A Spicy Crisis

Do you remember the Tapatio shortage during the pandemic? Well, I do, because I LOVE that particular brand of Mexican hot sauce.

And now I’m horrified to report that there’s a shortage of my other fave, Sriracha.

Yup, the rooster can’t be found anywhere. When I went grocery shopping yesterday, it was on my list and the first store I went to had an empty shelf where the Sriracha was supposed to be.

Hmmm. I thought to myself. That’s strange. So I went to another store. Nothing. And another store and another until I figured out that this was something that needed further investigation.

Apparently, a drought in Mexico caused a shortage of the specific type of chili peppers Huy Fong uses to make Sriracha.

The even worse news is that there’s no way to estimate when supply will increase.

Uh oh.

Now what? I bought some “sriracha” replicas and NONE of them come close to equaling that specific and extremely addictive condiment.

Actually, for me, Sriracha is more of a food group than a condiment. Nothing else offers that singular feeling after the spicy heat hits when our brain kicks in to release endorphins, providing a natural high.

I’m so sad; I miss the rooster!

(If anyone has a spare bottle or two, lemme know.)

What would you do if you won the lottery?💰

As I dug a hole for a new plant in the garden last weekend, I had to laugh out loud at the thoughts swirling in my head.

Sometimes when I garden, my brain goes into an almost trance-like state lightly touching random elements in my subconscious like a butterfly drifting from flower to flower.

With no apparent rhyme or reason, my brain began to ponder the top ten things I would do if I won the lottery (which I never will because I don’t play).

Photo by Muffin Creatives on Pexels.com

At the top of my list is DIRT.

If I had unlimited funds, I’d buy so much good soil that I could replace all the clay and concrete-like death-to-all-plants earth in my gardens. Instead of buying a bag or two at a time, I’d get a dozen truckloads delivered of the finest growing medium that money could buy.

I wouldn’t mind at all loading it up in a wheelbarrow, in fact, it would be a JOY to don my work gloves and shovel that sweetly perfumed soil. I might roll in it too, like a dog–that’s how much I wish I had that loamy organic earth.

Of course, I’d go to South Coast Plaza and splurge on some Chanel, but the dirt would make me equally as happy.

In no particular order, here’s my lottery wish list….

💰Dirt
💰Chanel
💰Fix some things around here
💰A little cosmetic fix on me lol
💰Buy presents for everyone
💰Donate to a few awesome animal rescues
💰Travel to Peru and Paris
💰Visit all the beaches that have beach glass (and a lot of seashells)

*Sigh*

Forget all the other stuff, the truth is that I’d be overjoyed with a mountain of dirt on my driveway.

I’m back to the land of reality, dreading the hot and dry droughty conditions I’ll be faced with this summer as I mourn the death of many of my plantfriends, but for right now, I can enjoy their colorful beauty.

What would YOU do if you won the lottery?

Fuchsia Fairy

DIL asked for suggestions about flowers for a hanging basket near their front door.

When I replied that I thought a fuchsia would be pretty, she snortlaughed and said,
“Ring-ring-ring, 1980s calling, Grandma!”

I had never before thought that a purple-pink fuchsia dated me as being OLD, haha. It was a great joke…UNTIL she saw mine, asked what it was, and I was able to identify this amazing creation as a…fuchsia!

So NOW who’s laughing?

How could anyone not love this delicate ballerina of a flower?

Flower fairy and poem credit to https://flowerfairies.com/

Fuchsia is a dancer
Dancing on her toes,
Clad in red and purple,
By a cottage wall;
Sometimes in a greenhouse,
In frilly white and rose,
Dressed in her best for the fairies’ evening ball!

Self Portrait

The Angels love to look through the photos on my phone, especially all the ones I’ve taken of them, of course.

When we clicked on this rose, I told them it was a selfie of ME cos I’m Princess Rosebud. They thought that was funny but being their dad’s kids, they just HAD to disagree…

“Grandma, you are so annoying! You aren’t a REAL princess!”

“Yes, I am.” I replied. “And you are Princess Charlotte and Prince Theodore.”

“Dad, Grandma’s being annoying again!”

OMG did they just tattle about me to my original Angel Boy? That’s too funny.

From the other room, I hear him say, “Mom, stop being annoying.”

I guess that’s going to be my legacy…however, we’re all royalty around here, so I thought I’d share this little joke to start the week.

This particular rose smells as good as she looks. Spicy and sweet, just like me.

I think a backstory needed to explain the origin of being called “annoying”, thanks to my new friend, wonderfully talented author Debbie Russell. I should have explained it in more detail and to be fair to the Angels.

I first began to reference myself that way when I bothered them as they were busy doing things (just to be funny) like standing in front of the TV during a show they were watching and I’d say, “Aren’t I the most annoying Grandma?” and they’d say “Yes, you are! Stop it!” And I’d stop, of course. Also for example, when I’d read a book to them, a book I’d literally read a thousand times before, to make it more interesting for ME, I’d change the names or spice up the story a bit differently, mainly to see if they were paying attention (which they were) and then they’d say, “Read the exact words, Grandma!” which I thought was pretty cute. And then I’d say, “Do you find it annoying when I do that?” The answer was always yes.

The Angels weren’t being disrespectful. Grandma was!

Gift With Purchase

How does a three year old know me so well?

Her mom purchased a bottle of perfume and it came with a fancy little cosmetic bag full of samples.

Apparently, as the story was told to me, Angel Girl told Mom she had to “save the bag for Grandma” ‘cos “she loves stuff like that.”

She was a thousand percent correct. I LOVE gifts with purchase because it’s like discovering a surprise treasure chest.

How did she know?

I mean, we share the Chanel connection and the ballerina connection, but gift with purchase?

How could this obviously intuitive child see so deeply inside of me?

That’s too much. My heart can’t take it. The joy.

Every single time I use that little bag, I’ll think about my Angel, and smile.

Yup. She gets me.

Public Toilet Wisdom: Written on the Walls

I walked to the beach during a May gray morning and sat on top of my usual picnic table to overlook the Pacific Ocean, hoping to see a whale or some dolphins.

I didn’t get lucky this time, but there was a crowded lineup of surfers out there and I couldn’t figure out why ‘cos the waves weren’t all that big.

As I took off my hat, unbraided my hair and shook it free from its constraints to feel the salty breeze, I turned around because I could feel someone standing behind me.

It was a man I often see at the beach; I’m not sure if he’s exactly unsheltered or not, but he stays there for hours, working on a crossword puzzle or reading. I’ve chatted with him a dozen times as he’s a fixture on the boardwalk and he’s very friendly, not at all like the the other guy who wanted to write on me and claim ownership!

He said, “Excuse me for saying so, but you have no idea the unmitigated joy you gave me as I watched you liberate your hair. You have the most beautiful curls, and I wanted to say thank you! That made me very happy.”

His language and phrasing was delightful; old worldly elegant, courtly, very much the gentleman.

I was caught off guard by his lovely comment and thanked him profusely. It made my day even more joyful, that’s for sure.

Before I walked home, I stopped at the restroom. Look at what I found written on the wall! So inspirational!

It’s a manta and an affirmation to love oneself and I couldn’t resist snapping a photo.

PS WordPress is so weird. I didn’t publish this until today, the 15th, but it appears as if I published it the 14th, which I did not. WP is strange…

Earthquake! NOT An April Fool’s Joke…

Yesterday at 6:16 p.m. I was on the sofa eating a bowl of yummy rice and veg when I felt the entire house shake with an incredibly SHARP jolt like the house was trying to fall off the foundation accompanied by a deafening loud noise.

Did the Wicked Witch of the East crash into my house?

For half a second, I looked around thinking something had fallen outside on the deck. The windchimes were all going crazy and with no discernible wind. I was a bit confused for a minute, then a lightbulb went off in my brain and I hurriedly checked the earthquake app on my phone and sure enough, we had just had a 4.5 earthquake, subsequently downgraded to a 4.2.

There was no damage at Casa de Enchanted Seashells other than a few pictures that weren’t secured with earthquake gel became a little askew, but nothing broke, I’m glad to report.

Again this morning a little after 5 a.m., I sort of half woke up with the same sort of sharp jolting sensation but went right back to sleep without checking the earthquake app.

I slept until almost 7 a.m, and when I got up, I remembered that feeling and wanted to establish whether there WAS another earthquake or if was it just a dream, and I discovered there was a definite 3.2 earthquake at 5:10 a.m. in the same location.

It was real, not a dream!

Maybe it was a joke on all of us from Mother Nature, right? Did anyone else feel it?

Happy April, everyone!

Grandma Gossip: Smarter Than Me

A while back, the two of us sat on the floor contemplating a puzzle of wild animals.

“Don’t help me!” “I can do it by myself!”

“OK, I won’t, but I’m right here if you need me. All you have to do is ask.”

She cocks her head, slyly looks at me, and declares, “I’m smarter than you, Grandma.”

I laughed, “Oh, you are? How so?”

“I can do this puzzle without your help.”

“I know you’re very very smart, so I believe that you can, but I will always be here if you need any help at all.”

A couple minutes go by as we work together to turn over all the puzzle pieces.

“I’m smarter than everybody.”

“Really?” I ask. “Everybody?”

“Oh yes.”

“Are you smarter than Daddy?” “Cos you know MY little boy is pretty smart, right?”

She thinks for a nanosecond.

“Yup, I’m smarter than Daddy.”

“How about Mommy? Are you smarter than Mommy?”

Another second goes by with a nod, “Yes, I am.”

“And what about Theo? Are you smarter than he is, too?”

First a sigh, than a shake of her head as she wistfully says, “No, I’m not smarter than Theo. He can do anything.”

My goodness. I was speechless. I could feel the deep love she has for her big brother.

“Theo IS smart and so are you, my Angel Girl.”

Laughing, she says, “We’re both smarter than YOU, little Grandma!”

I can’t really argue with THAT three-year-old, that’s for sure.

Not the Bees Knees 🐝

Of course I had to research the origin of that term "bees knees". The phrase was originally an 18th century fanciful phrase which referred to something that didn't exist. It was used as the kind of spoof item apprentices would be sent to the stores to fetch - like tartan paint or a left-handed hammer. That meaning is no longer used. In the Roaring Twenties in America, bright young things invented nonsense language to refer to things that were 'the tops' - like 'the cat's pajamas', 'the snake's hips' and so on. They utilized the existing 'bee's knees' phrase to add to that list. The expression has since spread and is now used worldwide to mean 'excellent/the very best'.

🐝 🐝 🐝 🐝 🐝 🐝

My visit with an orthopedic specialist was unsatisfactory on many levels.

First of all, the referral happened to send me to the same office that I had been to in the past for other random fractures and torn ligaments, which I thought was a great coincidence.

However, there was a major difference.

Before, I had PPO health insurance, (Preferred Provider Organization), which offers more doctor flexibility and has a higher monthly premium.

Now I have an HMO (Health Maintenance Organization), a network of health care professionals and hospitals who agree to provide medical care at minimal costs.

See the difference?

With PPO insurance, the attitude of staff and doctors is markedly more welcoming when scheduling an appointment than when you call to see a doctor who has first been referred by one’s primary doctor in an HMO. In fact, you can only see a specialist IF it’s been approved and authorized by the primary physician (who’s usually an internist) with a letter of referral from the insurance company.

I had always been treated respectfully — not this time, however!

Initially, when I called to make the appointment and they looked up my previous visits, the communication was pleasant and professional UNTIL I told them I had different insurance, no longer a premium PPO, but an HMO.

She said “Oh”. Her voice changed; her attitude changed. I didn’t think too much of it, didn’t take it personally, maybe it was a busy day or the scheduler had other things on her mind.

When I arrived for my consultation, to be fair, the front desk employees were friendly and professional which bolstered my view that the slight rudeness was a one-off…

However…

I finally saw the doctor about thirty minutes after my appointment time. From the moment he entered the room, I sensed that he was annoyed. He never made eye contact with me. He sat on his stupid little round stool and said “What’s the problem?” and when I I started to explain how it all occurred, he interrupted me to say, “But why are you here TODAY?”

As I started to explain, I could tell he wasn’t listening. He had that faraway look in his eyes that some people get when you know they’re not paying attention. My appointment was in the morning so it wasn’t like he had endured a full day of complaining patients.

He abruptly said, “Sit on the table and let me do an exam”.

It was rushed and cursory. He turned my knee in a few different directions, one of which caused a REALLY sharp pain, and then he pulled my shoes off without warning.

Let’s back up.

I’ve mostly always had great relationships with medical professionals. I like to consider that I’m an informed team member in my own health issues. It’s my body and all that. Because I know a bit about medicine, I feel that I offer valuable insights and points of view that MOST doctors seem to appreciate. I can talk the talk, as it were.

But while I was on the exam table, HE PULLED MY SHOES OFF.

He didn’t ask if I was OK with it, he didn’t ask ME to unlace and take off my workout shoes, he roughly pulled them off my feet — still laced up — and tossed them on the floor.

To me, that was absolutely disrespectful. No one should touch any part of one’s body without permission. Dignity, respect, and civility is not too much to ask of anyone, right?

I was definitely receiving the budget office visit, that’s for sure.

I asked a bunch of questions like I always do and he was SO ANNOYED with me, he didn’t even try to hide it. I could sense the eye roll…

Can I repeat that he never once made eye contact?

While my shoes were still off and on the floor, he opened the door and walked out of the room, turning around to say, “I’ll explain your MRI and x-rays.”

I said, “Am I supposed to follow you?”

No answer.

“Do I have time to put my shoes on?”

No answer.

So…I took my sweet time jumping off the table, bending down to pick up my shoes, unlacing my shoes and then put them on, re-lacing each shoe with a beautifully arranged bow, mindfully, lol.

I wasn’t feeling very comfortable with him as a doctor I’d ever allow to treat my knee.

His assessment of the data was pretty much as the MRI report stated, only more bleak because part of my knee is bone on bone, that’s why it hurts to do squats or lunges.

Here’s what he said, “When it gets bad enough, you’ll want knee surgery.”

“In the meantime, don’t do squats or lunges.” The unspoken words were apparently, “don’t be STUPID” and do squats or lunges.” He didn’t have to say that because his pass-agg attitude was clear.

He also offered to give me a cortisone injection. When I said that I have a bad reaction to steroids, he used “air quotes” to repeat what I said as if he didn’t believe me (really a jerky misogynist move) and instead offered a plasma injection spun out of my own blood which MY insurance doesn’t pay for and is $700 per injection.

“So what do you want to do?” he asked.

I responded that I’d discuss his opinion with my primary physician before I could intelligently decide any course of action, but it’s not bloody likely that I’ll have surgery that includes a recovery time frame of up to twelve weeks OFF my feet. Not bloody likely.

As he was halfway up off his stupid little round stool with his hand already on the door, I said, “But what about physical therapy or some kind of brace to protect and stabilize my knee?”

“What about the torn meniscus or inflamed bursa? That’s actually why I’m here. That’s what hurts. Is there something to do about that?”

“No, nothing will help.”

Then he said, “If you won’t do those things I suggested, there’s nothing I can do for you.”

And he was gone.

I had most likely run over my allotted budget appointment time.

I’m not being melodramatic or overly sensitive.

This is why people bemoan America’s healthcare system, one of many reasons why it’s all messed up.

It was a new experience for me to endure disrespectful and abbreviated treatment like I’m “less than”, a second class citizen solely based on the hierarchy of my health insurance.

Will I tell my own doctor how this one made me feel? You bet I will, and I’m going to request a second opinion, too.

I believe this doc was scalpel happy for sure, but there’s no way I’d trust him to slice open any part of my little body, no matter how many pictures he had on his wall of satisfied customers.

What’s the prognosis for my poor knee? I’m not sure, but at least I know what’s going on in there.

Will I stop doing squats and lunges? NOPE.

Update: I went for a walk along our beach seawall and saw a physical therapist had set up a tent and table for free consultations on a little grassy area. What great timing! I stopped to chat with him and I’m so glad I did! He offered better information about the mechanics of a knee and how to obtain relief (including a brace recommendation) than I did from that orthopedic specialist who wanted to slice and dice. PLUS he was respectful and gentle as he moved my leg around.

Call Me Dr. Rosebud

After all this time, after all my injuries, once again I accurately diagnosed a medical issue.

Last March I did a deep weighted squat and felt something pop in my right knee. My stubborn self chose to overlook the subsequent discomfort and stoically carry on.

We need a backstory here...This is the same knee that was injured when I carelessly pulled a full and very topheavy garden waste trash can to the street, blithely ignoring the fact that the wheels were tangled up in fruit tree netting.

I mean, for a split second the thought crossed my mind that I should probably untangle it before I rolled it down the hilly driveway but I did not.

So…as you can probably guess, my feet became entwined in the netting which then pulled the heavy can down on me, twisting my leg and knee beneath it.

I know, I know. I’m not bright, also extremely impatient.

Once I deduced that my knee/leg wasn’t broken, I iced it for a while and endured the pain on the lateral side of my knee. A few months later, I had some physical therapy which actually seemed to help and I was back to normal movement.

And that’s how I ended up doing a weighted squat. Again, I iced it and figured it would take a while to heal, whatever it was, but this time there was no specific pain location. I wore a brace and compression sleeve and that didn’t really help.

Finally, I was able to pinpoint the pain, did my research and thought it was a medial meniscus tear along with an inflamed bursa, right below the knee.

I waited a really long time before telling my doctor (too stubborn to admit defeat), but when the pain wouldn’t subside, I did. She ordered an x-ray and when the results were unremarkable, she ordered an MRI, the appropriate course of action.

That was my first ever MRI. For me, it was a pleasant experience, probably because only my legs were in the machine.

The results came back as I had predicted:

  1. There is a complex meniscal tear involving the posterior horn of the medial meniscus.
  2. Severe chondromalacia involving the lateral patellar facet (also known as Runner’s Knee)
  3. Mild joint effusion. (I believe it’s the pes anserine bursa.)

Now I have an appointment with the same orthopedic office where I’ve often visited for other dumb accidental broken bones and torn ligaments.

SIGH.

Just call me Doctor Rosebud BUT don’t be like me and wait months suffering before seeing a professional!