Fish food filet and Girl Guide promises

oday was the perfect day for burning stuff. Over the year my stockpile of empty toilet tubes has multiplied and I have no idea if they are supposed to go in the recycling as cardboard or turfed out with the rubbish? And why do I have 397 of them cluttering up the windowsill in my bathroom? Where did they all come from? When my kids were young the Kindy took them for art projects, but my kids are all grown up and in no need of a cardboard caterpillar or even an egg carton whatever. So I burn them. Yup, along with things that I am not quite sure where they fit in the rubbish category of life. The sun was shining, the air was crisp and cold and even the wind wasn't that strong. And hey, I am still the girl guide that I was in my youth ... I lit the fire with one match. Yay. And so all my bits and pieces are now ash. It takes a bit of work to get the whole bin to fire up properly and I have this huge 'pokey' stick, which is actually the pole for some garden toy and is perfect for poking air into fires. Now, as to me being the epitome of a good girl guide ... well no, I hated every moment and would make any excuse to get out of attending. I felt out of place and unworthy of anything but scorn. My uniform was always that little bit too crinkled and my knots just too Granny Knot to be successful. Camps were worse. There was no escape from all the other 'perfect' girls and I had to tough it out for the weekend. We were asked to build things that I could see no real use for. And putting up a tent, well, let us just say, that I would be sleeping under the stars if it was not for some of the others on camp with me. I tried to become invisible and fly under the radar as much as I could. My list of badges? Well that would be none at all. Unless you get a badge for hiding from the leaders. Girl Guides obviously suits some women, but I do not have good memories of my time in the uniform and the idea that I lived the Be Prepared motto was a joke. So, here I am almost sixty years later remembering snippets of the lessons that were taught. A wrinkle in time that I did not expect. I Googled the promise that I had made all those years ago and something resonated with me. 'I promise that I will do my best, to be true to myself and develop my beliefs, to serve the Queen and my community and to keep the Guiding law.' Oh gee, who would have thought that it would shape my life and that at the end of the day, I have lived the Guiding law? Well not quite perfectly, but close enough.

Living on my own, I have developed some coping mechanisms. I make a meal and then freeze some of it so that I do not have to cook again for a few days. It does get a bit boring having the same meal three nights in a row, but who really cares as long as I have food on the table ... well on my lap as I watch TV actually. But because I am often on auto-pilot as I cook, there are some close calls in the culinary department. A few years back we had some goldfish (until the birds and the cats ate them all) and we bought fish food to feed them. After they became a meal to the other creatures in our yard, the fish food was placed on a shelf ... right next to the salt. Now, let me tell you that the salt and the fish food containers are the same size and shape. You can see where I am going with this, can't you? I don't wear glasses when I cook because the steam from the pot mists them up something awful. I basically cook blind. But, no, I did not tip fish food into my meal, but it was a close thing. I must move that container to somewhere more secure before I make another meal. But there are other disasters in my kitchen at times. Never fear, blind Patricia is here. I have been making my own sugar-free keto friendly snacks and desserts over the past few months. I was taught to bake by my grandmother who seldom, if ever, consulted a recipe book. She would say, 'Throw in the flour until it looks right.' But these new treats are things that I have never had experience with before and 'looks right' just doesn't work for me. Last night I made some nut butter fat bombs. I squinted my eyes and read, 1 cup coconut oil, 1 cup nut butter. So far so good. I then read 1/3 cup of cocoa powder ... but it really said 1 to 3 teaspoons of cocoa powder. Yikes, it tasted so awful that I was tempted to throw it out for the birds. But no, I am resilient and decided to fix it. And my go to fix? Cream cheese. When in doubt add cream cheese by the bucket load. Half a tub seemed about right but it still tasted awful. Now I was so invested in this dessert that there was no way I was throwing it outside. And what else fixes bad baking? Dessicated coconut. My grandmother would be proud of me ... or ashamed ... because it actually turned out nicely. (other ingredients were some coconut flour and Stevia sugar) Delicious and I will be eating a plate full topped with cream tonight after my fish food free meal. (My meal is a beef stew with mushrooms and onions topped with keto scone mix)

I went to a pottery workshop last month. The tutor was amazing. He gave us each 5 kg of clay and within a few hours we had some gorgeous creations ... pinch pots. And then we moved on to lidded containers. This required us to slap a kilogram of clay onto our tables until it thinned out enough for us to shape it around a cylinder. We had to share our tables with 3 other people due to space restrictions. We were four very happy slappers until I noticed that Doreen had not moved her pinch pots to a safe place. And as we slapped the vibrations had turned her cute little round containers into mush. Flat as pancakes. Now, you know what they say about not shooting the messenger? Well, I should have just kept my mouth shut because when I pointed out to her that her masterpieces were now mushy peas, I was not popular. Not that she was angry, but I should have zipped my lip and kept quiet and let her discover the disaster in her own time. Why do I feel that I should fix the world with my big mouth? I can promise you that it has never worked and might never be the best option going forward. This month I am taking a workshop on how to paint abstracts. No one I know is attending and I am hoping that I don't tell some total stranger some unpleasant truths. Well, I can only hope that my introvert self shuts me up at least until the workshop is over. I love abstract painting. It allows your inner emotions to become manifest on the canvas. I have this unswerving desire to open up my brain for others to look into ... hence my blogs and my books ... and abstract painting. The latest set of my novels have been fun to write and let us hope they will bring others joy to read. Someone asked me what I want to achieve with all my creations? A moment to escape the stresses of life? A few hours to forget the troubles of the world? I am certainly not trying to change the universe and become famous, just maybe give myself a feeling of not being forgotten. Of leaving my footprint on life. My brother-in-laws want to write books that will make them rich. Well, wouldn't that be nice? But I cannot see that in my immediate future. All I am hoping for is that my pottery will not blow up in the kiln, that my paintings please me and my inner critic. And that my books do not embarrass my family... too much. And Doreen, is she still speaking to me? Of course, in fact we went out for morning tea this week and had a good laugh. Her pinch pots were resurrected successfully and her other creations are being fired in the kiln as we speak. I lost my best lidded pot when my cat decided that she needed more room on the table top to spread out. It is now a mass of clay bits and pieces that I might be able to save if I am careful, Oh, and my pinch pots? Gorgeous. Although a friend who saw them asked me what use they were. Well they are no use at all, they feel good and give me pleasure. That is good enough for now.

I am sitting here in silence after a mammoth argument with my radio. I can only get one radio station and it is awful. Fifty songs that are horrible and they play them over and over again interspersed with the news. Ugh. I went online and found a radio station much more to my taste ... aka 1970's rock. But, no, it doesn't work in my little country town and now I can't even find the awful radio station anymore. Why don't I use my Google app? That would be because I have almost reached the end of my data for the month and am trying to conserve it. Note to self, get unlimited data next time. There is seriously only junk on free TV and I have reverted to Netflix one too many times this month. Jane Eyre ... nice! The Foreigner ... enjoyed it. But at the rate I am going, I can only watch one more movie before data is finished, and we can't have that. Last night I sat and watched some mind blowingly boring programme that I could not stand. I had finished the book I had bought and didn't want to start another one. Anyhow, my eyes grow dim at night and the words jump around on the page. Well, what do you expect with $2 shop glasses? Why don't I put on a CD and dance around the lounge? Maybe by the end of the data time, I will be forced to find my own entertainment. But there is a glimpse of hope on the horizon. I get fibre to my door this week on Thursday. Yay, and then I will phone my internet provider and see what deal I can make for the future. My sanity depends on it. If I have to watch another Mrs Brown episode I might shoot myself. Wish me luck. Or send the internet Gods down to gift me a few more hours of data to get me through.