Golden Throat Elixer

 Many years ago a friend at work taught me a recipe for a natural throat soothing elixir that was so helpful and pleasant which is a rare combination especially when you are sick. I used to make up a few batches every winter as cold season made its annual presence felt. Once my dementia began to affect my mobility and I am out in the world less I do have the benefit of not getting colds or flus often. However, that also means that I have not made said elixir for a few years and could not really (thanks broken brain) remember how to make said elixir; I could remember the basic ingredients.

We have spent the last few days, with my daughter-in-law fighting off a terrible head cold, perfecting our new version of this beloved "syrup" and before I have the chance to forget again I promised to write it down where we won't lose it again. It seemed like the perfect opportunity to share it as well.

1 day supply:

2 bags of Yogi Throat Comfort or Lemon Ginger tea 
2 Tbs Honey, (our favorite is pictured above)
1 Tbs Ginger paste (or fresh ground ginger, but when you are sick...really?)
1 Lemon

Steep tea for 20-30 minutes in 2 cups hot water, you want it really strong.

Once tea syrup base is ready add honey and ginger while still warm.

Rinse lemon, roll using gentle pressure on a hard surface then cut into quarters. Remove as many seeds as possible then squeeze as much juice as you are able to into syrup. Set wedges aside**

Stir well and refrigerate.

Elixir can be used by the spoonful like a syrup or added to hot tea as a soothing shot.

**We have found that cutting the lemon into smaller pieces after juicing and adding the pieces to the elixir after stirring it well allows for some of the syrup to saturate the pieces which can then be added to tea or just eaten by themselves to sooth a sore throat.   

 

Crochet a Little Love

My son and his wife are both fans of One Piece and consider themselves honorary Straw Hats. I love to crochet while watching TV and you can only make so many afghans so I worked out a pattern for crochet straw hats that they seem to like.

One Piece- Straw Hat

Hook: I/9 5.50MM (or size needed to achieve gauge)
Yarn: Vanna’s Choice - A. Honey (for hat)
                                    - B. Cranberry (for band)

Abbreviations:

ch: chain
sl st: slip stitch
st: stitch
sc: single crochet
hdc: half double crochet

Gauge: 3 rounds = 3 ¼ inches

With Color A Ch 3. Sl st in first ch to form a ring.

1. Ch 2 (counts as the first stitch in this round and each round throughout the pattern.) Hdc into the ring
    9 times. Sl st with the top ch of the ch 2 to join. (10 hdc)

2. Ch 2. Hdc in the same stitch as the ch 2. Work 2 hdc into the next st and each st in the round. Sl st
     with the top ch of the ch 2 to join. (20 hdc)

3. Ch 2. Work 2 hdc in the next st. *Hdc in the next stitch. Work 2 hdc into the next st. Repeat from *
     until the end of the round. Sl st with the top ch of the ch 2 to join. (30 hdc)

4. Ch 2. Hdc in the next st. Work 2 hdc in the next st. * Hdc in each of the next 2 sts. Work 2 hdc in the
    next st. Repeat from * to the end of the round. Sl st with the top ch of the ch 2 to join. (40 hdc)

5. Ch 2. Hdc in each of the next 2 sts. Work 2 hdc in the next st. * Hdc in each of the next 3 sts. Work 2
    hdc in the next st. Repeat from * to the end of the round. Sl st with the top ch of the ch 2 to join. (50
    hdc)

6. Ch 2. Hdc in each of the next 3 sts. Work 2 hdc in the next st. * Hdc in each of the next 4 sts. Work 2      hdc in the next st. Repeat from * to the end of the round. Sl st with the top ch of the ch 2 to join. (60      hdc)

7. Ch 2. Hdc in each of the next 4 sts. Work 2 hdc in the next st. * Hdc in each of the next 5 sts. Work 2       hdc in the next st. Repeat from * to the end of the round. Sl st with the top ch of the ch 2 to join. (70       hdc)

8. Ch 2. Hdc in the next stitch and each st in the round. Sl st to the top ch of the beginning ch 2 to join.

9-14. Repeat round 8. (7 rows) 

15. Switch to color B, Ch 1. Sc in the next st and each st in the round. Sl st to the beginning ch 1 to join.       (70 scs.)

16. Ch 1. Sc in the next st and each st in the round. Sl st to the beginning ch 1 to join.

17- 20. Repeat row 16. (4 rows)

21. Switch back to color A. Ch 2. Hdc in next 5 sts. Work 2 hdc in the next st. * Hdc in each of the next        6 sts. Work 2 hdc in the next st. Repeat from * to the end of the round. Sl st with the top ch of the ch       2 to join. (80 hdc).

22. Ch 2. Hdc in next 6 sts. Work 2 hdc in the next st. * Hdc in each of the next 7 sts. Work 2 hdc in the        next st. Repeat from * to the end of the round. Sl st with the top ch of the ch 2 to join. (90 hdc)

23. Ch 2. Hdc in next 7 sts. Work 2 hdc in the next st. * Hdc in each of the next 8 sts. Work 2 hdc in the         next st. Repeat from * to the end of the round. Sl st with the top ch of the ch 2 to join. (100 hdc)

24. Ch 2. Hdc in the next stitch and each st in the round. Sl st to the top ch of the beginning ch 2 to join.

25. Ch 1. Sc in next st and in each st in the round. Sl st to the beginning ch1 to join.

Fasten off & weave in ends.

This pattern is really easy to adapt in size by just using a smaller, or larger, hook and yarn. The posted pattern is a basic adult size.

Devastation of a Tree

When I was young a tree was planted in my mind. I did not see it there growing. Did not notice the flowers that sprang onto branches; not until the child emerged from her roots. The child was beautiful and wild and brave in her adventures. She danced between the roots and gathered falling blossoms to lace through her hair.

She grew from the seed of the tree that was planted from the love of another’s soul. She dreamed and shared her wild universe with the mind of the girl she lived within. The girl began to write of adventures and paint impossibly wild and beautiful creatures. The two danced together invisible yet bound together; then the darkness began.

It was distant for long and away creeping closer even when the tree was first planted it had been hedging the universe within searching for a way in. It hungered for dreams and adventures to consume. The day the girl heard men of medicine say he is not long for this world now the child within grew still, holding her breath. She made ropes of roots and flowers nourished by tears shed in the night. But the darkness was coming closer and closer faster every day. Then the storm began.

Fed by medicines and whispers and broken hopes, the storm hid its ferocity high above the shade of the tree; unseen, unheard until it began to whip and pull at the delicate branches. The night the darkness came the Gardener called the girl and the child to him. He said, “Be brave, be in the world but not of the world. Do not despair. Promise me?” They promised. Hand in hand they sat at his side until he vanished in the darkness. The crying was quiet and constant held tightly within the tree; a thing for solitude, not to be shared. 

The tears nourished the tree; girl and child grew with it. Though no longer wild the dance remained strong, with purpose, “Be brave, do not despair.”  

The cracks began when the girl lost her first before it ever knew the forest or light. Grew as parents of parents and children of those faded into the grasp of darkness, one by one whatever she loved was ripped from her arms and consumed by the ravenous darkness. Her back stood straighter each time she felt love, yet broke that much more each time it was lost. By the time her mate was pulled away the child within clung to the upper branches and screamed into the whirling maelstrom. Yet the storm of darkness ate her every sound until the girl thought she was alone.

Time and again the gardener's voice tried to whisper to her, “do not despair, be brave.” But the storm isolated the girl and the child; trapped them in silence and darkness, with only a muffled wail to remind them they were alone with the scattered fragments of life. 

Each time the gardener came to them the child within told him, “It is a lie this Christmas! It is a mask they wear once a year in hopes of new toys to break. They do not mean what they say. Humanity only wishes to feed the darkness.” Then she would hide in the roots of the tree and draw monsters on the walls and her skin.

The girl could not leave, could not join the darkness, nor the child. 

No matter how dark and bitter the night she had a promise to keep: be in the world, not of the world. 

In time all that remained was the storm, the girl, and a child hidden in torn roots covered in monsters of blood and ink. Hoping that the day will come when either humanity ceases putting Loki on the throne, or the gardener calls her to him, the girl waits. In silence. Unable to hear the child over the storm she waits for the eye to be over her, she will know then what the last painting will be. 

Of this, I am certain.

Breathe deep, Let praise exhale

There are days when I am too weary of the pain of walking and breathing to get out of bed. I still question my purpose for being here most mornings. The universe has a way of giving you encouragement when most needed, if you are open and willing.

December 3^rd was a bad day for me in that I was more depressed and discouraged than usual. I had been talking to my son and his wife the night before about a memory of watching an episode of NCIS where Abby starts a Living Rocks campaign; aka tell people why you are grateful when you have them not as an epitaph when they are gone.

With that idea stuck in my head and feeling like a cancerous Unicorn with a broken horn I checked my email as I try to at least 3x a week to ensure there were no flames that had to be dealt with before curling up back in bed.

I read an email from a business associate that gave me a sense that there may be at some point, in the not too distant future, a point that life may improve at least a little. This person was doing their job of course. They took the time to explain what they were doing, a courtesy not given often. It made me realize how seldom of late I took the time to do more than be polite to those I must interact with in person. So I sent a short email to express my gratitude.

Today I received a reply from her expressing how touched she was at something that took me one brief moment of inspiration and 2 minutes of effort. I resulted in something tangible she can carry with her for those hard days.

This got me thinking once again. We are all so quick to offer ridicule, to correct others, to honk at rude or careless drivers, to gaze sternly at those weary parents that do not seem to have any control over rowdy children. When is the last time I had offered praise, or corrected myself publicly, or smiled and waved at a courteous driver, or offered patience and a smile to a weary parent?

I have found that when I have a problem with a company and need to communicate in real time I use online chat as often as possible. This allows me to think and censure what I say before I say it. I am able to speak clearly, kindly, and without emotional interference. Life does not afford that luxury in line, face-to-face, in traffic, but a slow deep breath can at least provide a buffer for you to consider what you are about to say and how it can impact the person you are speaking to and how that may in response effect you.

Eternal Impact

Talking with a friend today I was reminded of the thought I held as a child,
 "be the person that makes a difference".  I firmly believed that if you always did and said what you knew to be right even if you feel there would be no consequences that you could improve the world.

Don't misunderstand me, I still believe that and it has become so much a part of who I am that it is no longer a conscious choice it just is who I am; I was just reminded that it was a choice, a choice I made.

We all interact with the world daily and every choice we make has the potential to change the world. It may not be the people you smile at, the tiny old woman you get a can off the top shelf for at the store, or the harried mom you let in front of you in the bank; it may be the person watching you.

Even years after my brother passed away we would occasionally meet someone he had known and they would ask after him and when we told them he was gone they all, to a person, cried. He had impact on the world in the all too brief 19 years he spent here. He showed courage, courtesy and hope. Even when he did not feel them.

I want to be that kind of person.

I have many days where I wake up wondering why I am still here, if anyone would care if I was gone, how long it would take for anyone to even notice my absence.

Then I remember there are a few that I listen to without criticism or advice; just listen.
There are those that depend on me financially- sad since I am behind on my electric and internet and will likely have them cut off in a matter of days- yet I do somehow, with Gods intervention, always find a way to pay bills and some depend on me for shelter.

I do extend kindness and courtesy to as many as I can on a daily basis even when I do not feel very kind or courteous. I have no way of knowing if I have any impact on the world and likely never will, but it does not matter.

Mantis shrimp and a very very small percentage of the human population see colors in the spectrum that no one else does; does that mean those colors do not exist? If a tree falls in the forest...?

If you really think about it color does not really exist. What we perceive as color is really just how our brains process various refractions of light across surfaces. But we percieve. The refraction is created by a light source that impacts our perception of the world around us.

We can each be a source of light that influences the colors of the world around us.

Damaged Waiting

damage- noun 
1. injury or harm that reduces value or usefulness:The storm did considerable damage to the crops. 
2. damages, Law. the estimated money equivalent for detriment or injury sustained. 
3. Often damages. Informal. cost; expense; charge:What are the damages for the lubrication job on my car? 
wait- noun 
1. a period of waiting; pause, interval, or delay. 

 According to http://www.dreammoods.com/dreamdictionary/ "Symbols are the language of dreams. A symbol can invoke a feeling or an idea and often has a much more profound and deeper meaning than any one word can convey. At the same time, these symbols can leave you confused and wondering what that dream was all about." 

Why am I writing all this? 
I have odd dreams; I know many of us think we have odd dreams. 

I used to think everyone dreamed the way I do, in time I learned that no, they don't. The depth, detail, and intensity of my dreams can be disturbing. 

My brother used to love starting every day talking about my dreams; I wonder sometimes now if he ever dreamed. 
He was born with a brain tumor and was in pain every day of his life, though he did not really understand that as he was born in pain, was never without it. 
I know he had difficulty sleeping. 
I have absolutely no memory of him sharing any of his dreams, just building stories and ideas around mine. 

I had an acquaintance some years ago that began asking me the first two words I woke thinking about each day; if they found them ominous they stayed home. 

Last night I dreamt about a group of people that dressed in vintage fashion and wandered around shooting photos or film clips in black and white, the prominent style in the dream seemed to be circa 1920's-30's. 
As the dream progressed the mood became darker, more frenzied and I was left with the overwhelming realization that their frivolous capers hid violence and unrest. 
I was struck by flashes like rot and decay behind a flaking mirror. 

The two words I was overwhelmed by for hours after waking were Damaged Waiting. 

When my grandmother passed away she left behind many things undone as many of us will I am certain; few are ever "ready" to leave. 
Perhaps because she was a child of the Depression or maybe just because she felt confined and limited, she left shelves and boxes of unused fabric and notions and patterns, drawers full of lovely nightwear that she never used, unopened packages of vintage hosiery. 
She left an entire life unlived, stored in nooks and crannies. 

 As a vivid dreamer I have a lot of dream dictionaries, interpretation guides etc. However since my hasty grudging move a year ago I have not even had the energy to really unpack. No painting, no sewing, no crafts, no bookshelves full of knowledge inviting me to explore. 

I accept that I am not the same as I used to be physically, that I have difficulty with coordination-but I was relearning how to paint and in an entirely new style that I was enjoying. 
I do not have enough funds for laundry so am limited to the occasional kindness of family allowing me to do a load or two in their machine when I can get a ride there, sewing even with the fabric I had ready and waiting seems distant even if I found the supplies in the mountain waiting to be unpacked. 
I often feel like those people I used to dread interacting with because they smelled so...lived in. I get it now; lack of towels and clean clothing will do that to you. After a while you start to think why bother with a shower? No one cares, you have nothing clean to put on, it just doesn't matter. 

 I kept going back to why those words...damaged...waiting... 
 is the waiting causing the damage? 
 is the damage causing the waiting? 
 are they feeding each other using hosts' lethargy unaware? 

 As I began typing this post and remembering my brother's fascination with dreams and his ability to rise above, I thought about my grandmother's unfulfilled wait for a life that never came, and I realize at least one possible portent for me in a dream of damaged waiting. 

Life is pain; it teaches us which movements and motions we can withstand and which to avoid. Sometimes knowing what will break you is about testing that edge. But you have to move, dance, live, explore, reach, dare or there is no basis for growth and knowledge, only waiting for the damge to be revealed behind the mirror.

Unlocked for Hope

When I started this tiny blog I wanted a place to uplift to speak only those things that improve the world around me through the sharing. It did not, does not, matter if any of those words are ever read by another; just that they are out there, can be read, can offer a balance to all the ugly-meaningless-hurtful-selfish words that are dumped into the world on a daily basis.

In my desire to be that voice I have strived to only write, to share, that which is uplifting and positive as much as possible. Sadly that means I do not write often. As life grows harder, grows complicated, becomes oppressive, my silence grows equally.  I realized that perhaps I don’t have to be uplifting, I don’t have to feel joy to write; I need only have the desire to lift another from shadows.

I have somehow always believed all things for a reason; I know that it can sound worn and trite but it does not feel that way. I find that I keep trying to be brave: I keep failing to be brave. I want to write, to share, to see light in the darkness. Yet I do not write, I continue to close myself off, I do not turn lights on as the shadows are easier on my eyes most days. Then I realize I am not the solution I am just another tiny dusty brick on the brink of tottering of the edge of a worn path. But an old cobblestone with cracks can better play host to a sudden flower growth than a paved highway.

Perhaps wanting to feel contentment, desiring to share radiance, failing to do so, and still saying, “I am here if you need to cry, my shoulder is soft” is enough.

I am not joyous, but I am hopeful.

I am quiet, but I listen well.

I do not like bright light, but the calm still shadow of the woods hold many wondrous secrets to be explored.

I am lonesome and sad, I am quiet and withdrawn, but I still believe in a better world. I believe that the majority of humanity cares and will improve the world even if it is one small step at a time. Every lock has a key it just takes a bit of time to locate in the jumble sometimes.