Vice cream!

My latest hobby (does trying something once make it a "hobby?") is making vegan ice cream, aka "Vice Cream," from a recipe book by the same name. Since Bob needs his daily ice cream fix or he'll wither, delicate orchid that he is, I thought at least I'd try to give him stuff that's totally natural, no preservatives, chemicals, or full of any other nasty ingredients . . . my first try was raspberry vice cream. The recipe calls for five ingredients. Yup, I said five. Count 'em: cashews, water (or fresh fruit juice), maple syrup, non-alcohol vanilla flavoring (alcohol interferes with the freezing process) and raspberries. There ya go. Blend 'em all in a blender till silky-smooth, chill mixture in the freezer for about an hour, then add to ice cream maker and hit the "on" button . . . 40 minutes later, sweet, creamy, fruity goodness that makes about a quart of frozen delight and earned a 94 from the Official Bob Rating System!

Bob suggested raspberry as the maiden voyage for the ice cream maker, since we had about a pint and a half of the berries hangin' out in the fridge, threatening to go all fuzzy on us if not used soon. Next time, I'll try the plain ol' vanilla recipe, as that's been Bob's go-to flavor, next to Neapolitan. Doesn't he look great in this pic, by the way?! Filling out, even a little bit of muscle definition in those arms! He's been really good about doing his workouts, and has graduated to using hand weights! It wasn't that long ago that he could barely make it through a round of exercises without any weights. Progress!

I picked up a cheap ice cream maker at Target the other day, (though I had bought the "Vice Cream" book well over a month ago), on clearance for $20-$25, Sunbeam brand, and despite the el cheapo price tag, it seems to work just groovy! The cashews are what give the "vice cream" its ice-cream-like texture; when blended with the other ingredients and then frozen, the nut-flavor is barely discernible, but adds a lovely subtle touch. I followed the recipe as written (for once), but next time, I may tweak the sweetener, as a whole cup of maple syrup sweetener makes it very, very sweet. Like me. Maybe try agave syrup next time, or just cutting back on the syrup and use more fruit . . .

(A quick aside . . . a few months back, I'd bought some cheap vanilla shit thinly disguised as ice cream from I-don't-even-know-where—Holiday gas station down the road, maybe?—on a desperate late-night run to feed Bob's out-of-control habit. Sooooo, can anyone telll me what's wrong with this picture (and it's not "valu pak," wrong as that is, in and of itself)? Llllook very clllose . . . man, if they can't even get the lllabelll right, god only knows what's in the ice cream . . .)

I also bought a juicer, incidentally, a beginner's brand/model. I did some research on the brand—a Waring Pro—saw that it earned a healthy 4 out of 5 stars on several websites. Again, in time, if I get totally into the juicing thing (which I may, as I loooooooves me them green smoothies already . . .), maybe for Christmas, I'll ask Santa for the Rolls Royce of juicers. No, not Jack LaLane's (though I did see that his earned respectable ratings as well, and I know our friend, Paulie, has had great success with it). Perhaps a GreenStar. Or, as my friend, Lisa, suggested, a Hurom slow-juicer. But that seems light-years away. . . baby steps, Jen, baby steps . . .

Beautiful day at the farmer's market yesterday, despite being hotter 'n' hades, and humidity that simply dripped from the atmosphere . . . had to go it alone, as Bob wasn't feeling up to it and both sisters were out of town this weekend, but it made for a quick trip—in and out in record time when there is no balloon artist, or ice cream vendor or lemonade stand to distract! I picked up a few things—bouquet of flowers, handmade soaps, couple of sweet treats—to bring to a client-friend of mine who is in a transitional care facility in St. Paul . . . she was in a horrific motorcycle accident back in June, hospitalized for 40 days, ended up having to amputate part of her right leg, it was so mangled it was beyond saving. Discharged from the hospital to transitional care on her 40th birthday. Now, after just a week in TC, they're threatening to kick her out, because her insurance

But she had her helmet on, which she said saved her life, saved her from brain injury . . . still in transitional care, and a long road to recovery ahead for her. She will have to learn to do everything with a prosthetic leg, which won't happen for another few months, as the injury site still has more healing to do. She also ended up with a broken clavicle, a shattered knee (on the leg that survived) and broken foot.

Anyone care to tell her that everything happens for a reason? That God threw the car in front of her to teach her some kind of lesson? That God doesn't give her anything more than she can handle? As though God is some sadistic entity who loooooves to throw shit our way, horrible, horrible shit, like cars and cancer, and earthquakes and wars, but just in front of some people, not everyone, a jacked-up lottery where you'll never know if or when your number will be called . . . a god as an entity that loves to pick and chose at random whom to subject the horrors, just to see how the lucky chosen one stands up to the challenge . . . and if you don't, well, then the right answer is, "Oh, it was her time to go, God wanted her . . . " No, no, no, that's not right. Not right at all. Sometimes, people, shit just happens. As in my friend's case, the driver simply didn't see her. Bad timing. Rotten luck. Wrong place, wrong time. The driver made a terrible error in judgment. Anything but God playing a game with her life. . .

Kind of unrelated, but not really . . . I don't know if I've ever said this before on the blog, but I am absolutely blessed to have the opportunity to be home with Bob during this time, to help him heal and become stronger for his upcoming surgery. I wish it had had happened earlier in the game, that maybe we could have avoided much of the awful shit he was dragged through, but there goes that 20/20 hindsight again . . . not only do I truly, in my heart, feel that it has helped keep Bob stable and out of the hospital, but it's been so good for his mental health and overall well-being. And mine, too . . . he hasn't had an anxiety attack since, oh man, I can't even tell you when. Hasn't taken Ativan in at least as long, either. His appetite has increased ten-fold, his mental state is astoundingly sharp and clear. If only it weren't for that damn pain in his leg that just doesn't go away. The constant reminder.

Oh, don't get me wrong. Not saying everything is all puppies and rainbows over here, peeps, just grateful beyond words that things are stable and have been for several weeks now. All I can do is live here and now. Right now. Once in a while, I try to peek into the future and have to yank myself back, because there's no way I can possibly maybe begin to try to see what it holds . . .the surgery is the only "curative" treatment, we're told, Bob's only hope, yet it still scares the living daylights out of me. To the point where I have to push it out of my head whenever thoughts of it appear. And, that's just my perspective. The one without the cancer.

Every day, we are blessed, feel so very blessed, to have all the wonderful people in our lives who have done so much and continue to do so much, for us. Blows the mind, it really does . . . and that's where the miracles happen for me. Through all of you. Deep inside of me. All around me. Through your prayers, sweet e-mails, phone calls, text messages, blueberry pies, generous gifts, recipe ideas, visits, cards in the mail, offers to do "whatever you need, just call," in the gorgeous pre-storm clouds piling up in the west as I walked Rocco tonight and the brilliant orange-pink sunset that followed. . . within me, in us, being open and receptive to all the goodness that comes our way, thorugh Bob, with his wicked sense of humor still intact, his determined spirit. . . choosing to say, this is life, life happens, man, and sometimes it can be so beautiful it takes your breath away and other times, damn, sometimes it's all you can do to get through the day. . .

Despite the shit, in spite of the shit we trudge through, I like to think that I'm "learning and growing" along the way . . . with the cooking and nutrition, the care-taking role I've embraced and trying my best to navigate the hell that is our health care system, the connections and re-connections we've made with friends and family, old and new . . . all the good and the bad and the constant reminders of how the human spirit moves us, within us, throughout us, between us . . . but don't anyone come and tell me, "See, everything does happen for a reason, Jen!" because I'll slap you into next week faster than the words come out of your mouth . . . I'd trade all that back and more, in a heartbeat, to have our old life back, any day, any way, and I'd venture to guess Bob would, too. God doesn't "make" this kind of shit happen to people. It's just life, plain and simple. What we do have, though, is the ability to chose how we respond to the shit that's dealt us. That's what God has given us. A brain, a heart and soul with which to respond, react, feel, process, hope, dream, do. It comes from us, people, from us acting, doing, feeling, not just sitting around, waiting for God to clean up the mess . . .

If God "makes" this crap happen in our lives to teach us some kind of lesson, then that's not the kind of God I want in my life. We'll go crazy trying to figure out the "reason," because there is none. I believe in the God who says, "Here you go, peeps. I created this big wide wonderful world, with all kinds of miraculous things in it. Now it's your chance to see what you do with it . . ." In all it's beautiful, ugly, generous, stingy, fabulous, horrific, humorous, horrific glory . . . I've said it before, I'll say it again, horrible things happen to really wonderful people, and wonderful things happen to really horrible people. All the time. Over and over and over again. Many, many things we have control over, but there are other things we simply don't. Our job is to figure out how to get through the shit the best we can. Whatever gets us through the night, 's all right, 's all right . . . and don't read too much into all this, because God knows my mind changes on a daily basis, what I think, what I feel, what I believe. . .

See, that's the trouble with this waiting game. Too much time to think, dammit.