"Like S**t Through a Goose...or 'I have to go potty'.

Do not read this post if you are easily grossed out.  Because if you are, this might stick in your head for awhile.

So, I never really thought much about 'poop' before.  I mean, everyone does it, but how many of us consciously worry about pooping?

And then I started taking care of my mother.  Part of her dementia includes having to sit on the commode 57 times in an hour.  She doesn't actually have to go, but her brain tells her she does.  This can be particularly embarrassing in when standing in the grocery line.  You see, telling her that she actually doesn't have to go, doesn't pacify her.  She simply repeats 'I have to go potty' at increasing increments and louder volumes every 15 seconds.

On the brights side, some sweet soul will almost always let me move up to the front of the line.

Because we can't fit the wheelchair into the bathroom, I've set up a commode in the living room.  (No, not the dining room.  We do try to keep the fecal-oral pathway to a minimum.)  Now I can only lift my mother about 7 times a day.  That's about all my arms can take.  This is at odds with her 432 requests to get on it every day.  The worst part is once I get her on it, she doesn't actually have to go.  So after 15 seconds, she wants back in her wheelchair.  And once she's in her wheelchair, it's about another 45 seconds till she's yelling that she has to go potty again.

But the problem was, as many times as she sat on the 'pot' she wasn't poopin'.  Which, if you've ever been constipated, you understand.

Now her constant  litany increased to two statements.  'I have to go potty' and 'I have a tummy ache'.  Well, yes Mom.  I bet you do.  It'd rather be like having rocks rolling around in your gut.

Part of the problem is that she no longer can do an 'abdominal press'.  Yes, those are some of the muscles that your body uses to expel waste.  She also doesn't get exercise and her diet is made of soft foods.  Although I've tried to include some fiber heavy power hitters, like oatmeal and blenderized fresh fruit, it just wasn't doing the trick.

After 7 days I took her to the Doctor.  He gave her laxatives.  I gave her Senna tea.  I gave her prunes.  I gave her figs.

And still nothing.

Finally, last weekend, when I lifted her off the commode, I could see 'it'.  A massive piece of stool, blocking the way.

And I knew what I had to do.

I donned rubber gloves, swabbed liberally with baby oil and proceeded to dig 'it' out,  one tiny fragment at a time.

Oddly she didn't complain.  I would have been screaming my head off had it been me.

But gradually, chipping away, bit by bit, the big hard mass came out.

Of course, it was followed by a deluge of, well, you know what.

I will never again question the old saw 'like s#*t through a goose'.

So, that's it.  I'm hoping the problem is solved.  She seems more comfortable, even though she still yells 'I have to go potty' every 5 minutes.

I feel better about making her more comfortable.

I don't know why I'm sharing this.  I know not everyone takes care of their mother in her final times.  But if you do decide to, know that's not a bed of roses.  And you will undoubtedly do some things that you never, ever imagined yourself doing.

Wild Tea

I have a problem with some herbal teas.

They just don't have much flavor.  I have to mix them with other more flavorful teas to really enjoy them.

See, the art of having a cup of tea is therapy in itself.  It's calming.  It's relaxing.  It lets you stop for a moment and think.  Often it is at these relaxed times that great ideas wander into my brain, exactly when I am not thinking about them.

But it's hard to have a good 'cuppa' when the tea has little color and even less flavor.  What's the point?

I have never satisfactorily solved this problem, until now.

Years ago, I was reading Euell Gibbons and he mentioned accidently fermenting a pitcher of mint tea.  It was that fermentation process that changed the tea from a barely noticeable mint flavor to a 'wowie-zowie' flavor.  I tried it a couple of times, but have never been able to actually drink the result.  I just couldn't get over the idea of drinking water that leaves were rotting in.

Move ahead to a few months ago, when reading Henriette K. new book and she mentions that she ferments the leaves only.

Hmmmmm.

Real tea  is made from the leaves of Camelia sinensis plant.  Green tea is unfermented leaves, Oolong tea is made from leaves that have been fermented a short time and black tea are leaves that are fully fermented.

I tried Henriette's method which involves bruising the leaves, placing them in a jar with the lid loosely attached and held at 118 degrees for 24 hours on top of the dehydrator.  I used blackberry leaves.

Henriette's recipe gives a tea with more color than plain unfermented leaves, but the flavor was still bland.  I just wasn't satisfied.  I wanted a dark, rich cup of tea.

I used my handy-dandy pasta machine (that I got for a buck at a garage sale), cut the blackberry leaves into long, thin strands with the 'cutting' side, then put the leaves through the 'roller' side (twice) to bruise them.  I filled a mason jar about half full (leave room for shaking), screwed the cap on tight and put them in my dehydrator.  (OK, confession time.  My 'dehydrator' is a broken down 1985 Jeep Cherokee that's been sitting in the front yard for years.  I outfitted it with solar fans for air movement.  OK.  Now my red-necked secret is out.)  I put the jar under a seat, out of direct sun.  I shook the jar twice each day to redistribute the moisture from the juices.  I didn't want the moisture to pool up on the glass and mold.  After three days, I removed the leaves and dried them as usual.

And here's the final results.  The top cup of tea is simply dried blackberry tea.  The second brew is more like an oolong tea, of medium body and color.   This tea was fermented 24 hours.  The bottom cup is a full 3-day ferment, and loaded with a beautiful color and flavor.

Alas, the technique doesn't work for all teas.  It didn't seem to make a difference with sage or Tulsi basil.  But pretty much anything in the rose and mint families will have make a delightful, delicious cup of tea.  Actually, people that normally don't like herbal teas are comfortable with this one because it has the appearance and taste of traditional teas.

My next step will be to try smoking (in a smoker, like a ham, not like a cigarette), because I've had smoked teas made from C. sinensis, and they are wonderful.  And there is another type of tea called Pu'er that undergoes a double fermentation process.  Might have to give that one a go, as well. (In my spare time of course.  I think I can use those 10 minutes that I normally reserve for brushing my teeth...)

I've been playing with lacto-fermentation.  

I have to say that the experiment has been  fun.   In fact, it's less an 'experiment' these days, and more a full-blown hobby.  I was a little intimidated at first.  I'd always heard stories of exploding bottles and flying glass, but I reigned in those fears and in the process learned to make a really yummy soda.

When I first heard the term 'lacto-fermented' I was a little suspicious.  Honestly, I'm not a fan of foods like sauerkraut or kimchi, which also use the technique.   However, my father used to make sour pickles in big stone crocks down in the cellar and I liked those.  So, I gave it a shot.

Lacto-fermentation occurs when friendly bacteria change the sugars and starches that are present in fruit and vegetables into lactic acid. The end product can be sour, spicy, tangy or sweet-tart like the strawberry soda pictured above.  But here's the best part:  You're drinking soda that is a living food, full of enzymes and probiotics.   It's good for you!

On page 89 of 'Nourishing Traditions', Sally Fallon says:

"The proliferation of lactobaccili in fermented vegetables enhances their digestibility and increases vitamin levels. These beneficial organisms produce numerous helpful enzymes as well as antibiotic and anti-carcinogenic substances. Their main by-product, lactic acid, not only keeps vegetables and fruits in a perfect state of preservation but also promotes the growth of healthy flora through out the intestine. 

I started off by watching a few youtube videos, then stopped  by Weston Price's pages on the process.  They were pretty much identical.  I checked a few more blogs and then dove in.  

I found out that I didn't need a lot of equipment.  Actually all I needed was a gallon  jar and some bottles and that was it.  That was  the real clincher for me to try it.  I like kitchen experiments  that don't require a lot of 'stuff'.  I don't want to invest a lot of ,money into equipment that I won't use again, if I don't like the final product.


I'm not going to go into it step by step.  There are tons of sites with the directions.  I started with a ginger bug (the 'mother'), then added fruit syrup, fermented it a few days and bottled it.  It was easy and fun.  And delicious.  After a few more flavors, I branched out and started making 'bugs' from other roots (some were more successful than others).  The flavors possibilities are endless (I'm brewing up a rhubarb-ginger  flavor right now).  And you don't have to worry that you're letting your kids drink something with a ton of processed sugar in it.  


It's actually healthy!

A glimpse of morning

I never knew the difference between Dementia and Sundowner's Syndrome.  And even if I did, I would have thought 'Sundowners' started at sundown.

Boy, did I have that wrong.

My mother greets me every morning with a joyous 'Good Morning!'.  It is genuine and she is happy and that makes me happy.

I change her diaper and lift her out of bed.

She begins asking about 'cafe au lait'.  I give her a cup (which is actually coffee flavored 'Insure').

I usually feed my mother her meals.  My husband was injured in Iraq when an IED hit his vehicle.  Because of his injuries, repetitive fine motor movement is difficult.  Holding the spoon hurts his hands. I don't mind.  I enjoy it.   There is something about feeding another human being that is nourishing to both parties.  I can look at her and she focuses on me.  That doesn't happen very often.

I fix her breakfast.  Today it was oatmeal with a fresh peach off the tree mashed in.

I struggle with keeping my mothers weight on.  Most of her calories are consumed at breakfast.  Once the Sundowners kicks in, she won't eat. A glass of prune juice, more Insure, pudding, bananas, whatever I can get in to her during this brief period that will increase her daily calorie count.

It's a race.

We talk about the peaches in her oatmeal.  I ask her if she remembers when my father planted the trees so very long ago.  She remembers, but doesn't really remember when.  She has forgotten my name so she just calls my 'pretty lady'.

And then, at 11:55 am, she is gone.  She begins to shout.  Mostly in French.  She yells at dead people.  She yells at me.  Her eyes grow dark.

And I know that my time with her is over and someone else has moved in.

I meant to get up early to pick blackberries, but something, probably a bobcat and hopefully not a mountain lion, was after the geese last night, so the priorities changed a bit.  Sleep before berries.

The annual summertime war with the kitchen-ants has begun.  Pies, sugar, honey, jelly, cobblers.  I would want to live here too if I were an ant.  I don't like to use poisons because of the pets, so I deal with the ants manually.  I had to throw out a box of powdered sugar this morning, but it was my fault for being sloppy.  I get hurried and forget to screw tops down tight some days.  Ah, well.  I can live with the loss of one box of sugar.

As far as the restaurant goes, I'm still waiting to open.  It sure seems like I spend a whole lot of time 'waiting' these days.  I'm waiting for the parts to come in for the prep bar.  I still have to scrub the floors and hang the menu black board.  And get the final inspection from the county.

One thing at a time, I guess.

A Bedtime Story

In addition to the farm and the herb shop, I take care of my Mom.  She has dementia, Sundowner's Syndrome and a half dozen other conditions that I don't fully understand.

But I do my best.

I brought her home from the nursing home because she didn't seem very happy there.  There were wonderful people, but treated the patient, not the person.  The person is my Mother.

It hasn't been easy.  I actually thought she would be happier to be home.  But it doesn't really seem to matter to her.

Some days are better than others.

She asked me to tell her a story yesterday.  Here it is:

Once upon a time there was a little girl named 'Edith'.  One day Edith went to the beach and she played in the sun, she played in the water and she played in the wind.  She played and she played and she played.  And then she was very tired so she went home to sleep.

The End

My mother liked the story.  I cried.