Archives

Good Neighbors

May13

The lilacs keep on giving. I’m trying this simple recipe for lilac cordial. One cup of lilac blossoms, juice of one lemon, half a cup of honey, and a liter of distilled water, shaken daily for a week. I put it together last night. We’ll know more later.

I’m exploring with some friends if there’s a distinction between gratitude, and living gratefully. We met tonight to discuss that, among other things. It may be as simple as the difference between a noun and a verb, but it deserves some unpacking. One thing I was grateful for this morning was being able to call my good neighbors and ask 1) for an asparagus refill, and 2) to borrow their garage and tools so I could fix my car. Though probably any of my neighbors would help any other in a pinch, I’ve had unpleasant encounters with a couple of them recently. So I was doubly grateful that I could call and leave a message with those requests, and it was my lucky day. Mary called me back in three minutes, having just come in from collecting wild asparagus along the fenceline, and Fred was already moving his truck out of the shop.

Why I needed to fix my car is another story, but the under-bumper-guard was ripped off and dragging. Fred examined it first, but I wanted to fix it myself. The Trans Handy-Ma’am always says, “You’re worth the time it takes to learn a new skill.” And now that I can get down on the ground I want to do so at every opportunity. And, as I heard a drag queen say the other night, “Of all the opportunities I’ve had in my life, this one is by far the most recent.” So with Mary handing me bolts and Fred’s new socket set and Wren supervising, we got ‘er done: the car is now safe to drive to Phil’s for a professional opinion and long-term solution.

I returned home with a pound of fresh wild asparagus, blistered it some in olive oil, laid it gently over sliced cheddar in a warmed spinach tortilla, and drizzled it with my new secret sauce: mayo, Grey Poupon, and balsamic vinegar. Then I piled on some chopped romaine, and some heirloom arugula that’s colonized the flagstone patio, rolled it up, and toasted it.

Despite the wind, I enjoyed lunch on the patio with a new Kindle book, and then played ‘Wren catch’ with the crunchy asparagus and romaine ends. It really was my lucky day. Things didn’t go quite as planned, but under the circumstances they couldn’t have gone better. I’ve felt waves of warm fuzzies wash through me all day, for having good neighbors, good communities, and good conversations. As well as a good dog, and a promising science experiment in the windowsill.

(Click or double click to play video)

Choose Beauty

Mar18

How did I not notice this extraordinary pattern in Wren’s blue eye? This is one reason I love photography. I see better sometimes through a different lens. I can zoom in or out for a fresh perspective. My aging eyes can’t see this detail when she’s got her face in mine and we melt looking into each other. I’m grateful for this delightful surprise today.

I’ve looked back through images of her to see if this was just an artifact of the camera, or the light, or whether it’s been there all along—and it has! Even in one of first pictures I took of her (above) in May 2022 when I’d had her only a few weeks, you can see the starry darker blue in her iris, but not with the striking clarity of the new phone camera. I simply didn’t look closely enough back then.

Today was classic March in the mountains, windy, cold, with stinging snow flurries, and occasional fits of tepid sunshine. It was a great day to stay inside. Lunch was a grilled Havarti, mushroom, and shallot sandwich. On breaks I continued to puzzle in the sunshine. More about this one later, just a taste today.

I long for the halcyon days when there was nothing more urgent to do with my spare time than enjoy the beauty around me. The causes and conditions of this new era we’re in demand that we all participate in the fierce tapestry of resistance growing daily. I’m grateful to be among many who see clearly; and grateful for the many others who work to strengthen the warp and woof of the weave, the good lawyers and good politicians and good journalists who get paid to defend democracy. Our local Indivisible chapter met this afternoon on zoom and held the full range of each others emotions on this terrifying roller coaster.

Though tonight’s sunset was flat grey, last night’s was ethereally stunning. I’m grateful for a new tripod attachment that let me shoot some short timelapses, and anticipate much joy in coming months from acquiring this single implement. No matter what else you do, make time to do the things that bring you joy. Choose beauty wherever you can.

Puff Pastry

Feb1

Amy has been wanting to bake Kuign Amann for a couple of years, and I finally girded my loins and suggested we do it this weekend. I was daunted by the idea of making puff pastry. But the dough was super easy, and I mixed that last night, let it rise an hour in the house, then set it in the mudroom overnight to chill. It rose beautifully:

In my morning/her afternoon, we commenced the hard part. First we pounded eight ounces of cold butter. Mine came in two ounce blocks so I pounded each separately, then stacked them to pound the whole mass into a ‘rectangle’ roughly 6″x10″, which then went in the fridge; and in came the dough from the cold mudroom.

This got rolled to 12″x20″ and the chilled butter laid in the center. Then the folding began:

There followed several repetitions of rolling, folding, turning, and chilling, anticipation of which was part of what had daunted me. But my dough behaved so beautifully that it was a joy: I felt exhilarated each time the dough rolled out to the proper size with no butter ever escaping. After the first four fold&rolls, it was time to dump sugar over the whole thing:

… and then another fold and roll and more sugar. I was grateful to have a little self-propelled vacuum/mop underfoot the whole day.

We went off and on zoom several times, each ate lunch at an appropriate break, and came back for the final roll, cut, shape, and bake.

I was positively ecstatic to see gorgeous layers as I stuffed the pastries into the muffin tin. Doing something new, challenging, fun, and meaningful was the perfect antidote to the somber start of my day. Not only is there difficult personal suffering going on for several friends for which I’m feeling great compassion, but I listened to the very sane voice of R. Hubbell first in his morning newsletter and then in a weekly livestream. He discussed the insidiously unfolding coup that is gathering steam as the regime initiates full-on purges of government employees, deploys censorship and blackouts that will hamstring dozens of public agencies on which citizens’ health and security depend, and launches all-out attacks on LGBTQ+ Americans. For starters.

We didn’t talk much about the coup. It’s hard to face the truth of it. I’m grateful there are people who get paid to make sense of what’s happening in the government. But even I can see with the evidence of my own eyes and ears that this isn’t “politics as usual,” this is an attempt by a few white male billionaires and their minions to force the country into their vision of a totalitarian white male so-called Christian dystopia. Hubbell is very confident that they won’t succeed, because Americans won’t stand for it once they realize what the real-time effects are on their real lives; and I agree with him. Instead, we talked about pastry, family, friends, mindfulness, values, integrity, and making meaningful choices in even the simplest situations in this one precious day that will never come again.

We agreed that making Kuign Amann wasn’t all that hard after all, it just took time. The making was easy and fun: the baking was another story for me. Hers turned out perfectly. More than six thousand feet higher than her oven, my oven didn’t turn out the best pastries. I could hear Paul Hollywood’s voice in my head saying as he turned one over, “You’ve lost the layers, aven’t you?” and Prue saying “It’s a bit stodgy,” and then both of them muttering “Soggy bottom…” Next time, I’ll use a little less butter, a lot less sugar, and bake at a higher temperature. Or maybe I’ll research “high altitude puff pastry adaptations.” I did use 25 percent less yeast in the dough, but didn’t look beyond that. Having learned from experience and accepted the result, next time I’ll do the right thing. We can all do that: learn from experience, accept the situation, and then do the next right thing.

Bagel Molds

Jul10

Bagel molds: another ‘right tool for the job.’ Bagels can be daunting to bake. I’ve tried once before, with these very molds, but used a recipe that skipped the boiling water bath step, and they were like bland round bread. For these bagels, my second attempt, I used an actual King Arthur bagel recipe, though I took a different shortcut and ended up with dough that was way too wet and also over-mixed. Still, not bad. Less daunting each time. Learning courage and perseverance in the kitchen.

They’re a little cakey in texture, not quite chewy enough, but … good enough. I’m grateful for letting go of perfectionism in the kitchen, and in the rest of my life, and allowing good enough to suffice. Spread with cream cheese, decorated with thinly sliced red onion, olive rounds, and some fresh rosemary leaves, I got almost the taste I was looking for after a conversation about bagels over the weekend sparked a craving.

The Colonel taught me to like bagels with cream cheese, lox, and capers, and I learned on my own to like the red onion as well. But I forgot to order lox from my personal shopper this week, so I made do with olives. And there’s no point in buying capers, I use a couple of tablespoons and then they sit in the fridge for too long and end up in the compost. The plan for the next batch of bagels includes lox, and a cream cheese and olive spread. And of course, red onions. As I was adding the pictures to this post, I noticed a new option on WordPress, to “Generate with AI” so I tried it out. I described the image I wanted: toasted bagel with cream cheese, lox, red onion, and capers.

This is the result of the AI bagel image request: kind of creepy, kind of hilarious.

Above, this morning’s breakfast on the patio, ‘a scone with raspberries on top and a cup of coffee.’ Below, the AI version of that: better than the bagel picture! Indulge me. I’m experimenting with technology, as if a high quality camera in a phone that fits in my pocket isn’t enough.

AI didn’t do too badly with ‘fried squash blossoms stuffed with Brie,’ which is what I enjoyed for an evening snack, but I’ll leave my own photo uncontested on this one. I did try one more, ‘dog licking my face,’ but the result was too creepy to share. I’m grateful for all the dainty little kisses Wren has given me today, for the variety of good food I’ve prepared, for having energy to clean up most of the kitchen afterward, for getting to teach a new cohort the first session of the mindfulness foundations course, for practicing awareness of afflictive thoughts and emotions during the day and doing my best to transform them into a more healthy attitude, for noticing and savoring moments of joy and connection, and above all for waking up alive with another summer day ahead of me.

Right Tools for the Job: Garden Gate Edition

Apr30

The tiny blueberry bush arrived from Territorial Seeds yesterday. It was bare rootball in a plastic sleeve, and it needs to harden off a few days to acclimate to sun and temperatures before I can plant it in its prepared container, so I put it in a clean clay pot and tamped in its special soil around the edges. I’ll keep it moving in and outside til after the next cold snap later this week, at least. Look at those tiny white bell flowers! I’ve never seen a blueberry plant before, so I was delightfully surprised by the flowers. And tiny germinal blueberries, too! But after its portrait, I snipped off all the flowers and budding berries, as recommended, in order to encourage strong root growth its first year.

I’m grateful for the gorgeous trees blossoming sequentially through this past month, and thrilled to see the crabapple so lush with flowers and buds.

I’m grateful for the right tools for the job, and for these great hinges from Lee Valley. I made a couple of small mistakes, but got the worst-sagging half of the gate hung this afternoon. I’m grateful for a socket set, a wood-bit set, a yardstick, a Makita screwgun, and the little string level I bought almost thirty years ago and used a lot while building my house. It was my ingenious trick to keep the drill bit level as I drilled through the juniper gateposts for the hinge bolts. It set perfectly on top of the bit shank with the rounded legs and I held it steady as I drilled: the bubble shimmied like a belly dancer but stayed between the lines, and when the bit was in deep enough I set the level aside.

I’m grateful for my father teaching me a thing or two about tools when I was a child. I am always grateful for this whenever I open my tool box, but especially so when I undertake a project that uses more than a hammer, wrench, or screwdriver. I’m grateful he taught me his cardinal rule of ‘the right tool for the job,’ and how to measure, and so much more, and I’m grateful that I can remember him with love and gratitude when I think of him in his workshop in the basement, where I would often sit and watch and help and learn.

A Quiet Week

Mar24

It’s been a quiet week at Mirador, though one of endless interest and rich experience. It’s been a balancing act to hold all the simple fullness of every day at the same time as fatigue, both physical and emotional. But we’re up to the challenge! There’s been enough in my energy budget every day (except Friday) to get some fulfilling work done, enjoy the forest and the yarden, and share meaningful connection with friends and neighbors.

Wren always has plenty of energy. It’s a joy to wake to her enthusiasm for each day, and participate in her boundless curiosity. We enjoyed our first walk to the rim in a long time, appreciating the ice, a vivid young piñon sprout, and the first burst of Indian Paintbrush from the desert soil.

In the garden proper, at least a few rows of greens are thriving, though whether the carrots and beets will sprout remains to be seen. I’m grateful for the success of this experimental New Year’s planting, and gradually exposing the greens to unfiltered sunlight and precipitation, while still pulling their blanket over them most nights. This afternoon a couple of slow, melting inches of snow fell, enough to give them good moisture before I covered them in anticipation of a cold overnight. The hardy tulips are thriving.

We were able to enjoy a few nice meditations outside, with the cheerful songs of house finches, and inquisitive squawks and chips of northern flickers and mountain bluebirds. There’s a sense of sadness and loss, as I realize that bird songs are fewer than they used to be; and a sense of longing to be where there are more birds both in number and diversity.

I’m grateful for another successful loaf of bread, which I was able to share with a friend passing through town. In this loaf I mixed some dried tarragon, which gives it just a hint of herbal flavor. Above, after the overnight rise, silky and malleable…

… until the third fold out of the bowl, when the dough strengthens enough to resist the pull of hands, and shapes into a firm ball after the fourth fold. Ninety minutes later, it’s increased in size and smoothed its surface, all through the alchemy of microorganisms.

After the first twenty minutes in the Dutch oven at 450℉, I removed the lid to allow for continued expansion, resulting in another gorgeous loaf. Life’s simple pleasures. Throughout the week, the awareness of mortality has been front and center, as I taught a unit on Identity and Transformation, shared in gratitude for our friend’s miraculous survival, reckoned with my own attitude toward my body, and heard from cousins about their mother’s interment at Arlington National Cemetery. I was especially grateful during our monthly zoom this afternoon to learn more about my maternal grandfather, who was persona non grata as I grew up. I knew only two things about him: he was a dangerous drunk, and my mother was terrified of him. Her brother’s children were raised with a lot more information, which they shared with her sister’s daughter and me this afternoon; the first time either of us had heard more than a few words about him. Our grandmother never spoke of him to us, nor did our mothers.

Our male cousins were able to shed a new perspective on the silence. They had been raised to respect him, by hearing about his military accomplishments; and they knew some horrific things that befell him during World War I, which opened my heart with compassion in retrospect. How wonderful to receive this gift of perspective and some healing of generational trauma. Yes, he was scary and drunken as our mothers grew up; and though his wife loved him, she divorced him to protect the family. He suffered from PTSD long before it was named, back when it was called shellshocked. We learned today that not only had he been gassed, he’d been left for dead in a pile of bodies. When they went to move his corpse, he groaned, and was taken for medical attention. They had already cut his initials into his big toe to identify the body. Jesus. What we’re capable of, then and now. Not that much has changed in human aggression, except for scale and technology. I’m grateful for every peaceful day in my life, for every quiet week.

Taking Rest

Mar18

Baking bread used to be a special occasion; now it’s become a weekly routine, and one that I remain exceptionally grateful for. Proof that when you do something often enough it becomes a habit. I’ve settled on a ratio of three-quarters regular flour (King Arthur) and one-quarter hearty flour, in this week’s loaf the Rouge de Bordeaux, described as a “19th Century bread flour” in the class of ‘hard red winter wheats.’ Now we both know.

I’m grateful for the little wonder tomato in the sunroom, whose vines are putting on new green growth, new flowers, and new fruits. I used one in lunch the day the bread baked, slicing the heel and one slice while it was still warm, and slicing one small tomato still warm from the sun. I wanted to savor the tomato, so it got its own piece of bread with simply mayo and a sprinkle of salt; the heel I spread with fromage fort. What a simple, quick lunch, and so delicious.

A lot more things than simple, delicious lunches have been happening here over the past week. I’m working extra hours for a couple of months creating lesson plans for a new course I’m halfway through teaching. I’m so grateful for the students who are so enthusiastically participating in this offering. We’re all learning a lot, and enjoying the journey. And at the end of most days, I’m exhausted, so I go to bed without opening the computer again. I’m grateful for the inquiries from faithful readers who are concerned about me. So far, nothing to worry about; just taking rest as needed.

I’m also grateful that the friend who had a heart attack last week is recuperating at home now, with enormous gratitude of his own at his miraculous survival. “You just never know,” he told me today. Indeed. And what a potent reminder this incident was. Death or near-death always jolts us into a heightened awareness for awhile. I’m aware of all the stuff I’d like to get rid of before I die, and all the things I’d like to accomplish, and the loose ends of end-of-life paperwork I have yet to tie up; I’m more keenly aware of the love I haven’t expressed, the amends unmade, the kindness I get to show to anyone, anywhere, anytime. And so much more. I bump up against a little edge of anxiety about it sometimes.

Fish, fish paste, and mirepoix mixed in the bowl before adding eggs and breadcrumbs.

But then I walk the little dog and the big cat up the driveway or through the woods, listen to the house finches warble in the treetops, watch the little green sprouts grow in the garden, gaze up at the bright stars on a clear night, and everything feels all right: in this moment, all is well. This “ever changing present moment,” as someone mentioned in Telesangha this morning. Letting go of what I can’t control, and making the best of what I can. And that includes the ritual of lunch. Another healthy habit that used to be hit or miss for me, and now is an anchor in my day. Today I made pan-fried fishcakes, with some wild-caught cod I had in the freezer. I learned a new word, mirepoix, which is a mix of sautéed vegetables used in a sauce. In this case, the mirepoix of finely diced onion, carrot, and celery was added to finely chopped fish and a fish paste made by blitzing some of the diced fish with heavy cream in the food processor.

Eggs and breadcrumbs are added, and the mixture formed into patties, then dredged in flour, egg, and more breadcrumbs before getting fried. I had enough egg beaten to cover eight small circular patties, which had to chill for at least twenty minutes before frying. I let them chill away all afternoon, and used some of the mixture that was left to shape a custom fishcake for my sandwich, and fried that right away.

Mayo, mustard, fish cake, lettuce, and another precious tomato made for another simple, special lunch.

Taking a break from the computer and the kitchen, I spent another outside unit sanding and oiling the handle of a garden hoe I had decided would be the right tool for a particular job of spring cleanup. I was grateful to find a file I hadn’t used in twenty years right where I had left it; and grateful I had ordered axe oil last summer and knew where that was. And even though I couldn’t find my set of three smaller files, I did find the spare fine one, so I was able to get a reasonable edge on the rusted blade. I’m grateful I made it through this precious day that will never come again without sleeping away some of its fleeting hours.

Practice Makes Perfect

Feb13
Look, Ma! No Cheese! I’ve been approaching Dairy Overload this past week, so was grateful to have a bunch of goodies to make a delicious salad for lunch, even without cheese. And the dressing was mostly walnut oil and vinegar, I just made it in an ’empty’ mayonnaise jar to use up the last tablespoon I couldn’t scrape out.

I made apple cider cinnamon rolls again, this time determined to do everything exactly according to the recipe. I started the dough Sunday night, left it in the mudroom overnight, and was delighted to see it so beautifully risen in the morning. I remembered to bring it inside as soon as I got up, and set the bowl across from the fire to help it come to room temperature more quickly. It rolled easier this time, and I brushed the melted butter on the dough as prescribed instead of mixing it with the filling.

It made a perfect log that turned out just about the diameter of the rolling pin. I sliced that in half, then quarters, and each quarter into thirds…
…making twelve nearly perfectly even rings.
These rose for an hour until doubled, more or less…

And this time they baked perfectly all the way through. Then I made the glaze exactly according to directions, cooking one-half cup apple cider with a pinch of salt down to exactly a quarter cup, and mixing in cream cheese and butter. It turned out perfectly. And once the rolls had cooled for five minutes, I spread a very thin layer of glaze over, and let them cool an additional twenty minutes before spreading the rest of the glaze. I’m not sure why this extra step, but I’m not going to argue with it: I can imagine some magical alchemy of the thin layer melting into the hot rolls and creating a protective film or something.

The looked absolutely perfect. I could hardly wait for them to cool enough to try one. And when I did, it tasted like something was missing. It was delicious, but there was just a little something something not quite right… a few hours later it hit me: I forgot the nutmeg! The filling mix, mostly brown sugar, also calls for cinnamon, ground ginger, nutmeg, and a pinch of ground cloves. I had lined up the spices from the baking drawer, but forgot to set out the nutmeg grinder from the countertop turntable. I’ve never been a huge nutmeg fan, but I can see that even a quarter teaspoon can add that extra little pop in a cinnamon roll. Oh well! Practice makes perfect.

Awareness

Feb2

Out of bread yesterday, at a loss for lunch, I cooked up some quick cheesy grits, sautéed the last mushrooms, and fried an egg. So simple, so delicious.

Morning dough after chilling overnight in the mudroom, doubled in size.

Later in the day I mixed the dough for apple cider cinnamon rolls, which had to chill overnight. It’s a yeasted dough, and was remarkable to work with. I could really see how gluten works. From a sticky, sloppy glop that I dropped in the greased bowl, it turned into a dough so strong that it was challenging to roll it thin enough. Four times last night I did the fold-and-turn dough building maneuver, scooping a damp hand under the dough from behind, stretching it up, and folding it toward the front, six or eight times, turning the bowl with each fold. By the end of the first set, it was already a little stronger; by the end of the fourth set, it was a smooth, firm dough. Overnight in the mudroom it doubled in size.

In the morning, I floured a board, kneaded the soft morning dough about ten times, and feeling its resistance strengthen with each knead until it was stiff and solid: all this change from sloppy to solid only from the alchemy of stretching the gluten fibers in the flour. The dough brick sat covered for an hour to come to room temperature, and I could only roll it half the specified size; it was still too cold and needed to warm and loosen a bit longer.

Another hour and I was able to roll it, just barely, into a 12″x16″ rectangle. I then spread the filling all over it, and rolled it tightly into a log, cut it into twelve more-or-less-equal slices, and set them into the baking dish, where they rested and rose for another hour or so before going in the oven.

I would definitely not win a bake-off: they’re not remotely uniform in size and shape except insofar as they’re all sort of square. And then I messed up the frosting. I mixed all the ingredients together without reading the directions, which called for the apple cider to be boiled down to half as much, before mixing with the other ingredients in a certain order. Oh well! I veered from a frosting to a glaze, and somehow after I applied the glaze, one of the rolls quickly disappeared.

I wanted some friends to have half, so I plated those immediately, lest one of theirs also disappear, and set them into the mudroom until we could work out a pickup or delivery. After class, just before dark, I checked the weather forecast, and decided they needed to have them right away. The snowstorm looked to be gathering strength to reach its height tomorrow morning, just when we’d all want to stay tucked in with hot coffee or tea and fresh cinnamon rolls. So Wren and I set out in a light drizzle to drive the seven miles to deliver.

We got half a mile uphill and it was snowing hard. Winding through low visibility for a mile, we then dropped downhill to the reservoir, where the snow turned to a light wintry mix. Across the valley the drizzly mix continued. It was a joy to approach their warmly lit house, and see the pleasure on their faces as they received the rolls. On the way home I chose a different route, on the chance that sticking to a slightly lower elevation would keep me out of blinding snow. The slightest difference in geography did make for a much easier drive home. I was grateful to have that fine awareness of my surroundings that allowed me to make a wise choice. It was barely drizzling in town, and as I dropped into the canyon the precipitation stopped completely until after we arrived home from our little jaunt.

And then we all tucked in cozy before the fire as the snow began in earnest outside. I’m grateful for another day alive, another day of awareness and meaningful activity.

Self-Care Sunday

Jan14

I slept late, cozy in bed with six inches of fresh snowfall outside. Self-care Sunday started with a failed latté experiment that caused no harm. I wondered if the foam would be thick enough to float a maple sugar candy even for a second, but no, it dropped right to the bottom of the mug. Oh well!

After coffee and getting a fire going, I meditated for twenty minutes. Then I listened to a dharma talk while I shaped and baked a loaf of sourdough. I was grateful for the long, slow, quiet morning that stretched into afternoon, and for all the causes and conditions in my life preceding today that enabled me to enjoy a lazy morning. I took a few leisurely phone calls, met with cousins on zoom, meditated again, and finally started those orange sweet rolls I’ve been planning to bake. After the dough rose it was time for a zoom cocktail with Kathleen, so I made a Salty Dog with one of the Christmas grapefruit she sent me from her tree, and finished up the rolls.

I was a little disappointed in the sweet rolls, and don’t recall where I got the recipe anyway. They’re tasty enough, but either my yeast was old, or it was too cold for proper rising, or who knows, operator error of some sort. Most of the filling ended up crusted on top of the pan or stuck in the muffin cups, and the pastry wasn’t exceptional. Oh, I’ll eat them anyway, and give some away, they aren’t bad: just not up to my usual standards. I’m grateful for humility. And I’m grateful for Self-care Sunday, a day when I consciously give myself permission to be lazy, and rest, and breathe through the day with no pressure or recrimination even when I fail to accomplish the self-care goals I set.

Kathleen is my go-to animal person. She’s just about to retire from a career in one of the best little zoos in the country, doing the job of two regular humans. So when she told me how to safely dispose of outdated medication, I did what she said. These pills are over a decade old, an acetaminophen-oxycodone combo that had been in my travel first aid kit forever. I pulled them out last week when my back hurt so badly I needed something stronger than Ibuprofen, and took just one. It dulled the pain for a little while, but also made me queasy as opioids tend to do–I’m grateful for that, I could never get addicted to them–and I told her I was gonna pitch them.

“Put them in with your old coffee grounds when you throw them in the garbage,” she said. Horrors! I never throw coffee grounds in the garbage, they’re essential to my garden compost! “If any animals get in your trash they won’t accidentally ingest the pills because they’ll stay away from the coffee grounds.” Okay, she won with that, and I sacrificed today’s coffee grounds. Now I know how to safely dispose of outdated medication so it doesn’t pose a danger to other creatures. And now you do, too. I’m grateful for learning something new.