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Well, it's my own darn fault - I asked for it. My last blog entry I fumed and fussed because I couldn't find a domestic challenge to write about it.  Luckily, my prayers were answered.

I've had a pretty interesting week, what with my being partiallly paralyzed and all.  And, I got to meet a whole set of new characters in my life:  chiropractors.

Dr. A is a very nice man who kindly slipped my disc back into place after much weeping and gnashing of teeth (and that was just
him; I apologized and passed the Kleenex).  His office assured me that why, yes, they did accept Red Rose City health insurance.  Approaching the third visit, they clarified, explaining they did accept Red Rose City health insurance, but not
Red-Dot Red Rose City health insurance.

I called the Red-Dot Red Rose City health insurance 800 number, where I wasted a portion of my lifetime that will never be reclaimed.  They confirmed; Dr. A's office is correct but if I went onto the www.MyRedRoseCity.com website, I would find a
listing of covered chiropractors in my area.
I live in Lancaster, PA – and while I love it, it is not exactly Mecca insofar as some health practices are concerned (ie. if you're into acupuncture or Reiki; be prepared to travel.) 
I came upon my listings – all two of them.  The first of which I recognized from having driven past; it lies between what portends to be a sports bar and what pretends to be a massage salon. Uh; pass thanks.

The remaining practice is just up the road from me.  Oh, goodie!

I limp into the office with a gait that would make Quasimoto eligible for Swan Lake.  I fill out the 700-page questionnaire (why does this doctor feel it necessary to inquire as to whether or not I've had a happy childhood?  Has anyone?)

I look about and realize somewhat acutely – along with my back pain – that yessiree Bob, I do live in Lancaster.  WWJD posters, books, magazined, pamphlets, Bibles abound.  This is not too unusual because Lancaster is well known as the Eastern Bible
(thumping) Belt.  It's a lot like driving through our bucolic countryside only to find it reeks of Amish fertilizer – at first, it's offensive.  After awhile, you get used to it. 

However, I was not prepared for the Musak station to be tuned into the Rush Limbaugh of Bible Thumpers. The nerve pinch my character Mina Kitchen feels at acute moments of crisis has NOTHING on this.  I worried – am I turning into my character?  Am I becoming Brundle-Fly?

I was led into an exam room where, in keeping with tradition, I waited for half my lifetime. This at least was normal, so it soothed me.  Things were looking up.  So I looked up.  There, plastered across the ceiling above the exam table were WWJD posters, cards, and other sentiments, along with a dried up Palm Sunday Cross made from, ummm, dried up Palm Sunday palms. 
A nurse eventually came in (presumably after she gave birth to her third child) and took my blood pressure: it was 189 over something else ludicrous.

The only time my blood pressure reaches this elevation is during dental visits (which I find odd because I LOVE my
dentist – she grows fabuilous orchids and is a  cat lover; what's not to like?) But somewhere back in my brain's developmental stages things got hardwired to interpret dentist = RUN.

So, I chalk up my elevated BP with my loathing of Bible thumping during non-Bible thumping hours.  Like when my vertebrae is about to be snapped inbetween someone else's fingers.

Don't get me wrong – I'm a card carrying Episocopalean (really; once I transitioned from Reformed Dutch Protestant to
Episcopalean, they gave me a card.  It's on a magnet on our refrigerator – honest.)  So, ostensibly I share the same basic faith as Dr. B. 
However, I'm not so much for cross-pollinization of sins.  Example:  when I go to church, I don't expect to find dental floss and a packet reviling me of all my dental flaws in the pew.  In short – I don't want one-stop-shopping for my dental/spiritual

At this point I realize there will be many who will be jumping up and shouting, “Yes, but if you address your spiritual issues,
your teeth will be whiter!”  That may very well be.  However, I'd like a little forewarning – and a choice, thank you very

“Come to Dr. Snap N Crack – When Your Spirit Ails You, We'll Bring You Back (and so will Jesus upon the Second Coming)”  Now, that would be honest advertising.

WWID? (that is, What Will I Do?) We'll see.  I have an appointment with Dr. B. later in the week. If my head spins around and I spit pea soup across the room, I'll be a little concerned.  Of course, that could unspiral my spine - so there's an upside.

First, let me tell you where I am not right now - eBook of Kitchen Addiction! is no longer on Smashwords.com.

I've become a KindleTouch user; finally discovering the world of immediate wireless downloads directly to my Kindle - wow; talk about immediate gratification...

But what gave me jungle/Amazon fever was this:  the Kindle version of Kitchen Addiction! that's available online now at Amazon.com, is part of their KDP Select - for a period of 90 days, if you belong to Amazon Prime, you can BORROW my book - for free.

AND - on July 7th and 8th you will be able to download Kitchen Addiction! for free.  Yes, that's right - for those 2 days it will be a  $0.00 Kindle eBook.

I'm still learning, so bear with. 

And of course you can download the recipe booklet, based on Kitchen Addiction! on the samples page of this site any time for free.

It's taken me awhile to research and make these decisions - along with a host of daily downers (broken wrist; family stuff; pet problems; car bashes, etc.).  But read on my twitter account a quote that I really took to heart; I THINK it was a Mark Twain quote; and I'm paraphrasing here -- but it went along the lines of:  if a writer waits to write until she feels like writing; she'll never write.

Hence; my dilemma - that's where I've been. 

Nose is fully out of my burrow and I'm trundling along the writer's path now...hope hear from you soon along the way.
I’m still new-ish to blogging and not sure if I like it or not.  Often, it feels like a complete chore.  In terms of consistency; I’ve got issues.  But some days, it seems incredibly fun and why hadn’t I done this long ago? 
In the spirit of blogging (journaling?) I am  trying to stick to my 2012 resolution, by leaping off the cliff a bit more and just dashing something off weekly.  This is a steep departure when previously I took a week or more to come up with what I hoped would be a really funny, entertaining essay (insert rim shot here.)  I’m a bit nervous about leaping weekly and discovering hard landings on a variety of criticisms. 

But lookee:  I notice as I write this, that I immediately leap toward receiving condemnation and not praise.  
So I guess I am paying attention to the feel-good book I’m perusing at lunchtime, which asks:  is my glass half empty, or half

My knee-jerk snarky comeback is “What’s in it?”  If it’s full of Pepto-Bismol – clearly the glass is half full if not completely overflowing.  Half full of chocolate milk or a Cosmo?  Decidedly half empty and soon to be drained.
Okay; stay with me here. 
Metaphorically speaking, we each have our very own glass.  And suppose, our glasses are pretty much half-filled with the same kinds of stuff: jobs, families, responsibilities, joyful times, mourning, winning lottery tickets, sunsets, etc.  
It's starting to seem to me, that the people who are generally happy don’t mind picking out a gnat or two from their glass, and
drinking from it anyway.  Then, there are the folks like me who go into a tailspin because there’s a bug in my wine; whining about my wine and eventually drinking it anyway but can’t help grexing that it doesn’t taste all that good because of the stupid gnat and
should I floss?
Back to your glass.  Not only is it half full of God-knows-what; do you even know what it’s made of?  Is it clear, where you can inspect everything easily before you sip (and remove the stupid bug)?  Or is it ceramic, with a chip? Or even a small, hairline crack that can never be quite repaired and consequently leaks so you find yourself needing to replenish your glass more often than your friends and neighbors?  And who out there has a cast iron glass – which seems to be astonishingly resilient to
any kinds of bumps and bangs?  And, more curiously, what about those people whose glasses have lids – and they never
seem to lose the contents of their glass no matter the ups and downs in the road?

Okay, now that we’ve all quenched our proverbial thirsts, let's have a go at something to eat, which brings me to today:  Fat Tuesday.  My husband and I did a quick odds and ends trip to the grocery store Sunday (cat households cannot run out of kitty litter – trust me) and we passed by a display table set up with boxes of something called, “King Cake.”  Cake is good, right? And if it’s the King of Cakes, even better?  Like Elvis, right?

We peer into the box and spy something resembling a large, flat football decorated by a stoned Keebler elf who dabbles in Easter icing for amusement.  Then, we read the warning/disclaimer on the side of the box: INEDIBLE OBJECT CONTAINED WITHIN. NOT FOR CHILDREN.  A cake not for children? What means this?  It then goes on to read that there is a small plastic baby doll “hidden” somewhere within the cake.   Apparently, whoever eats the cake and gets the doll, wins a prize.
Yes, they certainly do.  They win a full glass of Pepto-Bismol.

Like a lot of other folks, I've been hustling through the holidays and fighting off a cough.  So, munching on a lot of cough drops these days.

However, noticed the cough drop marketing gurus thought it a great idea to provide "a pep talk in every drop."  My wrappers throw out this advice:  Dust off and get up.  Be resilient.  Keep your chin up.  Put a little strut in it. Hi-five yourself.

This is pretty extreme advice for a cough, so I have to wonder:  did the manufacturer of my cough drops really think I'd become depressed or suicidal over a cold?  And, would these marketing tactics work better on other healthcare items, like say, a foot cast? Or crutches?

Ya gotta wonder...yeeshkabiddle. 

My Zimbio
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