If You Feel Too Old to Live Like You Have Always Wanted To…

This morning, as my steel cut oats simmered on the stove and I went through my cabinets in order to remove any condiments made with onion or garlic, a person I love very much messaged me to say that she felt too old. “I really wanted to help people,” she wrote. “If I could change time, I would go back and become a doctor.”

I added brown sugar and a pinch of salt to my steel cut oats and began to pan-roast five pecan halves, before replying to the text. You see, my Wicked Luvs, words implying that someone feels he or she is running out of time are not to be taken lightly. In my reply, I said that we should talk about this on the phone. And that “It’s never too late to do what our hearts call for [what our souls need]. If we are alive, we can find a way.”

The latter bit of the text sounds a bit cliché. I know that. Yet, that doesn’t keep it from being true. This person has done so much helping already. I reminded her that “Sometimes is difficult to see our own worth, but those outside… notice.” I’ve noticed the deeds of her huge giving heart a lot.

After adding two table spoons of coconut milk to the creamy oats, I stared at my half empty spices cabinet. I had no idea so many of my condiments had onion and garlic in them! My gastroenterologist put me on a mildly strict low FODMAP diet—no fructose, no lactose, no fructans, no galactans, no polyols. Which translates to no onions, no garlic, no most-of-the-stuff-I’ve-been-eating-for-the-last-almost-38-years of my witchy life… and no mangoes.

With all that in front of me, I started thinking, I’m so freaking lucky. That might sound a tad ridiculous coming from someone whose bones and gut seem to be aging three times faster than the rest of her. But I do feel lucky, my Wicked Luvs. Why? Well, because although all the changes upset me at first, in a day or two I’m back to being my usual chirpy self.

It’s not that I don’t care. Oh, I care so much and so very often. But I am lucky because losing some of the things I love and some of the ones I thought I needed—certain foods, driving, sitting at the dinner table—doesn’t take my happy away. I will miss them. But having them taken from me gives me the opportunity to search for new things.

My gut issues take my fresh onion and my garlic away? Fine! I’ll experiment with onion and garlic infused oils (the fructans in garlic aren’t oil soluble, so I can get the yummy taste without the painful *and embarrassing* tummy consequences). I shall also create a sofrito a la Magaly (yes, I’ll share the recipe). I am going to make all sorts of changes that I suspect will remind me that although I’m not living like I used to, I am still alive and I can choose to make the best of that gift.

If you feel too old to help society as a whole, then help a couple of people who live near you. If you feel too old or too sick to publish a book, then write short stories and submit them to literary journals, magazines; share them online! If you feel too old to live like you’ve always wanted to, then find something different to want just as much and live for that.

With those thoughts still swimming in my mind, I made a cup of French Vanilla coffee, added the roasted pecans to my steel cut oats, and took a bite. And you know what, my Wicked Luvs? I rather like this recipe. I might miss the rich and distinct flavor of evaporated milk, but the coconut milk and pecan combination gives my oats a wild and earthy healthy taste.

Steel Cut Oats - Low FODMAP

– ¼ cup of steel cut oats
– 4 cups of water
– 3 sticks of cinnamon
– 2 tbsp. of coconut milk (canned)
– 2 tsp. of raw sugar
– a pinch of salt
* 5 pecan halves (optional)
* one serving

In a one quart saucepan, bring the water to a brisk boil. Add cinnamon sticks. Let it boil, over medium-high heat, for five minutes. Add the steel cut oats and lower the heat to medium. Let it boil, stirring every now and then to keep from overflowing, until the oats are soft and most of the liquid is gone (about 30 minutes). At this point, I remove the cinnamon sticks, but you can leave them in if you like. Add the sugar, salt, coconut milk, and stir. Set the heat to low, cover the saucepan, and let it simmer for about 5 minutes. While you wait, crushed the pecans and roast them (I roast mine in a frying pan for 3 minutes or so). Pour your oats into your favorite bowl, sprinkled the hot, roasted pecan on top, and yum, yum, yum. ♥

Some of Us Are Made of Shades of Weird Only We Can See

Something can be absolutely worthless to us, but mean the world (plus a galaxy-full of peace of mind) to another. For this reason, I think we should always think a bit before opening our pie-holes, and offering opinions that are too focused on our own views of the world to hold much validity in someone else’s life.

You are probably wondering where I’m going with this, huh? Of course you are. I wouldn’t love you this much if you weren’t super brilliant. Well, since I relocated my main blogging efforts, I’ve been grumbling about how much work it will be to categorize Magaly Guerrero’s Pagan Culture, in order to turn it into an accessible archive. Someone, who probably thought I wasn’t within earshot, suggested I “created useless work” for myself. That if I didn’t have time to spend on something few people wanted anyway, I “should move on and shut up about it.”

I didn’t say anything to the person. Mostly because I was already upset about something else—I have this huge disability increase evaluation coming up, and I’m not looking forward to the poking and prodding my future holds—so most things that come out of my mouth in the heat of the moment would sound a tad irritated. After I cooled off, I just pushed the individual in question and the comment out of my mind for a while.

Then I started thinking about how small this person’s world must be. This would be the only explanation for her not seeing that different people have different needs and for different reasons. Let me give you an example: I can be quite obsessive. Most times this fact makes me stronger—I won’t let go of something until it’s done. But when my mind is vulnerable, my obsessive nature can take too much from me.

When I’m emotionally overwhelmed (the days around the anniversary of my little brother’s death were particularly tough), I must count. I have to physically count things like… words. I must place the tip of my finger on each word I type and count them aloud. Some might be telling themselves, “Um… mad Witch, you do know your computer can do that for you?” Yes, I know. But it doesn’t matter; my mind won’t quiet or give me peace until I count the damn things. When control is snatched away from me, I must find a way to get it back… or I can’t function.

The same is true for what I have to do with Magaly Guerrero’s Pagan Culture. I’m not sure how many truly understand how attached I am to that blog and its content; how much the theft hurt me. When someone took so much from it that the place was left like it was no longer mine, my brain needed a way to reclaim it. The archive will do that for me; so I can’t just choose not to do it. The compulsion to go through the posts, make them mine again, and find a proper home for them again is nearly as strong as the need to write this entry, so that the annoyance caused by the person who made the comment can leave my system and I don’t implode.

We all have a little weird in us. Some of us are made of shades of weird only we can see the importance of. I try to remind myself of that every time someone says or does something that feels ridiculous to me. If it makes sense to them and it doesn’t hurt me or anyone else, then all is good with the world. Living and letting others do the same is not such a complex notion, so I wonder why it is so difficult for some people to conceive.

KittiesStrange Funny Weird Crazy Absurd Awesome
via