Wheat! It’s what’s for dinner. Again.
Fall’s has not traditionally been my “big change” season, but this year, it’s all comin’ together in September, folks. Big stuff.
Where to start? How about I work my way up the excitement ladder? Okay, so first off, I got the results of my food allergy test back in the mail today. Why the food allergy test? Well, let’s just say that CLH didn’t think that he could legally get away with listing “flatulence” as grounds for leaving me, but he was threatening to go that way. I finally decided to have my blood tested to see what on the food chain was upsetting my poor intestines. I was told by my doctor that I didn’t have to make an appointment with the clinic beneath my doctor’s office to get said blood drawn, but when I got there, a surly nurse told me otherwise. I had to go back upstairs to get the doctor’s permission, and then take back downstairs my own clear glass vials and a box that had the word BIO HAZARD emblazoned upon it. The nurse begrudgingly took the stuff from me and led me to a chair. She warmed right up to me after I told her I usually pass out from having my blood drawn.
Three weeks later and here we are, results in hand. The exam tests for lots and lots of different kinds of foods: meats, nuts, dairy, vegetables, grains, etc. I suspected, given the bloatiness I was feeling after sandwiches and pastas, that I might be allergic to wheat. I had even been baking wheat free breads and the like for nearly six months in anticipation. Turns out, though, I’m NOT ALLERGIC to wheat. I’m allergic to EGGS instead! EGGS! My Sunday morning constitutional! My favorite thing to put on a kaiser roll with cheese! The only thing I like to eat at greasy spoons! I can’t believe it! Who knew??? I don’t have the kind of allergy where my throat closes up or my face breaks out in hives or anything dramatic like that. What I have is more like a “strong sensitivity” to eggs. A strong sensitivity that has kept a small patch of eczema on the back of my neck for something like 15 years now. And maybe my bowels in knots. So, wheat’s back in. Eggs are out. CLH is far more upset about this all than I am. For the most part, I think I can live without eggs. I’ll be grumpy about it, but, if it means I’ll be healthier, I can do it. CLH has been moping around all evening, approaching me every twenty minutes or so and sadly reminding me of all the dishes I can’t share with him anymore.
Him: “But what about omelets?”
Me: ” ‘Fraid not.”
20 mins later:
Him: “But what about fritatas?”
Me: “Still no.”
Okay, here’s the other really big news: I bought a boat. I need to make this a big deal because I don’t even think I believe it myself yet. I BOUGHT A SAILBOAT. A 21 foot sailboat. CLH and I. We own a freakin’ boat.
She’s older than us by a year. She doesn’t have a name. Yet. She smells strongly of gasoline but CLH reassures me that that’s because she’s been closed up for almost a year in the marina. Once she airs out, he assures me, she won’t smell so bad. Oh, and neither of us know how to sail.
Here’s what I’ve been doing to prepare for buying a boat: I’ve been reading every disaster-at-sea story I can get my hands on. I mean, who needs to know about sails and navigation and all that crap? What I really need to know is how to survive a hurricane on a 90 foot yacht. You know. ‘Cause the Pacific Northwest is known for its strong hurricanes and all…
CLH and I have been absolutely OBSESSING about this for some time now. Our bed stands are stacked with all sorts of books about sailing (well, his side is… mine’s full of nautical disaster memoirs). He’s learning how to raise a sail (useful information) and I am learning that you should think twice about having a boat built by unskilled Turkish laborers that leaves you stranded in the Mediterranean because your paint is peeling off in sheets and your deck is coming apart under moderate winds (totally, totally useless information).
I’m sort of hovering above this whole experience and looking down on it in wonderment. I mean, who woulda thunk it? Me, the wage slave, the kid of parents who never ever had more than two cents kicking around in their bank accounts, has managed to save enough to buy a boat AND keep it moored in a marina. And in a recession, no less. No, it’s not the most fiscally sound thing to do given that America’s about to get a taste of what the REST of the world lives like in short order here. But, hell, it won’t hurt to have a getaway car when the Polar Bears start swimming ashore looking for a new place to call home. All I’m saying is: the boat comes with a blender and a 12 volt outlet. Heh? Hehhhhh? See? You would have bought it too.
CLH has just reminded me that I can’t ever have deviled eggs again. Wait. I just remembered I own a boat. It’s all going to be okay.