Learning to "Tink"

I love to knit, it is one of my favorite past times.   Perhaps it is the feel of the needles and the rhythmic pull of soft yarn between my fingers, and all the little motions that come with forming the fiber into fabric.

Or, the way it relaxes my mind and enables my thoughts, to daydream and peacefully free float.   It is soothing to my soul.

It didn't always used to be this way though, especially when I was first learning how to knit, or when I made a mistake.  In knitting when there is a mistake, there may be dozens of little loops that have to be accounted for and put back on the needle.

If you miss just one, it will unravel your fabric at the slightest tug and leave a big, noticeable, gaping hole.

Many a time, I have knitted along with tight shoulders, and rigid fingers, and holding my breath at a difficult part of the pattern.  Pleading the "Knitter's Prayer", (which goes something like this: "No! Please no! Oh please... please, please, please!) over and over again as my project helplessly unraveled.  If you are a knitter, you know exactly what I mean!

Then one day a lady at the yarn shop asked me if I had ever learned how to tink?  ("Tink" is "knit" spelled backwards).  

I had never heard the term before and was puzzled.  She said everyone she ever knew that excelled at knitting learned to look at their mistakes as an opportunity to "tink".  She explained that once I learned how to knit backwards, my mistakes would lose a great deal of their frustration.

Part of learning to tink, especially when it comes to knitting lace, involves remembering to weave in a "lifeline" as you go along, every ten rows or so.  A lifeline is a temporary thread inserted through a row of stitches.  It serves as a checkpoint holding the stitches in place if you need to rip out and redo several rows.

Learning to "tink" wasn't easy.

Then one day, I noticed a slipped stitch in a lace sock I was knitting, and instead of panicking and berating myself, I took a breath and began "tinking" backwards as I had practiced, until I reached the lost loop.  Before I knew it, I was happily moving forward again.  There was no catastrophe!

I have often thought of this experience when it comes to living with my chronic pain.  Coping with pain that never goes away, like tinking, takes a skill, which can only be learned through practice

There are days when my life is "knitting" along just fine.  The medicine is working the way it is suppose to, I'm pacing myself,  I'm in a good positive frame of mind, I'm up and about, and I am making progress.  Then, there is a setback, or sudden flare.

As time went on and I gained more experience and began to see the patterns in my own pain journey, I realized that I was not powerless in the face of these situations.  I could learn to "tink".  I learned to prepare for these inevitable times.  To have my tools ready and in place.  To give myself options and plenty of "Plan B's" for those days when I unexpectedly find myself in the middle of a flare.

I have discovered that sometimes the strongest and healthiest thing I could do for myself and my family is to just stop, and rest, so that I can move forward again.   I have also learned the importance of using all the good days, hours and moments to set my lifelines.

For me, my lifelines include my spirituality which is tied to my relationship with God and my desire to keep his words of encouragement in the Bible alive in my heart.  

Another one, involves trying to stay focused on the beauty and wonder of life.  Endeavoring to keep a bubble of positivity around my inner thoughts, while maintaining a simple life that I am able to maneuver through,  when the pain begins driving the bus.  

It also requires that I take the time on my good days to create happy memories and to find ways to nurture and show the love I have in my heart for my family and friends.

Creativity is also a powerful lifeline, along with making sure that I have enough time and energy to pursue the things I enjoy in a balanced way.  The qualities of humility and modesty have become my best friends as they help me to look at my limitations honestly.  This in turn, enables me to live the most active life possible.

I have found that looking at life in this way, saves me from constant discouragement. It's the knowledge that every setback does not need to always become a catastrophe, of dropped stitches. 

Lifelines help us to begin again, over and over with resilience. 

This little shift in my perception, has helped me to suffer less, even though my pain has become more intense through the years. 

What are some things that help you to "tink"?  To prepare for those flares and setbacks that life and health sometimes throw our way?  What lifelines do you set? What brings you joy?

Delisa

Delisa's Mexican Rice Casserole

*Easy mid-week layered "lasagna" style casserole

Hello everyone!  I hope that you are having a nice week so far.  I wanted to share with you this family-favorite recipe.  This recipe uses an instant pot for the rice portion. But if you do not have one, you can still make it by cooking the rice on the stove according to package directions.

1 Tbsp. olive oil

1/4 Tsp. cumin

1 small can diced green chillies

1 large can red or green enchilada sauce (I prefer La Victoria brand but any will do)

1/2 large white onion, diced

1 1/2 cup chicken bouillon (you can also use 2 of the little cubes, but I prefer the Knorr powdered brand.  If you decide to use Knorr measure 1 1/2 tsp.)

1 cup white rice

Direction:  Start by rinsing the white rice under water.

Then add the olive oil to the Instant pot on Saute mode and add onions and green chillies. 

After onions have become soft add the rice, and stir as you sauté for about 1 minute.  Be careful at this stage because it has a tendency to want to stick. 

Now add the chicken broth, 1 1/4 cup of the enchilada sauce, and the cumin.

Set the Instant Pot for 6 minutes.

Now preheat oven to 375 F.  and begin gathering your next ingredients for the casserole, you will need:

1 9 x 13 inch baking dish

Pam spray oil, or a little vegetable oil to grease the pan.

2 cups shredded Cheddar cheese, mild or sharp. We prefer sharp for a little extra flavor.

3 cups tortilla chips

7 corn tortillas

1 large can of drained, cooked Chicken 

(If you prefer you can also boil 1-2 chicken breasts in water or stock, depending on size, on the stove until very soft about 45 minutes and then shred. I find having the canned chicken is a big help on a busy day.)

The rest of the enchilada sauce

The cooked Mexican rice

Directions:  Ladle enchilada sauce into the baking dish just enough to cover.  Cut the tortillas in half and arrange just so:

Then spread 1/2 of the Mexican rice over the tortillas.  Add 1/2 of the chicken, and 1 cup cheese.

Layer the remaining tortillas, ladle on more enchilada sauce, the remaining rice and chicken, and cheese. 

*You will probably have a little enchilada sauce left over.  Save it in the fridge and you can heat it up and spoon over the casserole the next day if it seems a little dry. Sometimes the rice and tortillas tend to soak up some of the enchiladas sauce, overnight.

Then crumble the tortilla chips in your hand and cover the top of casserole.  Sprinkle a little dried parsley on top as it will make it look pretty after it is baked.  But it isn't needed for flavor, so don't buy it special if you don't already have it.

Spray some Pam on the foil so that it will not stick on the cheese and cover the casserole.  

Bake at 375 F. for about 35-40 minutes or until it is bubbly around the sides.  

We like to top it with a dollop of sour cream and salsa.  But that is optional.  We also love it served with a side of guacamole.  Bon Appetite!

*This feeds my family of 3, for 2 or 3 days.  If you do not like to have leftovers, once this is cold you can cut it into squares and freeze.  It heats up well in the microwave and still tastes fresh and delicious. Very versatile.

Delisa

Afghan Adventures

 

When I am knitting or crocheting I am in my "happy place".   I have been crocheting since I was about 11 years old, but I didn't begin in earnest till I was married in my 20's.  I enjoy making many different things but this time of year I alway get in the mood to start an Afghan.  

The blanket above is an Autumn afghan that I made for my niece last year.  It was quite an adventure finding the pattern.  I was watching a television program a few years ago about the Amish and they had a lady crocheting this beautiful design.  After much searching I found it in an old Red Heart pattern book from the 80's, that I was thankfully able to purchase on Ebay.  

 Here is another afghan that I made for my father-in-law using the same pattern.  It looks completely different, how it comes out has a great deal to do with the shadings of colors you decide to use.  

I also enjoy making hexagon shaped granny square blankets.  Here is one that I designed myself a couple of years back.  It is made with spring colors and I call it the "Kaleidoscope Afghan".  What makes this one a bit unique is that every hexagon in the blanket is different.  I wanted it to pop with color, but at the same time be restful to the eye.

This next one I made for my friend Dorothy using one of my most favorite patterns.  It too is from an old Red Heart book that took the pineapple design so often seen in doilies and turned it into a variety of Afghans.  It is a very relaxing pattern to crochet, and it makes up very quickly.  I have also used this same pattern to make many baby blankets.

 

Do any of you crochet or knit?  What are your favorite projects?  I would love to hear about your interests and what you like to make.  Thank you for stopping by to visit and I hope that every one is enjoying their week so far.  Sending love and best wishes to all!

Delisa

 

 

The Great Tapioca Pudding Incident

        Sometimes you just have to laugh.  Laugh at yourself, laugh at life and acknowledge the absurd.  My mother and I had one of those moments.  It happened over 48 years ago, but it is as real to me today, as if it were only yesterday...

       Here is a little backstory:  My mom suffered from many health issues stemming from car accidents she had been in throughout her life.  And things became even worse, after she and I were rear-ended by a drunk driver in 1976.  We were stopped at a red light and the car driven by a 16 year old drunk driver came over a small hill and hit into the back of our car at about 60 miles per hour.  

      It was miraculous that the young man was able walk away from the crash unscathed.  But the impact to our car was horrific. The only memories I have of that moment of impact, are the loud screech of tires, and my body flailing around the car , as what seemed to be lights flashed around me.  While I was banged up, my Mom was severely injured and her health would never be the same afterwards, and her condition slowly deteriorated over the next 20 years.  

      I was only 13 years old when it happened and Mom had just turned 50.  I had to grow up quickly.  The accident was for a long time a defining moment in my life.  Today I say it was pivotal.  I have lived so many lives since then, the little girl that I was feels very far removed from the woman I am today at 63

      Yet, that girl and all the experiences she had, helped to form me into the woman I became.   I think that we all go through that in one way or another.  And while it may sound a little dramatic it is still true:  I was one person when I entered the car that night, and I became another after the crash.  Life as I knew it changed in the space of a heartbeat and my childhood was effectively over.

     I think my mother felt very much the same way, but what trouper she was.  She never gave up.  She taught me how to cook and care for the home from her bed.  What a challenge that must have been for her, yet she was so very, very patient, even though she was in terrible pain.  We were an effective team as I became her legs and hands.

      Even today after all these years I still think sometimes that I can hear her voice calling to me as I am cooking. "Turn up the fire on chicken baby and add some more pepper...turn down the oven or the corn bread is going to burn!"

     But once in awhile, frustration would creep in.  One day she asked me to make her some tapioca pudding.  

      Instead of buying the easy to make Jello brand tapioca, which was her favorite, my father had misunderstood and bought a box of plain tapioca.

     I remember standing there at the stove a bit confused and reading the new directions.  She called from her bed: "How much tapioca are you putting in?" 

"It says three tablespoons.".  

"That's not enough!" She shouted back.  

"But that's what it says".  

"I'm telling you that's not enough, you are going to need at least a 1/2 cup".  

"Mama, I think that's too much."

      She was still partially paralyzed at that time on her left side, and was recuperating from a painful and difficult neck fusion surgery and several broken vertebrae in her back.

       Mom pulled herself out of bed with great difficulty and hobbled into the kitchen with her walker.  I could see the terrible look of pain and frustration written on her face.  Even as a young teen I knew she wasn't mad at me, but at the situation and the feeling of helplessness at not being able to do a simple thing like make pudding.  It was everything combined, and it made her  momentarily "snap". 

"Just give it to me honey, give me the spoon, I'll show you how to do it."  She exclaimed, frantically taking the pan and spoon out of my hands.

"But Mama, this is a new kind..." I started.

"Just let me do it the way I want to!"  She cried, as she measured out a cup of tapioca and threw it into the pan.  

     I sat back in the kitchen chair and watched her stir and stir, growing weaker and leaning more heavily upon her walker as each minute ticked by.

     Suddenly the tapioca began to thicken and boil and it rose to the top of the pan and bubbled over in an endless volcano of pudding, covering the stove top and then spilling on to the floor.  I reached over her (she was only 4ft. 8 inches tall) and turned the fire off and grabbed hold of the pot.  As I took it to the sink it continued to bubble over, making a puddle on the floor, and sticking to the cupboards.  

     It reminded me of a classic "I Love Lucy" episode.   Mom collapsed into a chair and doubled over with laughter.  Coming back over to her, my stockinged feet slipped on the tapioca and I fell flat on my rear on the sticky linoleum floor.  As I tried to get up I grabbed onto the kitchen towel rack.  My feet continuing to slip out from under me as I attempted to regain my balance.  We both had tapioca pudding stuck in our hair and on our clothes. 

      We laughed and laughed until we cried.  I went over and kissed the top of her head, as she wiped the tears from her eyes.  

"Well baby, you were right." She smiled meekly.

"Yes I was." 

"Yes, you were..."  She got up on her walker and started to drag herself back to bed.  

Then she looked over her shoulders mischievously, and smiled, "Well, you better clean it up!"

And I was happy to.  

      Sometimes that is just what chronic pain does to us.  Our frustrations build and build until we get angry or stubborn.  Keeping our sense of humor in such moments, and knowing when to laugh at ourselves and not take ourselves too seriously, is a great mark of character and strength.  I learned so much from my dear mother's experience about what to do and what not to do.  She taught me how to endure.  She never gave up no matter.

      In retrospect it could have been a traumatic experience for both of us, but Mom and I laughed about this incident for years and it only brought us closer.  I have always realized how fortunate we were to have my Mom for another 20 years after the accident.  Even though there were times that I know she wished she could die, she never gave up.  Not once, and that has made all the difference, to my brother and I, now that we are entering the time of life when health becomes more of a challenge.  Mom has been gone now for 30 years but this "Great Tapioca Incident" is still an inside joke that I treasure.

 

Grandma's Curious Curios

    

     I have always been a woman who has loved her knick knacks.  I was often drawn into my Grandmother's world and felt more at home among her many hand made decorations, sentimental souvenirs and whimsical curios.  

       My father's mid century modern home and Mediterranean style furniture and velvet paintings of conquistadors and Spanish galleons, was never my style.

      The oversized, embossed satin, avocado green, couch was so big my mother's little legs would dangle off the edge and she could not reach the floor.  Let's also not forget the smokey, gold splattered, glass tiled, dining room wall and the rain lamp that everyone hit their head on. :)

      My Grandma's home was comfortable.  There were handmade lace doilies on every chair and table, and soft velvet pleated pillows on the couch.  In the bathroom she had crocheted a toilet paper cover that looked like a doll.  I was fascinated by it.  She also had a crystal bowl with little guest soaps decorated with tiny gold push pins.  It was really very clever.

 

      I would sit at her feet while she crocheted and watched As The World Turns.  It was like magic, or watching a spider weaving a delicate web.  I would just stare in wonder.

       Grandma had at one time been a hardy farm woman.  My brother who is ten years older than I remembers her before she became ill.  He told me once "God forbid that someone's chicken should wander into the yard, she'd grab him by the neck and would soon be frying chicken for dinner."  She also knew how to gather wild mushrooms from the woods and other skills most of us have lost with time.

        By the time I came into the picture Grandma had developed heart disease and diabetes.  I knew her to be a quiet, slow moving woman who always read me Bible stories and taught me how to sing "Jesus loves the little children, all the children of the world, red and yellow, black and white they are precious in his sight, Jesus loves the little children of the world."  And I always remembered.

      I always knew I couldn't jump into her lap and hang upon her neck the way I did with Grandpa.  I learned at an early age that one had to be gentle with a Grandma.

         She had a vanity table with a gold hair brush and mirror.  She wore a beautiful lilac perfume that I can still smell if I close my eyes and imagine.  Her face was always soft and powdery.  On her dresser was a little cylindrical, metal tin of "Doan's Pills".

       She looked a little bit like Aunt Bea from the Andy Griffith Show.  I remember her dressing up on Sunday in her navy blue and green dress and little pill box hat. Clutching her patent leather purse and gloves.

        I called her Mimi, I don't know why, but she told me once that she liked it, because no one had ever given her a special name before.  She bought me a white jewelry box with a ballerina that turned with the music and a picture of a ballet dancer for my bedroom.

         She and Grandpa had turned the acre of land in front of their home into a beautiful garden. Grandma was not well enough in the last years of life to do much work so Grandpa did pretty much everything.  I would hold his hand and walk through the garden every day pausing to look intently at whatever plant had bloomed.  I especially remember marveling at the giant Sunflowers.  Somehow, I always felt that little piece of earth was holy ground.

        Once I pulled out all of Grandma's newly planted Sweet William and brought them into the kitchen to show her, because I wanted to give her some flowers. She told me they were "...the most beautiful flowers she had ever seen!", and we went back outside and replanted them so she could "...keep them forever".  There are few blessings in this world as wonderful as a patient grandmother.

      We lived next door to them for the first five years of my life.  Then we moved to Long Beach to be closer to my Dad's work.  The week before she passed away she came to our new house and planted bulbs under our lemon tree in the back yard.  

      The pink flowers bloomed every year, year in and year out without much care or fuss and without fail.  And, although I have not been to that house in over 20 years I would bet money that every May the bulb's bright green shoots are pushing up through the soil.  

      Today, people everywhere are being drawn into their grandmother's worlds.  Opting for what they believe is a more traditional life.  There is even a decorating style named for it, called "Granny Core" or "Grandma Core".  I think there is always going to be a certain subset of sensitive people, who appreciate a slower, more deliberate way of living, and for many, their grandmothers represents that feeling of home and comfort.

       Do you have a grandma story to tell?  Has your grandma influenced your decorating aesthetic?  I would love to hear your comments!  I hope you are all safe from the storms and are having a lovely Saturday night wherever you are. :)