So. My mental health is good. In fact, this has been the best winter in a long time. Two things for that: Marie, my house cleaner who comes about 6 times a month, and not being a part of the Arts Council. Both of those things make me happy and made me feel free and unburdened.
I’ve been cooking some nice things, too. No breads or pastries because carbohydrates and type II diabetes, but sort of fancy things like chicken eggplant parmesan and pan roasted vegetables and chicken. Also a lot of fish. Someone once asked if I liked to cook and I said, not really but I don’t mind cooking but now I search online and in magazines for recipes and I try new things. I make Sweetie a nice lunch every weekday so I have a reason to cook. I still keep it all mostly healthy with lots of veg and salads and not much frying. It’s almost become fun.
Spring bulbs give so much pleasure, don't they? First with the incremental progress of green fingers reaching up, and then the pleasure of the actual bloom. Most of my plants that are indoors for the winter are doing well although I lost an orchid because the plant room can be too cold on the coldest of days. The thermometer stayed around zero for too long for the delicate things. But still, most of the succulents are fine and the geraniums have continued to bloom in their little window nook.
Facebook coughed up an old photo of mom and me. I think it was one my oldest brother posted 7 years ago and I was not at all familiar with it. I was 16 and looked such a sweet thing, which I was not. I always thought my mother was so beautiful what with blonde hair and a slim figure, but now I look at her and I don’t know her. My therapist remarked that, in photos I showed her, my mother looked positively emaciated and I thought back to memories of her not eating things she made. She cooked a lot, but wouldn’t eat spaghetti or chicken or desserts. Was she anorexic? Was her weight the only thing she felt she could control? I don’t know. Me, I love food too much and I get that from the pater's side.
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Sent off my spit to Ancestry.com to get a genetic profile. I’m fairly certain of my Great Britain roots, but here’s the thing. While it is not impossible for a 55-year old woman to give birth in 1922, it is a bit unlikely. That would be my father and his mother, if she is. The curiosity may not be answered by my genetic profile, it may toss up something I don’t know. Sweetie’s sister’s indicated a 4% from India/Pakistan but no Native American, which she was sure of. So, something interesting to look forward to.
