Breakfast of champions

Breakfast is probably my second-most favorite meal of the day because its many sweet offerings are as close to dessert (my most favorite meal!) as you can get. Of course, I enjoy the savory offerings of breakfast as well (bacon... mmmm... eggs... mmm...) but that's for another post. Breakfast also intrigues me because it's a very efficient meal -- relatively short yet filling and it needs to be quick and easy to prepare and eat in order to fit into my daily schedule (with exceptions for occasional weekends). When Dear returned, he mentioned that he used to have a bowl of oatmeal daily while away. But I stopped having oatmeal because all the convenient versions of it (packets with more sugar than oats or instant one-minute variety cooked in the microwave because I can't stand making it at the stove) were just nasty and/or a bother. Then I thought about using either a slow cooker (still haven't cracked that one open yet) or a rice cooker. Googling it turned up lots of recipes that I wanted to try.

They are basically the same -- throw oats, a liquid, dash of salt, optional dried fruits or nuts, and a flavoring if you'd like, into the cooker and press on. Whenever the cooker shuts off or turns to "warm", you have piping hot, smooth and creamy oatmeal. The trick is to figure out the ratio of liquid to oats. RealSimple says "add a little less milk or water than you would for stovetop cooking (and some chopped nuts and dried fruit if you want)." I ended up taking bits of several recipes but mostly followed this from Cuisinart:

2 cups (Rice Cooker) rolled oats(not quick cooking)
3 cups (standard liquid measure) water (according to measurement on inside of rice cooker bowl) liquid, which was a combination of apple juice and water
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon1 stick cinnamon
¼ teaspoon salt
3 tablespoons raisins used handful of golden raisins and cherries for following serving two days later in the microwave, since I didn't have any at the time

Insert bowl in Cuisinart® Rice Cooker/Steamer. Place oatmeal, water, cinnamon and salt in bowl; stir. Sprinkle raisins over top. Cover and turn on; cooking time will be about 12 to 18 minutes as long as your rice cooker deems necessary -- mine was maybe 30 minutes? When unit switches to Warm, Cinnamon Raisin Apple Oatmeal is ready to serve, or it may be kept on Warm. Stir before serving. Serve hot as is, or sprinkle with a sweetener such as brown sugar, honey or maple syrup. A dollop of yogurt (plain or vanilla) or milk to taste may be added.

Note: Other dried fruits may be substituted for the raisins. Try dried cherries, cranberries or blueberries,slivered dried apricots or plums or chopped dried apples.

Note 2: Leftovers can be refrigerated and microwaved (with the addition of some extra liquid) during the rest of the week. I added some water and milk, stirred it up, dropped in dried fruit, and microwaved for 3 minutes (stirring once between). The second time around it didn't taste as apple-y, and it wasn't very sweet, but the dried fruit was a great addition. The next time I have leftovers I want to cut them into squares and pan-fry them in some butter and see what happens.

TECHNICALITIES
Our ricecooker is a generic 10 cup version with a non-stick bowl (if you have an old rice cooker, you may have use some non-stick spray on the inside of the bowl). I'm also not sure if this works with smaller ricecookers which may bubble over, from what I've read. I've also read about the amazing results from the "porridge" setting on Zojirushi Fuzzy Logic cookers but the results are great with our simple one button cooker that I don't feel the need to buy a new one nor would I want to spend so much for one.

My next try is Irish oats, aka steel cut. I think it's chewier, which Dear would probably like because he thinks this version is mushy. And because they need to be soaked, I can put everything in the rice cooker the night before and set the timer to start an hour before I get up (so that I don't need to wait around, like I did this time).

Next stop: last century

I had the pleasure of riding on an old-time train (more like a few old subway cars from various eras linked together) today. It was the last weekend that the MTA would be running this special train for the year (it ran on the "V" line, which is on my way home anyway) and I'm glad that I got to experience it, even though it took a while to wait for it.

There were three types of cars. The signs said they all originated in the 1920s and were in service until the 1970s but they all had a very different look and feel. The first car I walked into was very dim, with yellowish lightbulbs and rattan-like seats. The walls were a greenish olive and the seats were configured in "L" shapes, much like the trains today (not the long benches on either side).

The second type of car that I walked through was similar to the first in dimness but had red vinyl-like seats. The third car was very bright, with fluorescent lights, blue and yellow designs painted onto the floor, and rattan-like seats. The walls were monochromatic gray and blueish-gray, like the newest trains on the "L" and "N" lines. I overheard someone say that this train was gutted and re-done as a prototype for something and so, is most unique.

I think every car had fans screwed into the ceiling for those hot and humid NY summers. Every car also had ads from through the ages (fifth anniversary of UN, admonishments against spitting, 200th? anniversary of Columbia University, Campell's passing off their foodstuffs as from chefs when now they are viewed as machine-processed canned food). The TA ads back then (like about spitting) were as cheesy as today's (I think they are inspired by these old ones) but back then it didn't seem so cheesy.

Some observations:
- The cars all smelled. It didn't stink of bums or greasy food like modern subway cars often do -- it was like a smell of diesel mixed with some burning rubber.
- Some people were afraid to board the train. I guess they didn't see the posters about this special train and thought they were in some strange world, traveling back in time.
- For every person who was surprised (pleasantly or not) about this old-time train, there was a person who purposely waited around for it. There were more than a few train buffs (some wearing subway/train-related clothes) spewing off trivia.
- Lots of people were taking pictures (some with disposable cameras, obviously not as prepared as those who planned for the train, with SLRs or video cameras).
- Some people got really into it, dressing up in old-time clothes. I don't know if they planned it or not, but people were taking pictures of them, as if they were models. Interestingly, I found it difficult to tell the woman was wearing period clothes because wearing vintage clothes and platform peep-toe shoes are in fashion now. Her hairstyle was a bit old-fashioned but there were no dead giveaways, as with the man who wore a bowler hat, suit with wide tie, and had a handlebar mustache.
- There are a lot of of weirdos who enjoy trains. Aside from the geeks that you might mistake for sci-fi nuts, there are some real wackjobs. I couldn't tell if they just really enjoyed trains or had a screw loose: guys who imitate the conductor by reciting all the stops and connections at each stop and make the sound of the closing door chimes; people that refer to trains by their model numbers; people who mutter train facts (or is it fiction?) with a stoned look; people who got really, er, passionate about certain trains not being in the lineup; or a certain person who would act like a regular geek but every once in a while exclaim "Stay away from the dictator!" If we were on a normal everyday subway car, I would have avoided all eye contact for fear that they would lash out in violence.
- There were moments when the train passed through a section of track and the lights would blink or go out completely. I had forgotten that that used to happen. Do trains still do that?
- The seats, though softer, were not very comfortable. For one, they were a lot narrower so that it could only fit 1.5 butts in the two-seater. There was also a lot less legroom in the corner of the "L" seats. One guy sat in the seat perpendicular to me with the typical macho position of legs spread out wide (I hate it when people feel like they have to do this to prove something) and I had no room whatsoever. The smaller seats did make the car did seem more spacious. The seats are also straight-backed and flat-seated (the slight curve in today's seats make a huge difference). The seats also felt flimsier. When people plopped down in the seats behind, I felt it move. It makes me think that even though today's subway interiors are so ugly, it is a lot more comfortable (but is it worth the $76, soon to be more, per month?!).

Belated merry Christmas

Christmas has come and gone and I barely feel it. This year has felt holiday-less to me. First, it was too warm to even think about and when it did get colder, I was inundated with commercials rather than Christmas carols. There were weekly/daily emails for Black Friday deals (nothing good enough for me to take part in), free shipping, express shipping, last minute shipping, last minute express shipping, and then the not-too-late for gift cards. I thought there was also a lot of emphasis on holiday entertaining this year too, from buying fancy clothes, to preparing sumptuous feasts (does anyone really throw holiday parties when everyone is harried with all the other aspects, like shopping, etc.?).

From Thanksgiving on, there were glimpses of Christmas cheer beginning to settle in (when it snowed for the first time this season and it looked like a wintry postcard of New York with the snow falling onto the Christmas trees being sold in the street or when I finally decided to line up all the colorful Christmas cards we received this year) but that warm fuzzy feeling just didn't stick around for me.

This Christmas, needless to say, had been very different without Dear around. I was unmotivated to shop since I knew we wouldn't see all the relatives until next year and we wouldn't have those big gatherings with lots of hub bub (boo hoo!). Even more different is that I didn't plan to be around for Christmas either (until JetBlue decided to be the arses that they are and cancelled my flight, causing me to fly out in the darkness of Christmas morning). And it was very different to be driving around in an unfamiliar (albeit beautiful) city (Savannah, an hour from the compound that Dear is staying at) on a rainy night to make it to one of the two restaurants open in the entire city on Christmas night. And to experience the "Southern hospitality" of said city while vacationing for a short while was different as well. But no matter how different (good to start new traditions, not that we ever really had any to begin with), it was just good to see Dear again. He has just 8 more sessions to survive before he's back home! With New Year's and graduation, that brings him back in about two weeks. Yay! (Zoiks, I gotta clean up the apartment!)

I visited the campus/compound that Dear is at and it is seriously just a step above prison. It was as if they got a huge vacant field and then thought, "We need a classroom and some offices" so someone took a bunch of cinder block and dropped it in boring rectangles or they took bunches of trailers and connected them together. Everything is beige or gray (even the grass is beige). Dear's drab room has a chintzy curtain that looks like it was on deep discount that even a fleatrap motel rejected. The front door is scuffed and has visible handprints on it (is it so difficult to put on a new coat of glossy paint?). I can't imagine there being worse rooms than Dear's (but there are).

Moving on from the ugly and depressing horror that is the compound, upcoming, I'll provide a brief overview of our trip to Savannah.

Ode to Oxi

I swore off the white powder long ago
But with dirt the enemy and stains the foe,
I knew that I had to try the new cleanser Oxi Clean.
It's all over TV, in commercials I know that you've seen.

And indeed, at first try some whites did look whiter.
But hark! Its true strength is as a stain fighter.
There were new stains: food, blood, makeup, and sweat
And even those I thought had already set --
But the Oxi gently lifts all and washes away.
If only it could keep new stains at bay!

I scrubbed and I rubbed one stain of ink
Ready to bid the shirt good bye
So it was with amazement I did blink
That Oxi worked with nary a sigh
Oh my dear Oxi
You sure are foxy!

This rhyme is getting old
So just let it be told:
For bathrooms, kitchen, and laundry
Use Oxi, it really is extraordinary!

Jaws

I am just a bucket of ailments lately. This weekend I couldn't open my jaw (again) and it seriously cut down on my food intake. With my small bites, I felt full by the time I finished half a plate a food. (With my laziness to cook, I am truly withering away!) The big mystery is how I got to such a state. The quack dentist I go to kept asking me if I had recent wisdom teeth work done (yeah, like three years ago!). He prescribed a muscle relaxant and said he couldn't do much else. Another dentist at the office, who checked my nightguard for proper fit, wondered if maybe I clench my teeth and mentioned the possibility of TMJ*, which would require the help of a specialist. I then went to see the doctor and he said I had the classic signs of TMJ (pain at the joint, inability to open the mouth wide). He guessed that the cause was stress (very likely) and that sitting hunched over a desk/computer screen would cause my upper body to tense up, even my jaw to possibly clench (I noticed some signs of this when working on a project launch). He prescribed an anti-inflammatory and said sometimes physical therapy can help. So I asked my p/t about this -- all three of the staff said it sounds like TMJ (they were eavesdropping plus I am such a fascinating patient). The head p/t was most helpful of all. He said most cases you can take an over-the-counter anti-inflammatory (no need to spend $10 on prescription meds) and since the joint is so shallow, you can just rub an ice cube over the joint and the surrounding area, though ultrasound and shock therapy (which I get for my knee) may help too. He simply iced my jaw and it felt 100x better! Why couldn't the other medical professionals tell me something so simple like this?! The p/t's explanation was that in your jaw joint there is a disc that sometimes moves out of position when you bite on something hard or open your mouth really wide to eat something like an apple, or even to yawn. Bingo! The first time this happened, I was yawning like crazy. So he said to prevent yourself from yawning too wide, just touch your tongue to the top of your mouth (again, really simple and effective). Besides icing, avoiding chewy foods like bagels should help too. Worst case scenario: if I'm not able to open my mouth wide after a while, he could force it, which sounds awful and makes me feel like fingers down a chalkboard at the mere thought of that happening.

So, what have I learned through all this? I'm gonna try to stress less at work, avoid hard and chewy foods (I've always preferred soft foods like soup, yogurt and congee anyway), try to sit properly at my desk, and avoid dentists at all costs.

*TMJ: really TMJ dysfunction, as TMJ is the name of the joint

Congee comfort

After a brief morning cycle through the neighborhood this past weekend (chilly but refreshing), I used some leftover rice and made a pot of congee for a very satisfying and warm brunch. For those unfamiliar with this Chinese dish, it is a guilt-free version of risotto. You can make plain congee (like I did) with just water, or you can flavor it with stock or other ingredients that you add either in the beginning, or when serving. The thickening is done purely through the starch of the rice (no cream or butter, as with risotto).

I made the plain version without even salt or oil because I knew that I would be using the homemade preserved salted eggs from my aunt-in-law. I never thought a warm, heaping bowl of thick, creamy white rice could be so comforting on a cold fall day. But the eggs were the star of the show. The egg white was really concentrated and salty, the texture like gelatin, while the yolk was a bit grainy but very rich. The yolk was the color of gold. One egg was enough for a giant bowl of congee. If only I had the recipe for the salted eggs (even my MIL doesn't know it)! In the middle of the week, I finished the rest of the congee and egg for dinner. It wasn't as good the second time around because I overcooked the egg, hence the sulfurized yolk in the picture (I don't think the refrigeration helped either). I also threw in some leftover chicken hearts at the end (unfortunately also heated a little too long). Chicken hearts and egg -- what a way to make congee more of a guilty pleasure. :)

Martha Martha Martha -- NOT!

I used to worship Martha Stewart -- her magazine has/had? tons of creative (yet not tacky) crafts, she demonstrated lots of delicious recipes on TV and she has tons of tips for every aspect of life (how to clean, cook, decorate, fix things). I was excited to pore over her Weddings magazine and website for advice on my wedding way before marriage was even in the picture. It also helped that she went to my alma mater (who else could boast that the "domestic diva" lived in the same, albeit probably more nicely adorned, dorm rooms?). Even after the whole jail thing and the Kmart fiasco (I always disagreed about her whoring out her name to such a cheap store), I stuck by Martha, looking forward to her TV segments or turning to her website for creative ideas. I even watched some of the horrid Apprentice episodes (but promptly stopped after realizing that the show wouldn't showcase anything really crafty).

Now Martha has a new show that's shown on Fine Living each night. How upset I am about it. Besides the stale content (a lot of it is compilations from her past shows -- I think she and her staff have run out of ideas), there are also a lot of ridiculous things that don't apply to most normal people who don't live in the lap of luxury (the episode with the raising of various breeds of chickens comes to mind -- I hope that she at least makes them into a good meal once in a while). But what peeves me the most is her excessive marketing of her products on her show, effectually becoming an hour-long infomercial on some days. In one particular lackluster episode, she answered questions from the audience because I'm sure no one would have wanted to trek out to the studio just to watch a few recorded sessions on a giant TV (I guess they couldn't get all the "star chefs" to come in at the same time). Anyway, one audience member's question was about cleaning her Le Creuset cookware. First of all, I'm not sure Martha actually listened to the question because she kept talking gibberish (or maybe she needed someone on her staff to quickly Google "how to clean enameled cast iron cookware" and to then type it onto the teleprompter for Martha to read and seem somewhat knowledgeable). Somewhere in this monologue she had to push her line of enameled cast iron pots sold at Macy's (if you didn't already know since that's mentioned in every episode). As if her incessant marketing wasn't enough, when she finally got around to answering the question, she talked about cleaning the inside of the pot whereas the question was about cleaning the outside of the pot. After she got clarification about the question, she chided the young woman for boiling over her food before realizing that it wouldn't be good for PR and had to throw in, "But that's OK" a little too late as the woman was probably already embarassed to the heavens. In the end I'm not sure Martha even answered the question fully but jabbered on some more to fill in the time because she really couldn't handle being put on the spot any more. That excerpt just epitomizes almost all that is wrong with her show and her endeavors nowadays.

In desperation I will still probably watch her show if there is nothing else on and if I need a good laugh to catch her at these moments when her character slips into her true snotty self, but I just have to publicly denounce my fandom and tear up my homemade Martha fan club hand-embroidered badge if I had ever been crazy enough to make one.

The heat... must get out of the kitchen!

I've discovered that I have a penchant for burning things. In less than 5 days, I've burned two towels and a bunch of onions. Today's pyrotechnics were most dramatic. I was seasoning the cast iron pot that I use to make bread and I tipped the pot to spread the oil but forgot about the paper towel in my hand, which caught fire unbeknownst to me. I smelled burning paper and soon realized I was holding flaming paper in my hand! I didn't know where to throw the paper since the sink was full of crap (plus, what if I missed and it landed on the very flammable drying rack?), so I tossed it onto the floor (thank goodness for those super floor tiles, which did not display any burn marks). I then sprayed it down with water but the kitchen continued to smell like ash for hours afterward (until I cooked dinner, a little underdone to try to turn the tide on my recent endeavors).

Even though I didn't go to work this week, it has been uneventful in the culinary-sense since I haven't cooked much. I think I'm bored of it now. Last week did me in with three fully-cooked, balanced meals (not all tasty, but each had vegetable, starch, and meat), with enough to bring for lunch. I've mostly been re-purposing leftovers and relied much on bacon and cheese sandwiches, as well as noodle soup. The good part is that I'm cleaning up the fridge. If Dear wasn't coming back tonight(!), I'd attempt to finish off old chicken by making pot pie.

With more time on my hands (not once did I check work email!), I find myself just as lazy. I haven't cooked much, watched entirely too much TV, and yet still haven't "had time" to write much or even to really clean (I think I need professional help in that department). I did finally finish (or just gave up on) painting four doors! It took about four coats of paint and in some areas there are major blemishes but hopefully it will remain in the dark mostly and no one will notice. Just one extremely ugly door left and two OK ones. I have some more vacation time to use up in December so maybe I'll finish them then because not having any work to do and just veg-ing out on the couch feels so wasteful (I've cleaned a little but also watched a LOT of TV!). Though if I can get all the painting done maybe I can finish all the knitting projects I've started on, or maybe organize some closets, or clean up the zillion little pockets of mess that I have piled up in random places in the apartment.

As for my knee, I'm happy to say that I only have to go to p/t 2x a week (with a bunch of exercises to do at home) and I'm loving the extra hour of sleep that I get each week. However, it is getting quite boring and I can't wait until I can stop altogether. I'm already thinking of practicing for next softball season, but I don't know if that is safe yet.

My scarlet letters

A-C-L. I went to the company's health center for a massive headache today and I had to fill out a bunch of forms before I would be treated. Most of the time, I breeze through those forms because everything is "No" or "N/A" but I now had to fill in the question asking about past surgeries. And when the nurse was looking over the forms and asking for specifics about certain things, I don't know how my ACL reconstruction is related to having a headache, but she had a bunch of questions about that. The same thing happened when I went to see a new gyn last week. No relevance to the check-up at all, but there were questions about the ACL. The injury has just become my identity.

A co-worker broke her foot and had crutches. When I was talking to her in the elevator, people asked if the crutches were mine or hers. When I had to wear my big bad brace, people on the street instantly knew it was for the ACL (though it's used for other knee injuries) and they stopped to ask about it and/or tell me their, or their friend's, experience with it. And now, when I fill out those new patient forms, I have to be asked about it. Maybe this will teach me to not doctor-hop and just stick with one.

But at least all my outward signs of being a cripple are gone (no more struggling to carry things with a crutch under each arm, no more spending at least an extra 20+ minutes each day to fiddle with the brace to get it off and on). Or is that such a good thing? I don't know why, but as I slowly make my way down subway stairs, people that speed past me always stop just long enough to turn around and give me a look. I don't know if it's a look of pity or just frustration to find out what exactly is making me walk so slow since you can't tell really why I need to grip the grimy banister and slowly edge my way down the stairs. So I was stunned that someone once actually stopped to ask me if I needed help walking down to the subway (I gratefully declined -- what can he do, build me an escalator?). And a few days ago someone rushed down first and held the doors for me. There is some humanity left in NY!

From the desk of Dear, via me

I've been trying to convince Dear to start a blog since his experiences sound so interesting but he barely has enough time to talk to me each night. :( I thought I'd ghostwrite for him but it's difficult to know what to say in his place and what he wants to share, so here are some snippets:
- the training is for 10 weeks in GA; yes it is hot there (probably warm to most ppl, but he finds anything above 50 to be hot)
- he only has one day off per week (but he is coming back for Thanksgiving!); I'm not sure how we're going to work out Christmas and New Year's.
- he actually has exams and tests, as if it were school again
- like college, his living situation is a room with a bed and desk and a little private bathroom (I have yet to see pictures); there is no hi-speed Internet connection in his room though
- food is cafeteria-style and from the sound of it, I think I would starve
- to get around "campus" people buy cheap bikes from Wal-Mart and sell it to the incoming group when they leave
- there is a "graduation" at the end
- there are (free!) laundry facilities on the premises
- there are issued uniforms (polo shirt and blue pants)
- I'm not quite sure how the mail system works, but I think each week a person is assigned to pick up mail for the class and is responsible for distributing it

With the suffering that Dear is going through, I feel a bit guilty that I'm eating gourmet food (had a delicious sandwich of prosciutto and fresh mozarella on fresh homemade bread today), surfing the Internet whenever and wherever I want from the comfort of my abode, watching TV without having to worry about studying, etc. But at the same time it has been tough trying to figure out how and what to cook, since Dear always took care of that. I am learning a lot and I hope this experience will equip me better for helping out with some of the cooking when Dear returns. I still need recipes though -- I have no idea what to do for next week!

Cooking sans Dear

There's no doubt that I'm pretty spoiled. I hardly ever cook, and just when I started to get interested in it, I married to an alpha cook. So one of the most difficult things in dealing with Dear's absence is actually having to do that thing with the stove/oven. The first week of being Dear-less, I was mostly living like a college student. I stretched leftovers very thin, eating the same thing or some permutation of it, every other day so that I wouldn't tire of any one thing. Not one meal was close to being balanced and I felt hungry soon after eating. The fanciest meal I cooked was quesadillas, and noodle soup has been a staple. Our fridge hasn't been this empty since we moved in. But through all the desperate times, I told myself that I would eat out just one weeknight each week. So far I have stayed true to that.

This week I'm trying to live like a recent college graduate. So far I've had a scrumptious steak with roasted squash and an OK tilapia papillote. Today I walked to Ctown to buy some fruits and vegetables on my lunch break (thank goodness for Ctown and its proximity b/c the stores within walking distance of where I live suck). I haven't yet worked out what to do with the broccoli and green beans that I bought, but some meals that I'm thinking of preparing:
- oven-baked ribs
- pasta
- grilled cheese sandwich with bacon(!) and apple
- Hainanese chicken (or at least a poached chicken)
- porkchops
- roasted tomatoes with broccoli rabe

If you have any recipe suggestions, please pass it along!

Don't cry for me Argentina

I've been too busy to post about the weekend and here we are at the next weekend already. Well, it was a tear-filled weekend, first with the passing of Dear's uncle and then Dear's departure. Dear left somewhat early on Sunday morning and began his long drive to GA. Because of this, he couldn't attend his uncle's burial (even though he really wanted to) and I went in his stead. The uncle lived a very full (and long) life and he was a good man. Because he was a WWII vet and was to be buried at the VA cemetery, his burial was on Monday (friggin' civil servants don't work on weekends). I have never been to a veteran's funeral and it was a sobering and beautiful experience. The ceremony was very moving and I felt very honored to have known him in the short time that I did and to be able to pay final respects.

My in-laws and I started out very early in the morning since it was a very long drive (almost to the end of Long Island). The ride felt much longer for me since I had to sit next to a bothersome old lady from church who couldn't keep her mouth shut for one second. Thankfully I fell asleep halfway there and when I woke up, we had arrived. It took a while for all the cars to get there, but eventually we were ready and everyone drove to a stone shelter hidden behind trees and down a short, scenic walkway. It was a very serene place and everyone (except the bothersome woman from church who was yammering away on her cellphone) instantly fell silent as soon as we walked into the area.

Inside the shelter, the casket was flanked on either side by two female army officers in their dress uniform. A row of folding chairs with covers made of Astroturf faced the casket and the immediate family was directed to take these seats. Once everyone filed into the shelter (and the woman finally had the sense to end her conversation), taps began to play (I assume this was a recording since I didn't see anyone with brass instruments around). The two officers brought their hands up to their brow in a salute and a few people brought their hands to their chest in a pledge. At some point the two officers turned to face the casket and with their white gloves, grasped the flag covering the casket. They lifted the flag up in unison and brought it together length-wise almost end to end. They did this one more time before walking away from the casket and towards the crowd. The officers continued to hold the flag at chest-height, while the one on the right began to fold the flag. She took one corner and folded it diagonally to form a triangle at one end, then folded it horizontally, then diagonally the other way until there was less than 2 feet separating her from the other officer. For each fold, she ran her hand against the fabric to pull it tight and form a crease before moving on. The other officer, holding the end with the stars then tucked her end into the pocket that was formed by the other officer's folding. Each movement was precise and deliberate, motions exaggerated to emphasize each fold. Their bright white gloves against the vivid red and blue was captivating to watch. Still, at times I couldn't help but wonder what would happen if one of them lost their grip and the flag fluttered to the ground. But I couldn't dwell on this thought as the officer on the right then handed the flag to the other officer and that officer marched toward the green chairs. She stopped in front of the widow, bent down, and gave a speech that began something like, "Ma'am, as a show of appreciation to your husband for his service to our country, please accept this symbol...." I lost it about here and was reminded of how so many have bravely fought for our country. After the officer finished, she handed the flag over and Dear's aunt held the flag against her body (its final folded size is pretty big, covering almost her entire torso). The two officers then marched away, out of the shelter, and into the trees. After a hymn, Bible reading, and two prayers, everyone took their turn laying a flower on the casket. When the ceremony was over, everyone went back to the cars to drive to the actual burial site. There was some commotion as someone noticed that there was a lychee tree growing amongst all the greenery.

We waited a while by the administration office and people started to exclaim that since it was around noon, everyone was on their lunch break and we'd have to wait even longer. Some took this as a bathroom opportunity but just as I started to stretch out my legs, everything was ready and there was a scramble to get back to the cars. We drove by many fields and all the old folk had to comment on how some of the fields don't have standing headstones and just have the plaque in the ground. Dear's aunt and cousins made sure to choose an area with standing headstones. Unlike other cemeteries, where there are all shapes and sizes of headstones, everyone at the VA cemetery has the same exact one -- a slab of white marble with a curve at the top and simple etching of the name, dates, and religious symbol on the front. There is also a number etched into the back of each one, the meaning of which I still don't understand. The uniformity is nice and to see the rows and rows of white stones lined up is breathtaking. The old folk also liked this a lot and many made comments and/or caressed the stones as if to test them out. The spot chosen by Dear's aunt is especially nice, next to a big tree with a bench and also by a spigot. I think there is some feng shui belief associated with choosing certain burial spots, which I find interesting, since as Christians, do you really care where your physical body is rotting away at on Earth? When everything was finally done and we were back in Queens, it was already 3pm. Dear had already arrived in GA and was settling in to his room and such.

It has been less than a week without Dear, but I've already had many inquiries into how I'm handling daily chores like cooking and cleaning and I've even had offers for me to stay over. I don't know, do people just think I'm that incapable? More on how I'm holding up in a later post. It's been a crazy long day/week.

Bend it like R______n

My biggest hurdle right now is bending my leg beyond 90 degrees. I have just enough strength to be able to walk without a brace and crutch most of the time (though I feel wobbly sometimes). Every day I do killer bending exercises which make my knee and thigh feel like I have early arthritis coupled with a burning sensation. Since I can't reach the minimum 120 degrees with ease at week 5, the p/t had to force it the other day. It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be, since I had prepped myself throughout the week, unlike the previous week where I felt tears squeezing out of my eyes just as he squeezed my leg. I had to flail my upper body just to distract myself and I remember slapping the table in defeat like those judo/taekwondo wusses do. :D This time wasn't as bad but was still bad enough that the receptionist said my face clearly showed my pain. But I think it was just the little push that I needed since it is difficult to force pain on myself and Dear can't bring himself to do it either.

In other suffering news, I am finding it more and more difficult trying to put a wardrobe together. I have to wear sneakers and I covet all the shoes, flip flops, boots and sandals that I see on other ppl's feet as I mostly look at the floor to make sure I don't step on uneven ground. It is good to finally be able to wear pants though, now that I don't have to wear the ridiculously large leg brace (I was afraid I'd have to go buy more skirts). But somedays I just give up on being publicly presentable (I really need to go shopping and to get a haircut!) and carry my crutch around as an accessory/excuse.

Baby steps

I took 3 steps all on my own today (no brace, no crutch)! It was quite by accident -- I finished one set of exercises and I wanted to do the next set by the coffee table. Without thinking, I just walked and I didn't realize what happened until afterwards. Woo hoo! I'm also starting to gain more flexibility in the knee (I can bend to 90 degrees with minimal effort and beyond 100, if forced) and more strength in my leg muscles (my quads feel less like flan and more like a medium steak). I think my progress is related to having the stitches removed. The stitches were so tight that almost every movement I made pulled and pinched that part of my flesh.

So it has been a huge relief to not have the stitches, though getting them removed was not exactly a fun experience. I must be super-sensitive because it actually hurt when the nurse was plucking at the stitches to cut them out. What's worse was that one of them got stuck and she kept tugging at it. The doctor even came in to help, to no avail. In the end, it was just a little piece stuck and she gave me a pair of tweezers to pluck it out at home. I still can't bring myself to go prodding around my knee though. The doctor, however, thinks everything looks great (minimal swelling, small scars, tendon rock solid) so I am glad.

I still can't decide whether or not I think my doctor is so great that I would recommend him. But when I was waiting in the doctor's office, a few patients raved about how great he is. (They are seeing him for knee replacements, which sounds like a horrifying experience -- 100 times worse than a simple ACL reconstruction -- so TAKE CARE OF YOUR KNEES!!) My physical therapist (who is truly great) also tells me that every patient of my doctor that he sees turns out great. The P/T aide was also very impressed by how clean my knee is (whereas I still think it's gross-looking); he said he's seen knees still bruised with ugly scars by week 3. But I am still doubtful.

My next goal: to walk more freely this week (be it sans brace or going on just one crutch) in public. I am also eager/intimidated by the idea of taking the subway to work tomorrow (I've been spoiled by Dear chauffeuring me around for the past 3 weeks) but I really want to be able to.

The days after

The day after the surgery, I was awoken by the doorbell at 8 in the morning. Some guy had come to deliver a medieval-looking thing, called a Constant Passive Motion (CPM) machine. I say this machine is medieval in that it is a pure torture device. After your leg is strapped in, the machine moves and bends your knee according to the degree that you set. My doctor orders it to begin at 60 and to increment it each time I use it (which is at least 2 hours, 2x a day). Imagine all that inner scar tissue being ripped with each motion.

I am somewhat surprised about all the surgery-related people that have called me (and I was going to give a fake contact number :D). One of the nurses from the hospital called me the following day to make sure I was feeling OK, as did the doctor's secretary. In a groggy state, I made a follow-up appointment thinking that I wouldn't feel well enough to even see him in 2 weeks but now I think I will be ready. A doctor/PA also called me two days after to ask how I was doing; he told me I could cut my Vicodin pills in half if I wanted a less potent dose.

Two days after surgery, I also had to start physical therapy again. I was half an hour late because it took me probably an hour to shower and change, 15 minutes to finally make it downstairs to the car, and another 15 minutes to make it up the three steps leading to the PT office. I was in so much pain the therapist was afraid to touch me. It didn't help that my brace has super Velcro that takes forever to unlatch. I think going so soon after the surgery was pretty useless. The appointment 2 days after that was much more fruitful.

Now that the pain has subsided, I am able to do more exercises on my own. Today I was able to do some leg lifts without pulling up my leg with my arms! It was slow and a bit painful, but I was finally able to! I think it was partially psychological because you just know there will be some pain. To push me along, the therapist had shocked my muscles at the last session to force them to contract. It hurt like crazy (kinda like when I had acupuncture and the guy increased the frequency) and actually made me scream out in pain. But I have to get going on this! I looked at the prescription of activities given to the P/T for me to do and it looks like I'm behind! Some people are able to walk without crutches and/or brace by day 14 but I don't think that I can achieve that in just 4 days.

I am very eager to have the stitches removed next Wednesday though. I feel some of them pulling when I do certain motions and sometimes it itches a lot. And looking at the stiff, black threads all knotted up in my flesh when I'm changing the dressing is freaky. I would take a picture, but I'll spare you the grossness.

Operation: knee

The anesthesia fully wore off yesterday and I tasted the full-fledged pain for the first time. Now that the pain has settled a bit (or I'm just getting used to it), I can describe what brought me to this state.

SIGNS OF FOREBODING

I was slightly late getting to the hospital due to traffic so I didn't have much time to be nervous. But when the the registration receptionist wished me "Good luck" after she set up my file and payment, it started to sink in. That was nice of her, but it really wasn't very confidence-inspiring for me to hear, as if things could go wrong very easily with my procedure. Then when I was inside, the registration nurse asked me a bunch of questions and asked me if I wanted to sign the form for healthcare proxy (including a question about DNR) -- another non-inspiring moment as I waited nervously for my procedure to begin. I don't think I've ever been so nervous before, not for the SATs, not for interviews, not even when speaking in public.



MY VULNERABLE STATE

I was not dressed to impress in hospital-issued floppy mismatched robes (one with the opening in back and another on top of that with the opening in front) that were about eight sizes too big for me. And since I hadn't eaten or imbibed in over 12 hours I probably had hunger breath and dry mouth. A PA, anesthesiologist, and resident/fellow (is there a difference?) came to talk to me, almost repeating the same thing over and over. None of them seemed to appreciate my sarcasm (or maybe I just wasn't very funny). The PA didn't seem very friendly either but he did draw a crooked arrow pointing to my left knee to prevent future lawsuits (I had to sign a statement that they made a mark). The fellow was helpful though -- I finally understood the entire procedure and he added the doctor's initials above the arrow to make it clearer what the doctor had to do: They would make several small incisions on either side of the knee cap and replace my torn ACL with the graft of a cadaver's achille's tendon. They would then screw it in place with titanium screws, which may or may not set off metal detectors in airports (yes, I asked).

When I finally walked into the OR (the last normal walking I would do in a long while), I had to remove the outer robe, leaving me exposed to the cold air. My inner robe was held up by the fellow as I hopped onto the tall skinny table in the center of the room. The table had two swiveling arms at the side and laying there with my arms outstretched felt like I was about to be crucified in a walk-in freezer. Thankfully a nurse brought me a warm blanket and I tried to convince myself that I was just getting a spa treatment.

Before they would put me under, we had to wait for the doctor to finish up his other procedure and come say hello to me. (The nurses claimed the doctor would talk to me before the procedure; he has a bunch of peons to do his bidding while he just shows up for the main task.) Finally the doctor strutted in, asked me how I was doing, signed something on the door, and walked out. The anesthesiologist had already stuck an IV in my wrist and when the doctor was ready to begin, he injected something into the tube. Within seconds I thought the huge lights overhead looked fuzzy (like when you use the blur filter in Photoshop). I don't remember anything else until slowly waking up in the recovery room and hearing hospitalspeak.

I tried to enunciate my need for my glasses as three female voices bent over me. I heard my doctor say something about it going great as he patted me on the shoulder and asked how I was doing. I managed a "tired." Then someone came and took x-rays of my leg. I remember Dear walking into the room and then leaving shortly after, leaving me to rest.

My mouth and throat were really dry and I asked for apple juice. I downed two cups like they were nothing. (Little did I know that those cups would lead to my doom later.) The nurse then talked me into coherence. Everything was going hunky dory (except for a slight throbbing in my knee) until a doctor (or was it the PA or another resident?) came over with the x-rays. He pulled the nurse aside, said something to her, and then walked over to me. He said that the doctor would have to come back and look at the x-rays because something looked weird to him. He reminded me of a sleazy car salesman who isn't telling you the whole truth and was evasive when I asked him questions. Great! And I thought I was doing really well because everyone around me was getting nauseous and needed extra meds while I was already being rolled to the discharge area.

Apparently peeing is a sign that you can go home and I really needed to go so they wheeled me into the bathroom, picked me up and planted me on the throne. It was a relief! However I would not get to go home. Another patient of my doctor (her procedure was after mine -- I remember seeing her in the admitting area) was also brought over and she relieved herself shortly after me. Unlike me, however, she got ready to go home while I waited. She got her crutches lesson, her belongings from her locker, her street clothes, and she was put into a wheelchair.

An hour after they told me that my doctor was turning back and was in the Lincoln tunnel and would arrive in 15 minutes, he finally showed up. He told the other patient that everything with her procedure went great but since I have such a tiny bone they had to use a shorter screw. This led to instability or something so that things were misaligned, whereas the other woman got a 30mm screw and hers is perfect. So he would have to go back in and insert what I understand to be the medical equivalent of a wall anchor that you use when hanging heavy objects in drywall or plaster. Meanwhile the other patient was saying goodbye, thanking the nurses, and wishing me luck.

What's worse was that I wouldn't be put under since I had those cups of juice (in the event that I would aspirate, whatever that means). Instead I would get an epidural, what I originally wanted but everyone told me the state of coma was better (including the first anesthesiologist). The second anesthesiologist seemed sleazy to me and it irked me to no end when he tried to convince me that the epidural was the better way to go instead of telling me the truth that it was my only option since I had had something to drink. He kept saying they would "take good care of me." If I had known what I know now and if I wasn't in a weakened state, I would have argued because in fact, the epidural is horrible. Besides the thought of a giant needle being inserted into your spine, it was just weird to not be able to feel your lower body. I was also shivering like mad (an effect of the anesthesia the nurse said) despite several blankets being piled on me.

THE SECOND TIME AROUND

I was told to sit up and hug a pillow so that the anesthesiologist could inject his torture. The needle didn't feel like much but as he injected, I felt a sharp twinge in my leg traveling through all the branches of the nerves in my leg and then total numbness. Soon after my legs felt like they were floating and then like they were disembodied. As uncomfortable as I was, at least I got to witness part of the procedure.

My doctor came in, talked some jive about the anesthesiologist being the best out there (yeah right, I think he pumped way too much crap into me) and told someone to get him the scrub nurse. (Yes, there is actually a nurse whose job is to put the outer scrubs on the doctor.) He also tried to butter me up by saying that I have good bones (no idea what that means). The table was raised and the doctor had some weird mitt-like paper object which he held my foot with. I had no idea he was even holding my foot until I saw my foot raised in the air. I appreciated that he was narrating his steps: he was painting iodine all over my toes and then down my foot and leg to prevent infection, just as he had done before, he said. The other two doctors that were there came over to help. Then the two helper doctors attached a sheet to these poles on either side of me to block my view. The doctor said I wouldn't want to watch anyway but I said I wouldn't mind. He ignored me and went on. :(

I heard him tell one of the other doctors to remove this stitch and that stitch. He asked me if I felt anything and thankfully the answer was no. The anesthesiologist came over and said he'd talk to me to keep me distracted or something. Of all things to talk about he asked if I was married and when I was going to have kids because "you have to have kids shortly after getting married." My favorite topic of all! Oh another reason to be put under!!

When he finally left me alone, I heard the doctor ask for a certain drill (I would be really interested in what kind of drills and drill bits he uses) and I heard the familiar whirring sound. Some other inaudible tasks later and then I heard him ask someone to wash up the area and close me up so that "we can all go home." He popped behind the sheet and said he'd go find Dear and tell him everything was done. Minutes later he came back, told me Dear must've stepped out, and then he was gone. When the other doctor was done closing me up, three people lifted me by the sheet under me and put me on a stretcher. I saw a giant blood-like stain where my hip had been and deduced that it was just iodine. Then the unbelievable discomfort began.

I was shivering; I moved my hand to my side and found a nice warm spot. It turned out to be my leg but I couldn't feel it at all! Nurses asked if I could wiggle my toes. I told my feet to move but couldn't tell if they were moving. Then I felt really warm and thirsty. I asked if I could have something to drink but since I had no lower body sensation, I could only have ice chips. The ice didn't help my thirst much and instead upset my stomach. It got progressively worse and started to feel like menstrual cramps times 100. I wanted to roll myself into a ball but couldn't move my legs. The nurse told me to take deep breaths and breathe out slowly. I also started to feel pain in my lower back. The nurse propped some pillows under me so that I was sorta laying on my side but it didn't help. I bent my good leg up and it felt better, but not completely. No matter what I did, I couldn't find a comfortable position and the pain in my stomach was only getting worse. The deep breathing helped a little but not enough. I asked for ginger ale in the hopes that I would burp out the gas (what everyone thought was the cause of my stomach pain) but the more I drank, the more it hurt. I thought the coldness was irritating my stomach so I asked for tea. It also made it worse and I thought it was the caffeine causing irritation. So I asked for room temperature ginger ale. I also got some saltines but they were so dry that I had to drink something in order to not choke, leading to more pain. I got Maalox and some anti-nausea medication. Finally, they convinced me to move to the chair and they wheeled me over to the other side of the room. In transporting me, they jiggled some burps out of me, but as soon as I was laying down again, the pain started.


Hours later, I still couldn't feel my lower body and since I had to pee in order to leave, I knew I would be in for the long haul since I couldn't even feel my bladder. With my cramps I was irritable to the nurses and I had a vision of what I would be like when I'm old and in a nursing home. I slowly started to get feeling in my feet and could push back on the nurse's hand so I got my crutches lesson. When I stood up and took a few steps, I felt wetness down my leg and I realized that my bladder was working on its own. Good thing the whole floor was empty and only the nurses witnessed my incontinence (I was too grouchy to be embarassed at the time). I lost balance and they wheeled the blasted chair (I think the deep recline of the chair contributed to my discomfort) over to me to transport me to the porcelain throne again but by then I was done. I insisted on sitting there for a while though, because sitting upright felt so much better. Hours later, I started to feel urges to pee. That, coupled with some practice on the crutches, led me to release more gas (both orally and anally, haha!). Finally, around three o'clock in the morning (only one nurse remained and she turned off most of the lights on the floor already), I drank some tea to wet my mouth and had some bites of a muffin since I hadn't really eaten in over 24 hours. I struggled to change into my street clothes, got put into a wheelchair, and finally left the hospital. I was put into the back seat of the car so that I could keep my leg elevated. When we got close to home, I felt a similar cramping as before in my lower abdomen but now realized that it was my full bladder talking to me. (Even if I had realized this earlier, I don't think I would have been able to control my bladder to release the liquid.) Dear went upstairs to get his rolling office chair so that I wouldn't have to struggle with the crutches while still partially numb and we made it just in time for me to pee for 5 minutes straight. Each time I thought I was done, the liquid would continue to accumulate, and I kept going. This also happened several times throughout the night.

LESSONS TO LEARN

Petite people are built differently! The anesthesiologist shouldn't have given me such a high dosage because it really shouldn't take me more than 24 hours to fully regain feeling in my lower body (I continued to have labored peeing throughout the following day). And the doctor, I guess, never really worked with people of my size because I wouldn't have had to go in twice if he got it right the first time (I'm still debating whether or not he's a good enough doctor for me to recommend him). Now on to recovery....

In sickness and in health

As if there were any doubt, I have to reiterate that I have the best-est Dear in the world (beware, this is a mushy post). Let me count the ways:

He dropped me off at the hospital early yesterday morning, rushed home to finish the laundry, and then came back out to the City to pick me up.

He then waited hours with me (until 3am to be exact) until I was ready to leave the hospital (more on why it took so long in another post), foregoing dinner and sleep.

He made jokes about the pink kidney bean-shaped bedpan when I felt nauseous enough to throw up (but didn't).

He supplied me with a walkie talkie so that he can answer my every beck and call, including helping me pee, preparing meals, helping me change, helping me exercise, putting on my leg brace, and semi-arranging the flowers my co-workers sent me.

He set up a laptop by the bed so that I can do work (and blog, of course). He also set up the TV in case I get bored otherwise.

He slept on the couch so that I would have maximum room sleeping and wouldn't be disturbed.

He picked up my narcotics early this morning.

Tomorrow he will drive me to my physical therapy appointment in the city.

Queen of Queens

If I had my druthers, Queens would not be my borough of choice to live in, though it isn't as bad as that borough (we all know which I'm referring to, of course), and being in FH (probably the only area I would dare to call home in Queens) somewhat makes up for it. But two things that Queens has got a step up on above other parts of the city: good ethnic food and the highest rate of circulation in the public library. I'm not so sure the second thing is exactly positive, but through my rose-colored coke bottle glasses, I'm going to say that I'm proud that people are READING. (Of course I'm sure it's those darn DVDs that people are really borrowing, but I can hope.)

In terms of ethnic food, we've recently had several tastes of so-called "premium" fried chicken, Korean style. It is fried chicken like I've never had before -- extra crispy, yet still juicy, no breading, and lots of different seasonings. Since I can barely handle heat, the ones I've tried are a combination of sweet, garlicky, and a bunch of other unidentifiable (but good) flavors. I recommend Kyo Chon, which seems to be a chain that's popping up all over the place, hands down over Unidentified Flying Chicken (UFC). My hope is to venture into NJ, where I've heard their Korean fried chicken is even better!

FoHi fo' real

I've been meaning to post pics of an especially inspiring apartment recently (or not so recently) featured on apartment therapy. The most interesting part -- this designer lives in Forest Hills too.

Commonly called a "landing strip" on AT, we also have this in our apartment entryway. I am still looking for a mirror though, and our little shelf needs some tidying up.

When we were home-hunting, we often saw apartments with built-in shelves that are only deep enough to display objects, not actually store stuff. I really like this idea of converting that space into one large display that frames a vase (or some other large object, rather than a bunch of tchotkes). If you look carefully enough, the vase sits on a bed of little stones, which I think is a great detail!

Speaking of conversion, I LOVE this idea of making the front hallway closet into a little office. I think it's enclosed enough to keep you away from distractions, yet just roomy enough to work. I would do well to learn at least a little of her storage/organization solutions (I am quite dissatisfied with our office).

I also like how the galley kitchen is a breakfast bar but also serves as an entertaining bar when viewed from the living room.

Another lesson to learn: combining dining space into the living room.

And what a great way to use the hallway -- a dressing space.

The bedroom reminds me a lot of a hotel room (not sure if that's good or bad), especially with the console table used as a nightstand/writing desk. But as with hotel rooms, I like how the space is compact, combining several functions for the room as a whole (sleeping/lounging/sitting areas), as well as for each piece of furniture.

One of the sitting areas -- Note how the floors are stained darker. Many apartments (including ours) have that blond-colored wood and I've always wanted darker floors.

I want to do this, but I am looking for a long dresser to go with the mirror we have.

Interestingly, one of the complaints/critiques about this apartment that many people pointed out is that it looks too much like a catalog. But is that such a bad thing? I don't want to see a "lived-in" space b/c that often just means it's cluttered.

* * *

While I have my FH pride, I'll say that we tried the somewhat famous Nick's pizza last night. I called in our order for pick-up, which was a good thing, since there were a few groups outside waiting even though it was 9:30 on a weeknight. I was worried that not eating the pizza right away would cause the crust to get soggy, but surprisingly, it didn't. I think the secret to that is slightly charring the bottom, which I'm not crazy about. I do like the thin crust and the plentiful toppings (big hunks of fresh cheese too), all for less than $20 for a large pie (enough to feed at least 3 adults). The fresh basil gave it a nice flavor too. And I think it was even better when I heated it up for lunch today. The prosciutto flavor really sunk in and wasn't too salty. How does this compare to my favorite all-time pizza ever? Nick's is good, but it doesn't beat Totonno's (it's also elevated in my eyes for being in my old 'hood in Brooklyn *sniff*). I *heart* Totonno's, even if their decor is cheesy (think disposable cups even when you eat in), it''s a bit overpriced, and it's crazy far.

Therapies

My upper left leg feels like a big hunk of fresh mozzarella. While I would normally be happy about having so much cheese in my possession, it is not such a happy state of affairs. After just one month of hardly using my left leg, my leg has atrophied before my very eyes, without me even noticing it until yesterday, when the PT poked and prodded me, pointing it out. So begins my road to strength and full motion, before I'm smacked down again, strung with a graft and immobile for another few weeks, inactive for a few months.
My first session of PT was more strenous than I thought and I felt self-conscious about being watched for so long. It ended with electrotherapy, similar to the acupuncture, but without needles, and hence quite relaxing. But I'm not looking forward to continuing -- with two sessions per week, this is going to be very time-consuming and expensive! :(