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Archive for May, 2012

Domino’s pizza with gluten-free crust

I decided to give it a try last Sunday. I was aware of the fact that Domino’s wouldn’t be using procedures to prevent cross-contamination with wheat flour, but I thought that maybe it would be minimal enough that I could handle it.

As for the quality of the pizza itself, meh. It was passable, something that I could eat if offered, but seemed a bit overpriced for the size and quality. Basically, it’s something I could eat, but wouldn’t have any real hankering to go after.

But right now I can definitely say it’s no good for me insides either. The classic problem I’ve had from being gluten intolerant is it messes with how well my intestinal tract performs in the digestion and then production of bowel movements. Guess what? I’m constipated as hell this morning and have felt my colon doing its strange spasms that it used to do before I eliminated gluten from my diet. I absolutely hate this sensation and somewhat look forward to the eventual period of time when I go through the period of diarrhea to get everything thing out. Then hopefully my intestines will resume fairly quickly normal function.

So the Domino’s pizza with gluten-free crust has been a big failure for me. It wasn’t all that great tasting and now I’m dealing with my intestines feeling all out of whack. Oh well.

—-

3 years ago today, I walked up Mt. Mansfield in Vermont. That was a good and beautiful day. It got very windy later on in the day. I was about as happy as I ever knew, as maybe I’ll ever know. I felt strong and wanted. I was strong, both my arms worked well.

3 years later and I’ve become dilapidated. Sort of like a house with a side torn out and a tree fallen into it. I don’t know if I’m all that interested in the idea of fixing the house up. Oh well.

ugh

Unfortunately, it appears that some sort of predator found the nest overnight Sunday into Monday and took all the chicks. Damnit. I was worried some about that chance, the nest wasn’t in a high, hard to see location, and something found it.

It was very much a shock to go check it this morning. I was first thinking since I saw neither parent in or around the nest that they must be out hunting for food, then I got the unpleasant sight of emptiness in the nest. Just yesterday I had looked in at the young chicks who still couldn’t open their eyes, marveled at how they squirmed around some, maybe sleeping or maybe just waiting to hear their parents come back and feed them more food.

3 chicks

3 hungry mouths

On the second day, the last 2 eggs hatched and there were 4 chicks in the nest Wednesday evening, May 9th. But when I checked the nest Thursday morning, it looked like there were only 3 chicks. Checking the nest when I got home last evening, it was definitely only 3, 2 slightly larger than the third one. So my guess is that one of the last 2 eggs to hatch didn’t survive the time between Wednesday evening and Thursday morning.

The smaller one seemed to catch up some in how much it grew between last evening and this morning.

Last year, I only ever saw one robin doing the feeding. This year, I’ve gotten to see both robins. A couple of times one flies back in with food and another comes in behind, then flies out again seeing that the other parent is already there feeding the chicks. I think that last year the papa robin may have died and the mama robin had to do it all on her own. This year, she’s got help.

Hatchlings

Yesterday morning before work I checked the robin’s nest and there were 4 eggs still.

But when I got home —

2 hatched eggs

I got to see the robin feed the new hatchlings last evening.

This morning, I found another egg had hatched overnight —

3 hatchlings, 1 egg with a hole in it

Assuming that last egg is a good one, it looks like there will be 4 hatchlings this year. Last year, 1 of the 4 eggs was a dud.

—-

I had a dream a couple of weeks ago. I was walking through a farmland sort of area and entered a barn. The barn had a bookshop in it and there was a man going through the shelves of books. He pulled out a copy of The Triggering Town by Richard Hugo and I told him it was a must-buy if he wanted to fully become a poet. “It’s the best sort of manual you can get to learn how to write your poems,” I told him. Then I began thinking about what would I tell him if he were to ask me, “How do you know that? Do you write?” I felt awful at that because how can I say that I write when I can’t anymore. How can I say that I am empty and while I’ve always been a quiet person, now I am only silent, that I have no clue how to make words work, how to beat on them, how to carve on them, how to do anything with them. I can’t communicate really anymore, at any level.

Is this despair then? Is despair not anguish, but unremitting silence and inability to communicate? I don’t know anymore. Language is an awful and useless thing. We like to believe it leads to learning about one another. But I don’t know that, I don’t know that anymore and I will likely not know it.

All I know is the tight heavy weight that hangs in my chest.

better pic of the eggs

I took a better focused picture of the eggs yesterday evening.