Sight

A man wants to die at 75. Someone asked him more about it: "Doctors Wanted to Extend Life. Instead they Extended Death."

Knowing what I know now, I would refuse the radiation treatments (and other medical interventions) Roscivs received in June-July 2010.

   I'm sorry. But not for everything. At least on the day he died I gave him slightly more morphine slightly more often than "allowed"; by that time I knew that to do otherwise would be extending death — and denying him his dying-wish.

I believe he may have suffered more because it took me as long as it did to see his death. I believe he suffered willingly. I will live with that until I die. This is how: Truthfully, if Bjorn or I got cancer I most probably wouldn't choose chemo. You live, you learn.

Shiny Happy Pooper

In a book I'm reading right now there is a comment nearly suggesting how life without toilet paper would be a life of privation.
   I think not.
   Since I've gotten healthy, when I poop I more often than not don't need toilet paper. That's right: When I wipe it's already clean.

I enjoy toilet paper. But I could do without it. If I cloth diaper a baby I will stop using toilet paper.

"Put it in the ground where the flowers grow / Gold and silver shine"

the bad ol' days

My first and third years of college, I had housing arrangements that required that everyone in the house took turns cooking dinner.

   The first year, I cooked weekly for 6 young women. The third year, I cooked every other week for 6 women and 6 young men. Men eat more.

The third year involved a dinner allowance. I had to keep and submit a receipt. It was the same amount allowed the other 5 women and 6 men when they cooked. I remember it being $24; $2/person. We were not to go above budget.

   The most filling, cheapest meals I knew how to prepare involved pork, and pork is haram [1 man and 1 woman were Muslim]. 

   Every time it was my turn to cook, I struggled.

Q: Why didn't I just go to Grocery Outlet, buy a whole bunch of bulk food on sale, and cook rice-and-beans at every meal? 

   A1: I didn't know Grocery Outlet existed; even if I had, I didn't conceive of cheap food as something that is worthy. I identified as a person who didn't shop at trash groceries.

   A2: I didn't have a car, and there was no grocery store within walking distance. I had to beg a favor to get to anywhere I wanted to go beyond campus. 

   I hated (and still hate) feeling obligated to buy something at a store just because I visited. When someone on a college student's gas allowance has made a special trip to take you to that store, the pressure's on. And I hated, then as now, begging rides. Imagine, with those high emotional costs, how it would've felt to beg a ride to go to three different stores on three different days to find the best deals. 

   My idea of a nightmare.

   A3: Bulk food was not in my playbook at the time. Also: who has room to store bulk food in a college apartment?

   A4: Rice-and-beans was already overplayed. One of the 6 guys had cornered the rice-and-beany market. He claimed a Mexican mom. He made r&b each time and people did complain that he always made the same thing. Repeating meals wasn't so socially acceptable unless you ordered :PIZZA.

What on earth would I do if I had to feed myself and Bjorn on $2/meal? That's just $12/day! Now I know how to cook, and what foods to prioritize, but I wouldn't be able to do it and be healthy.

   I'm grateful I don't have to worry about that.

out loud to each other

Bjorn and I have finished The First National Bank of Dad.
   We are currently reading together Harry Potter and the Methods of Rationality and Parentology.

no zealot like a convert

I have refurbished a cast iron pan. I am enamored!

My mother-in-law gave it to me. It's a Griswold [brand] 8 [size], made probably in the 1930s or -40s.
   It looked terrible. Crusty, really rusty. I didn't know half of the markings on the bottom were there; they were crusted over.

I was whelmed with trepidity at the prospect of restoring it. Yet I wanted to cook my steaks — from my cow, you know? my lovely cow? — this way, in cast iron.
   And this pan was my chance.
   To get over the daunt, I tried to prepare myself to restore and maintain the pan. To that end I bought a piece of chain maille. (It's beautiful, I'm in love. I want to be draped in chain maille.)
   Using the Ringer, half a German Butterball, and some Himalayan salt, I worked the rust off.

I finished it Sunday. I used it for the first time yesterday — bacon. This morning I used it first for potato crisps in yesterday's bacon fat and then for steak.

T-bone for two!

I am really so proud of myself. I have set this pan to rights.
   I've sometimes see acquaintances' blog posts about their refinished dressers or tables. They're glowing with pride. I understand that now.
   Dull rust --> shiny black!

I'm satisfied and improved. I love to work to make it easier to do the other work I do to make the things I want. I swear it's easier to make great crisps in cast iron!