging shirts and pants all day. Andrew at the gym led me through a tough upper body workout with more cardio than I enjoy after work,

I went for my blood work Saturday morning in the bitter, bitter cold (and found out Sunday morning that everything, even my vitamin D and my iron, are in healthy ranges. My LDL did get a cautionary note at 105, but since it was 107 last year and 109 the year before that, I think it will be under 100 soon.

When I got to Panera I ordered a large fountain drink and a cookie– I had perused the menu in the app the night before and had determined that the oatmeal berry cookies was the lowest calorie, lowest sodium item in the place. And the coffee, well I love Panera’s iced coffee and if we had one closer to my neighborhood I would be a member of the sips club.

I have limited my caffeine intake to one cup at 4:30 a.m. so since my blood work Saturday was fasting, I skipped morning coffee in favor of this iced coffee. The cookie, by the way, was amazing. It even had dried blueberries. It was a fair better option than any of their scrumptious breads since the breads are all laced with salt.

And I was good and did not refill my coffee.

After Saturday’s meeting, I did a lot of work, some reading, some dishes and laundry (including watching Minions: Rise of Gru while folding wash). My blood pressure seemed to be coming under control.

On Sunday I felt something in my lower back and hip. So I tried to take it easy but still do some chores around the house and bad web design for Parisian Phoenix.

I woke up today and I felt stiff but okay. I arrived at work, and within the first few minutes I knew I was not okay. By the end of the first hour I was down to 96% on my performance and my left side was burning. I made it through the day, but it was hard. And annoying. Because it’s probably been six months since I experienced pain like this.

But work had one extremely bright spot– Southern Candy made stuffed pepper soup. She brought in a massive batch of this stuff so a gang of us could have it for lunch. It was amazing! I had two bowls. It hit the spot after these bitter cold days.

It’s 6 p.m. now, and The Teenager made the Crabbiless Crab Cake recipe from the Imus Ranch Cookbook for dinner, an old family favorite. And I allowed myself some Coke Zero. My first Coke Zero in nearly a week.

I didn’t get as many steps in and chores done as I would have liked today, but I’m hoping to feel better tomorrow.

What I ate today:

  • 4:30 a.m., one cup Supercoffee with half and half
  • 6 a.m., first breakfast, Kind Breakfast bar, oatmeal peanut butter
  • 8:30 a.m., second breakfast, Fage Greek Yogurt with honey, apple slices
  • 11:30 a.m., lunch, two bowls stuffed pepper soup
  • 4 p.m., about 12 ounces of Coke Zero
  • 5:30 p.m., two Crabbiless Crab Cakes
  • 6:30 p.m., Yogi honey lavender herbal tea

(and about 56 ounces of water)

The M3GAN Zombie Apocalypse outing with pancakes

Angel Ackerman Leave a comment

Yesterday, The Teenager came with me to see M3GAN, which I had an interest in because of an episode of NPR’s podcast Pop Culture Happy Hour.

The weather had turned rainy and dreary, making the cold January dusk seem later and more ominous than it was.

And when we walked into Regal– there was no one in the lobby except one employee behind the concession stand desperately trying to find things to do. (We scanned my Regal loyalty card and it said my visits were at negative four. That amused me. I attend about once movie a year, and I think the last one the Teenager bought the tickets online because it was her movie.)

The big sign in the outdoor-facing booth where viewers used to queue as little as three years ago (I remember because it was one of my few sad post-break-up attempts at a Tinder date) read “Buy Tickets at Concession Stand” but the little room stood so oddly barren and the theater so damn dark I thought I had entered The Walking Dead and was about to try and loot the place for stale Jujyfruits and processed nacho cheese sauce (two of my favorites). Excuse the extreme run-on sentence because it’s Saturday morning and I’ve been trying to write this since Thursday night and now I’m getting swept up in the mood.

When I googled my spelling of Jujyfruits, this clip came up and I did not watch Seinfeld “back in the day” and I love a fresh Jujyfruit, I had to watch it. Let me share:

The Teenager, as I paid for the tickets, surveyed the concession menu and grimaced. I could tell by her body language that the prices had been a sucker punch. She asked me if I had a quarter as we traversed the long, empty (and silent) corridor to the last theater in the corner. I had one, and she had been obsessing for days about an everlasting gobstopper. I gave her my quarter and she raced to the boxy red gumball machines and moaned when she discovered her sugar fix of choice was fifty cents.

I suggested she go to the car for a second quarter, which she did after much deliberation. I handed her her ticket and opened the door to the very empty theater.

I forgot to check my tickets for seat numbers. I’m “of that age” that this assigned seats at the movies doesn’t make sense to me. I plop my butt in a chair and receive a text from The Teenager.

“The car is locked.”

I heard the theater door open and I was about to toss the fob at her when I realized it was a rather rotund man with a soda and a vat of popcorn the size of my head (including my frizzy shoulder-length curls) walked in. And he sat just enough behind me that I could hear his chewing and have that cozy feeling that the dog had come to the movies with us.

The Teenager returned and I offered the keys and she announced that she had surrendered the hunt for the confection. She asked what seat was hers. She looked at her ticket and pointed out we should have been exactly one seat over on the other side of the aisle. I thought it pretty impressive I had almost selected the seat the lovely person at the concession stand had assigned to us. And, my anxiety made me debate for the next ten minutes whether we needed to move to the other side of the aisle in the empty theater. I stayed put. And no one else came into the theater so it was not an issue.

And this was when the theater lit up with an advertisement that they needed employees, and I may have chortled.

“To do what?” I asked the teenager.

Now I fully intend to write a review of the movie, and I hope my brain can do a good job as I forgot my journal so I did not jot down notes. I then thought I would make some notes when I surprised the teen with dinner, but as we go on with the story you’ll see why I did not.

And when I checked my email after the movie, I noticed Regal had sent me an email while I was at the film offering me fifty percent off a popcorn for National Popcorn Day.

The Teenager darted toward the door after the movie declaring that she hated it, in that same tone that she used to tell me how much she hated summer camp. That she attended nine summers in a row.

“Am I driving?” she asked. And there may have been a reference to what was for dinner.

“I figured I wouldn’t feel like cooking…”

“Do you want me to make something?” she interrupted.

“I was thinking of IHOP, I’ve had a craving for pancakes,” I said.

She was in. But when we left the parking lot of the enormous, confusing shopping plaza, it was pouring rain and my windows fogged up faster than the car could defrost them and my astigmatism made it impossible to see with nearly-a-half-century-old eyes. I turned into the opposite side of the highway and went away from the IHOP instead of toward. Traffic and eyesight meant we went almost half way home before we found a spot to turn the car away. But we wanted pancakes.

And not comforting, grill-greased diner pancakes, but sickeningly sweet IHOP pancakes. Meanwhile, the Teenager googles IHOP’s hours because we’ve had a long day at this point and I don’t want to fight my way there and learn they closed at 6 p.m. or even 7 p.m. (It’s about 6:50 p.m.)

But as she typed– she typed IGOB instead of IHOP and we have a good laugh about IGOB because that sounds like her kind of place. Like an all-you-can-eat buffet where you show up and they pile food in front of you and you shove it all it your gob. (Did you know: apparently gob is British slang?)

We made it to IHOP and we drive around the building through the parking lot. All the lights were on but the place was empty. We practically drove up to the front door and there was one person, hunched over the counter by the register, scribbling on a tablet, or maybe dead. The former Howard Johnson’s/America’s Best motel beside us was literally falling down. I tried to park the car nicely in the streaming rain and I totally missed the lines.

“I’m driving home,” The Teenager said.

“Please do,” I replied.

Now, the theme of Zombie Apocalypse was running amok in my head. I felt like I had entered a dystopian fantasy. And part of me wanted to give up and forget pancakes.

But… pancakes.

And I had Christmas cash in my purse that the Teenager had given to me and I had traded her electronic funds into her checking accounts because she knows I like to have a cash reserve. The budget is super tight the next few months and I have pledged to minimize use of my Amex until I replenish my savings. Especially if I am approved for the service dog wait list.

This week might be a week of last hurrahs.

We walked in and it became apparent there was one employee in the kitchen and one in the front of house. The hostess/server announced they were closing in twenty minutes, which really meant the kitchen closed in thirty minutes but close enough, right?

I suggested maybe we should go and the employee’s demeanor changed.

“Oh no,” she said. “You’re good.”

(Maybe she realized serving us would be more interesting than standing around doing nothing for an hour?)

The server, Holly as the receipt later said, started telling us all the things we were out of.

“We just want pancakes,” I said.

The Teenager ordered the cupcake pancakes and I ordered the protein lemon ricotta pancakes with mixed berry sauce. Tossing protein powder in pancakes makes them healthy, right?

As we waited for the pancakes, which may have taken eight minutes (we were in and out in thirty minutes, including the five minutes I watched out server hand wash dishes before coming to take my money), The Teenager (using her waitress eyes from her time in the business) spotted a very dirty five under a ketchup bottle. We passed it along to Holly. She was grateful.

IGOB.

The bill came to $25.63, which I remember because I counted out the 63 cents and The Teenager kept thinking nickels were quarters (kids today), and I left $40.63. Yes, I left a $14 tip. Hopefully I brought Holly some joy, or helped her pay a bill, who knows? The place was so desolate it felt like it was the right thing to do.

Then I went home to these two. Foster Louise the Tripod acts like FURR kitten Jennifer Grey is such a threat. But Jenny keeps trying to be friends. They cuddle me from opposite sides of the bed. Louise gets my right; Jenny gets my left.

This is how we start 2023?

Angel Ackerman 2 Comments

It’s 4 a.m. on Sunday, January 1, 2023.

The Teenager is on an overnight for a client, petsitting. Her dog is sleeping in her crate in the living room below my bedroom. I have Louise, the sweet foster tripod cat, sleeping in my arms. Bean, the Teenager’s dog, whimpers.

You see, I normally get up for work at 4 a.m. She knows this. I fall back to sleep and wake to barking at 5 a.m. Poor Bean thinks no one is home and she will be left to rot in the crate. So, I get up, let the dog out, and make coffee.

I struggled with my mental health yesterday. I was prone to depression, anxiety and even anger. I had to see some people whom I no longer trust, and whom I feel betrayed me. I’m stressed about some recent financial upheavals: an unexpected medical bill that I should have expected, uncertainty about heating the house and the borough announcing that the garbage service we have used for the last 20 years has changed, the rules have changed and the days have changed and the rumor is that the price has tripled– starting tomorrow.

All first world problems. Except for the relationships gone wrong. It hurts when people don’t listen to you or respect you.

I hit a new PR on the squat at the gym yesterday, 145 lbs. Everything felt like it was moving well, and I even did impressively on my hamstring curls (and my right hamstring is reminding me of that fact today.)

Our New Year’s Eve involved finally remembering to retrieve our medicines from CVS. I grabbed a couple of clearance Russell Stover Christmas hearts with three milk chocolates inside. And I used my 40% off coupon to buy a Duncan Hines EPIC Fruity Pebble Cake Kit. The Teenager was soooooo excited she baked it right away. We washed down the cake with some leftover Jewish Christmas cookies from Little Dog’s Mom. She makes incredible cookies.

Little Dog Sobaka, Little Dog’s Mom and I listened to the recent Christmas episode of This American Life, where comedian Alex Edelman discusses his first and only Christmas. It’s a great story of experiencing Christmas as an Orthodox Jew. It also looks like Little Dog’s Mom will be able to accompany The Teenager and I to the Harrisburg Mall on January 25 for my Canine Therapeutic Evaluation with Susquehanna Service Dogs.

I also made this weird little treat: I took a sprouted flat bread, spread it with vegan cashew cheddar, sprinkled it with organic parmesan and herbs de provence and drizzled it with cold-pressed extra virgin Lebanese-imported olive oil and toasted it.

But this morning, things took a turn. I texted the Teenager about a run to Dunkin on her way home. She arrived with her tea, my bagel and some hashbrowns.

“Where’s my coffee?” I asked.

But quickly it became apparent that the Teenager was doubled over in pain. I have never seen her like that. On Monday, the Teenager and her uncle came down with a fairly violence stomach bug that seems to have originated with the Christmas Eve gathering at my mother-in-law’s. The Teenager’s cousin and her family got it. My husband got it. I did not. Though I did fart heavily most of the week. My guts did churn a bit so I think I managed to fight it off.

As a consequence, the Teenager did not eat for about three days and her meals since then have been tiny but frequent. The smell of the hash browns in the Dunkin bag triggered intense pain. The Teenager nibbled a protein bar with her hash browns and laid down for a nap. I am waiting for her to come back downstairs. Here’s hoping she’s okay.

Of course, her dog became extremely distressed that The Teenager was not well. And the Teenager did not want to dog all over her in her discomfort. So, I opted to take the dog and run to Dunkin to get my missing cold brew.

“Bean,” I said, “Do you wanna go for a ride?”

The dog looked at me confused, as if saying, “did you say what I think you said?”

“Do you want to go for a ride?”

The dog leapt to her feet and ran to the front door and then the back not sure if we were going to the garage or the street. We headed into the garage. Bean hopped in the car. Dunkin made me a fresh cold brew and I bought the dog some munchkins which I fed her at every stop sign along the way home.

‘Simply Having a Wonderful Christmastime’

Angel Ackerman 1 Comment

I woke at 6:30 this morning but despite having ten hours of sleep, my eyes had dark circles and my mind spun with a bizarre sequence of dreams. I fed the fat cats on their diet kibble, went downstairs to make my coffee, checked book sales and suddenly realized one of the foster cats appeared to be missing.

A missing cat caper?

Foster Cat Touch of Grey has claimed the bathroom sink

I did a quick sweep of the house, as the missing cat was Touch of Grey, known for her clumsiness. She once managed to crawl into the heat ducts and get stuck almost in the furnace. Touch of Grey, or Tiggy as we call her, can be a jerk. My cat, Fog, also known as Meatball in his obesity, can also be a jerk. I caught Fog intimidating Tiggy as she used the litter box, so I removed her from the fat cat room.

She promptly took up residence in the bathroom sink. So me, being me, laid a towel in the bathroom sink so it would be cozier for her and brushed my teeth using water from the tub.

It seemed extremely odd that I couldn’t find her now.

Introducing The Phulasso Devotional

Seeing no signs of calamity, I decided to have some coffee and dig into my publishing company’s latest work-in-progress, The Phulasso Devotional. Lots of people texted, and seeing some familiar names felt good to my heart. And Maryann Riker, the mixed media artist who contributed to Not an Able-Bodied White Man with Money, emailed with samples of work she had come across in the style that she thought would be nice for Phulasso.

They touched me– even before Maryann told me the series had inspiration in Tao. Before I started work on The Phulasso Devotional, I sent a rather thorough, elaborate spiritual statement to the author (yesterday!). I wanted to be upfront with him about my own formerly Christian, agnostic, animistic and pagan beliefs. As a publisher and editor dedicating myself to a very Christian project, I needed to cement that we would be comfortable and trust one another. And I believe we do. But to quote one line of that treatise on my own religious background: “(I also took Religions of China and Japan and fell in love with Taoism.)”

And I loved the miniature watercolors depicting a sunrise and an open path that glows with openness and potential.

I ended up buying them.

Maryann said she would be in my area later today so she’d deliver.

Continuing the Cat Hunt

The Teenager did a sweep of the house and the outside. She went to work, and sent me a text saying one of us should check the coal bin in the basement. I put on shoes and headed down, found no cat but carried some garbage from the basement outdoors. I checked the cardboard boxes we have piled next to the garbage cans for recycling, because if I were an indoor cat suddenly outside on the coldest day of the year, a cardboard box would look so good.

No cat.

And then I had a thought: did anyone check my room?

Tiggy was lying peacefully on my bed. Apparently when I left my room at 6:30, she silently crept in.

Sweet Fruity Doughnuts

During my last visit to The Grocery Outlet, I bought some weirdly glazed doughnuts. When The Teenager got home from work, I asked if she wanted to try them. She was game. The glaze was not merely glaze but a thick, hard icing that tasted like fruity candy. I had purchased a mango and a strawberry.

Decorating the House

The Teenager got her baby cousins window markers and window crayons for Christmas, in addition to procuring some for herself. So we decorated the windows for Yule after I showered and donned my Christimas Flamingo sweatshirt.

A Bagel Big Surprise

Little Dog’s Mom brought bagel-themed presents for The Teenager and I and a new toy Christmas Llama for the Bean dog. The bagel theme included a gift certificate for one of our favorite places in the world, New York Bagel & Deli, in one of our favorite local shopping plazas. We also received everything-bagel-flavored pretzel chips (which are one of The Teenager’s favorite snacks) and everything bagel seasoning which has been on my shopping list forever. And Little Dog’s Mom remembered The Teenager’s favorite candy!

Plus, Little Dog’s Mom and I were twinning.

Maryann called and said she was on her way.

Another Artist in My Collection

At Parisian Phoenix, we incorporate original photography and art into our books. We aim to support visual artists as we do those who share the written work. Heather Pasqualino Weirich, of Heather Pasqualino Fine Art, whose art adorned the cover of Not an Able-Bodied White Man with Money, joined Maryann and other artists in that anthology. Maryann commented that the cover painting from that book should be released in prints.

When Maryann delivered her art, I asked her to come inside my home and decide where to hang them. She hung them beside Heather’s original piece in my central room.

And the nicely wrapped art pieces came with a Ghiradelli packet of hot chocolate and a shot of peppermint vodka. The Teenager took the hot cocoa. I claimed the peppermint vodka. Now I need a candy cane.

Magnetic Ransom Notes

I returned to work on the devotional until The Teenager’s Dad arrived to play Ransom Notes and have dinner with us as I had bought the Teenager shrimp. Ransom Notes is like Cards against Humanity using magnetic word pieces like those in a magnetic poetry kit. We mixed it all our magnetic poetry kits, too. We also listened to Gabriel “Fluffy” Iglesias.

The Teenager made shrimp, broccoli, rice and potatoes, but since I don’t eat shrimp she cooked up some Spam so I’d have some protein. That’s right. My Christmas dinner was a pile of broccoli with some diced up Spam.

As I write this, The Teenager and her father are downstairs playing video games. All in all, a simple but soulful, joyous Christmas.

Christmas Eve Phase 2: A Trip to Bethlehem and Nazareth

Angel Ackerman 2 Comments

My mother-in-law mentioned that she was making fried chicken and potato salad for Christmas Eve dinner, so I of course said I would come. If there is something I love, it’s her fried chicken and potato salad. She also made ham and a honey glaze. And stuffed shells. I put honey glaze on my chicken.

My brother-in-law made figgy pudding. That was tasty.

My mother-in-law always has a heap of homemade Christmas cookies and the family fruitcake recipe is unbelievably tasty. And the goofy sugar/coconut/strawberry JellO crystal cookies are one of my favorites.

The Teenager says she likes when I come to family functions, because I liven them up a bit with my big mouth.

My mother-in-law makes a LOT of cookies

The kids opened presents– the eldest great-grandchild received a learn-to-tie-your-shoelaces wooden shoe (The Teenager received the same but in book form at that age) and “The Old Lady Who Swallowed The Fly” finger puppets (as The Teenager also did as a child, except the Teenager received a creepy old lady doll with a creepy gaping mouth). I tried to engage the whole family in a sing-along of There Was An Old Lady Who Swallowed The Fly, because all the children in the family, I believe even back to my husband and his siblings, were raised with that morbid song.

No one went for it.

If you don’t know the song, here’s a version on YouTube.

I’ll give you some nice holiday photos of the tree and The Teenager opening her exciting new clamps from her uncle, who always knows what she needs for her growing tool collection. And she also kept swapping out the baby Jesus in the manger for first a goose and then a turkey.

With our bellies bursting with cookies and figgy pudding– so yummy, I do love figs, we left Bethlehem to travel to Nazareth to visit one of my former Target colleagues who now works there. We exchanged some Christmas hugs. I put gas in the car. And The Teenager got a salted caramel hot chocolate.

This low-key holiday is working out perfectly.

The Magic of Yule Time

Angel Ackerman Leave a comment

I consider myself agnostic, animist pagan with a foundation in some Christian values and appreciation for religious myths. I wonder if maybe I would be a better Jew than Christian, but in the end I think our behavior overshadows our labels when discussing the “goodness” or “worthiness” of a person or a way of life.

I have struggled with my share of issues this past year– as many of us have and do– but yesterday was the start of Yule and the Teenager wanted to lean more into our pagan side.

She purchased a small live tree and wanted to decorate it with items in homage to nature, such as pine cones.

Today was my last day at work before the holidays and the leadership team have designated that I get all the pre-boxed work. For some reason I felt energetic and more myself in months, if not since my father died. So, I decided to take the early out from my shift, clocking out at 9:44 a.m. I came home, had a cup of coffee, did some dishes, and whipped up some really yummy macaroni and cheese.

It was that good that the dog and I licked the bowl and then the dog ate the spoon. Oops!

I invited Gayle over– because Gayle knows the fleeting nature of my holiday spirit– and she brought a summer sausage to share with the Teen and I as we ended up popping and stringing popcorn for our miniature tree for Yule. The Teen brought down the sewing kit which is really an old, plastic storage bin for Matchbox cars that we stashed yarn, needles and other small sewing implements on one side and The Teenager moved all our embroidery thread to the other.

While it may be under three feet tall, and has only pine cones and popcorn on it, it stands in our living room like a marvel.