Absolute greenest, easiest, fool-proof, and pain-free method of cooking an acorn squash

I discovered this by accident and would recommend to anyone.

All you need is an acorn squash small enough to fit inside your crock pot, or, rather, a crock pot large enough to accommodate an acorn squash. The smallest size crock pot will likely be too small, but nowadays they make them plenty big. Acorn squash is dark green and has ridges.

Remove the supermarket label, if there is one. If there’s a stem, remove that, too. Just snap it off. Turn the acorn squash upside-down, that is, stem side down. With a knife, poke some holes near what is now the top.

Place the acorn squash inside your crock pot. Fill with water alongside the squash but don’t fill all the way up. Plug in your crock pot and turn on to the high setting. Now, you might as well forget it is there. I did!

About an hour later or maybe two, your squash is all done! Remove with wooden spoons and be very careful. Or use an oven mitt. Place on a cutting board and cut in half. Don’t burn yourself in the process. Scoop out the seeds. You’re done.

On the Street Where I Lived

I grew up in Lexington, Massachusetts, in a large “Bungalow”-style house (so my mom called it) at 25 Bridge Street. When we purchased it around 1961, I was only a wee toddler and my new baby brother was barely born. The house was old a run-down, but my dad said he could fix it up. The front porch had these beat-up screens in it. He took them out and rebuilt the porch, expanding our living room so now, we had a smaller porch and no more yucky screens. He replaced all the windows in the house and put in a large attic fan. We never needed air conditioning.

The house was brown when we purchased it, but he had it painted brick red. At first, my brother and I shared a room but then, Dad rebuilt the attic. Now, my brother and i had our own rooms. Mom had a new baby so now, I had two kid brothers. The new baby, when he was old enough, had his own bedroom downstairs. My parents had their bedroom downstairs, too. That’s where we also had our TV. The kitchen was in the back. Behind everything was an enclosed back porch. it wasn’t really a porch, just a long room that wasn’t insulated. It could get hot out there in summer.

The living room, since it had been expanded, accommodated our grand piano. Yes, it was grand. I hear it was a gift from my mom’s parents, but I’m not really sure. I believe it was a three-quarters grand. We had a second piano which my parents had purchased for themselves when they got married. This was an upright piano that they kept in the basement. Our basement wasn’t all drippy the way some tend to be. I enjoyed playing both pianos whenever I wanted, but not both at once.

Our yard was slanted, that is, on a hill, so if you rolled a ball down it, that ball might just keep on rolling and rolling into the woods beyond. Then, of course, we kids had a lot of trouble finding it. The yard was an entire one-third of an acre. I asked my dad what an acre was and he said it was a measurement, just like something you might measure with a ruler, only it was a measurement of area of land. He said such measurements were done usually to figure out the land’s value or to calculate what to farm on the land. Many times I watched Dad mow the lawn and I wondered about the big lawn mower he pushed around.

Dad had an office upstairs, and there, he and my mom both had large, professional-looking desks. I remember Dad’s desk well. He had all kinds of slide rules, protractors, measuring tools, rulers, precision pencils, and erasers. Some of these tools were the coolest-looking things, but honestly I had no clue what they were for. Both Mom and Dad had real ink blotters on their desks.  Mom was the only mom on the block who had her own typewriter, and I swear she could type as fast as any secretary you’ve ever met.  Wanna bet? They kept a phone up there, too, on Dad’s desk. We kids finally convinced them to replace the rotary phones with push-button ones. I think I was in high school then.

Their office was L-shaped. Guess what was off to the side of the L? On the floor we had these sheepskin rugs. Yes, I did play with that rug. I admit I think I pulled out the hairs in secret, but don’t tell anyone. I’m sure Mom was furious. We had two complete sets of Encyclopedia Britanica, thanks to a sweet-talking sales dude who showed up at house and convinced Mom that we really did need both the regular and junior versions. I think it was another door-to-door guy who sold my mom our vacuum. That vacuum must have lasted a good 20 years, not bad considering the amount of dog hair it picked up.

Yes, we did have a dog. Of course! No home is complete without one. Joffa dug holes in the yard, making dad frustrated of course. We tried all the tricks but Joffa outsmarted us. I was secretly proud of her. I think all of us were, even Dad.

In our den we had a real fireplace. Dad said when you make a fire in it you had to “prime” the chimney. He did that with a “Lincoln log.” That was nothing but rolled up newspaper that he lit with a match and stuck up the chimney for a bit. He said there was a science behind it. Dad was very scientifically-minded, but somehow, Mom was wiser because she was a dancer. She had eyes in the back of her head, she said. When you think about it, and not too hard, you’ll understand.

In summer we enjoyed playing croquet and badminton in our yard. We invited the other kids in the neighborhood to join us. Sometimes we had cookouts, too. My mom made Kool aid and gave it to everyone. I loved doing somersaults and handstands, and goofing off all summer long.

My parents took us kids to the mountains in nearby New Hampshire and Vermont on weekends. We enjoyed hiking up the mountains and looking out at the view. My parents taught me to carry a backpack and put all my things in it. My mom said it was an efficient way to transport my belongings.

Today I am on the verge of my 59th birthday. I took a peek at the old house on 25 Bridge Street and I see it has been repainted. It is now valued (on Zillow) at close to a million dollars. I am not surprised. My mom was getting old and practically gave it away in 2006, as anyone can see by peeking at the public listing. I feel sad seeing it, but I laugh at the irony. I guess that comes with age.

I am lucky to be alive. It has been ages since I have been to Lexington and I must say it feels odd seeing those pictures.  Nonetheless, Mom and Dad taught me so many valuable lessons that I carry with me to this day. My dog sleeps beside me every night, and is my companion. I don’t have a vacuum but my mom taught me to make do, so my red broom serves me fine.  Today I am on the verge of turning 59 years old. I am capable of carrying 50 pounds in a knapsack. That’s about half of me. Not bad for an old lady! Dear Mom and Dad, I think you would be proud.


Why I don’t support NEDA anymore (National Eating Disorders Association)

I used to be a True Believer in these folks and all those “help” organizations. I really thought they helped people! I really thought that the reason they hadn’t helped me yet was because I wasn’t lucky. I figured that day was right around the corner. I just had to sit tight. NEDA would come save the day sometime. Very soon. I just had to “get it right.” So I’d go to their events. I’d sit there and hope. And hope.

Sometimes I’d call them. Like when I didn’t have a therapist I called them and asked if they knew of one. I phoned a few of their “help” numbers. Then I found out they help other people, but I kinda fell between the cracks. They’d help, but not if you were on public assistance. Not if you were on Medicare and Medicaid.

What? You don’t have rich parents who will pay? And pay and pay?

So I was out of luck. They looked on their lists and said maybe I should just get one of those Yellow Pages books and call therapists at random. I did. I made hundreds of calls.  All said no. No openings. I called Medicaid and all six names were out of date.

I called NEDA back. Maybe a year later they had a couple of names for me. One had no openings. One charged much more than I could afford. Another was a three-hour drive away, that is, if I had a car.

Then NEDA referred me to one on the bus line. I phoned her but she wouldn’t take me unless I agreed to the forced weigh-in, forced meal plan, and everything forced worse than I had had before. Okay, but I’m not in kindergarten anymore……I hung up. Do I laugh or cry over this?

I finally did find one but after the third appointment when he asked me out on a date I quit seeing him.  I should have reported him.

I tried to get into one of NEDA’s “support groups” which they praised up and down as being oh so helpful. Then they kicked me out saying they couldn’t have me there if I didn’t have a therapist. By then, of course, I definitely didn’t want a therapist anymore. I think they just didn’t want me there, period.

So much for that.

I can’t at all support NEDA’s mission since they pushed so heavily for the Murphy Bill. I am not at all happy about the way NEDA is funded, either. I think they are not a credible organization. I would not trust them at all. They make no statement about human rights. In fact, if you have a human rights concern they will not help you. Even something very basic (not “right to treatment”). By human rights I mean Freedom of Speech, Freedom of Expression, Freedom to live where you want, Freedom to have privacy in your life, Freedom from searches and seizures….Clean water and clean air, Freedom to make your own choices and to be allowed age-appropriate responsibilities, the Right to be treated with Respect. These are very basic human rights. The Murphy Bill expressly denies us these rights based on the exception of so-called “mental illness,” allowing the authorities to use force on people who have not committed crimes.

Winter Wattage Challenge!

Poverty is a gift. I lived fridge-free for two years. All you folks in the Northern Hemisphere are experiencing winter right now. This means it is cold outside, wintry conditions. Do you need that wattage-hog fridge? No! Poverty taught me how to live without a fridge. Can you do this, too? How much will you save on electricity by UNPLUGGING!!!!

Helpful hints: Put your food outside! But do not put it on the ground, because Fido next door will enjoy your brisket for his breakfast. Yes, that happened to me, when I made tripe stew for Puzzle, I found out the next day that her novios (boyfriends) down the street had shared it for midnight snack the night before and disposed of the container in my neighbor’s yard. Oops. Sorry, Puzzle.

Hang your food in a bag from your window out of Fido’s reach. Or have it in the windowsill, or even hang it from a tree. You can store it in a solid locking box, but remember, Fido is smart! He won’t break into a canning jar nor freezer chest, but he’ll break into most soft plastic containers such as Ziploc. Don’t forget the other critters, too, such as the rodents that you could attract, so keep your food in sealed, moisture-proof containers.

You will save tons of money. I’m asking you to do this challenge and I want to know how much you save per month this winter.

It has been a blessing in my life to learn to make do with less, to learn to make do with cheaper alternatives, or to use my logical mind and problem-solve the usual life challenges. Psychiatry won’t teach you this stuff. Living your life will teach you, and there’s really no way around that.

What would happen if the bus service in YOUR area suddenly ended?

What would happen if your bus service suddenly ended? What would be the changes in your community?

I saw that happen once, a very long time ago. A bus service suddenly stopped. It meant many had to quit their jobs, or arrange with their workplaces to work at different sites. Telecommuting barely existed back then. Some arranged carpools, but many people were not so lucky. Some were close enough to their workplace to walk. Many organizations lost their volunteers. Elders were stuck at home. Schools had piggybacked off the public transit so now they had to increase the school bus system to accommodate more kids. Teens made more trouble, bored, having lost their independence. Gas lines got longer. Evening traffic worsened.  Some people purchased shitbox cars and struggled each week to fill them with gas.

Women who lived in one-car homes were stuck at home all day while their husbands used the car for work.  This was so blatantly obvious to me, even though I was young. I believe the Stranded Woman Syndrome most likely increased domestic violence throughout the area.

This was a town that had a significant poverty gap already. Ending the bus system was a racist move on the part of the town (Yes, if you hate hicks and rednecks, you are racist), racist and classist, but I am saying this knowing what I know now, in hindsight.

What if that ole defunct bus service got up and running in your community again? What are the town officials waiting for? Are they so afraid the blacks will move in and “take over the town”? Are they afraid of “lowering standards”? This is such bullshit. I’ve heard such talk and it makes me sick to hear it.

Bus services help everyone. They reduce pollution. Many people who enjoy riding bicycles but do not want to ride their bicycles after dark can now use buses to get their bikes safely home. People can go to dinner and have a couple of drinks and not worry about being too drunk to drive. Parking worries, fretting over getting towed, meter-feeding, and anxiety over finding a parking space are now obliterated. You can’t read a book and drive at the same time, but you can read a book on the bus. You can text all you want and not worry about getting pulled over.

I am done with bus snobs, people who refuse to ride the bus because of “the type of people who ride it.” A piece of me wants to tell such folks to go to hell and take their racism with them. To me, the bus means freedom to go anywhere I want, and it means privacy because the vehicle I am riding doesn’t glaringly identify me by its license plate number.

Crooks are stupid enough to drive getaway cars but really they should hop on the bus and act normal like the rest of us suckers. The common criminal is too stupid, though. They drive away from the crime scene, and then, next day, strut back to the office, say hello to the secretary, and resume the practice of psychiatry.

Okay, I got a laugh out of you alls first thing in the morning. Have a nice day.

What do you all’s think about this post by KevinMD?

The fuzzy line between medication use and abuse









I cannot comment on the post because comments are closed. However, I agree that all drugs should not have any gatekeeper and should be available without a prescription. That’s  right, without a doc. Why? Doctors have way too much power. As soon as he writes the script, you’re stuck with him if you ever want more drugs. And due to the addictive nature of many of them, you’ll be back…again, and again, and again. You are more hooked to the doc than you are to the drug. Sorry to inform you.

This is the making of a drug addict. With the middleman gone, there isn’t this financial complexity. That plus there are more gatekeepers than just a doc and his script. There’s the pharmacy and insurance and the government. I feel it really should be a free-for-all.

Okay, now what happens? How many would still be taking Zyprexa as soon as they find it causes terrible side effects? How many would increase their Seroquel dose to 900 after having gained 50 pounds at 400? How many men would still take Risperdal after they found it made them grow breasts?

With prescriptions, what happens? “Oh no, it’s not the Zyprexa causing those effects! You’re delusional and need more drugs!” “You couldn’t have gained that much weight on Seroquel. Go exercise more and here’s more of the drug.” “Breasts? What’s this? Gender identity disorder? I think we need to raise the Risperdal.”

The prescription means control. Too much control, and too much money. If drugs came without a doctor’s prescription, the drug prices would fall flat down. Fewer people would be addicted, and in fact, we would not have an addiction problem.

Without their prescription pads, what would docs do? They’d actually do their work instead of shoving patients aside with pharmaceuticals. They’d take a second look. They’d take their patients’ pain seriously. They’d truly investigate why a person can’t sleep. They’d actually be forced to do less harm, and maybe that’s not a bad idea after all.


Is all friendship “using”? Or is real friendship possible?

I am asking this question but I do have an answer to it. But first, I’ll ask it, and give a few examples.

My friend says all friendships and all relationships involve a certain amount of using. I wonder what this person means by “using.” It isn’t a term that has a very clear, universal meaning. I’m sure the meaning varies according to context and even varies between cultures, genders, and age groups.

All of us have been used at some point. I know many nurses who do not mind giving medical advice on the side. Surely most nurses would give first aid to a neighbor such as CPR. But if the family next door called her daily to change diapers and make beds, without paying her, maybe she needs to leave a bill next time.

If you live in a building with ten units and you’re the only one with a TV, then how do you feel if the whole crew comes in and watches your TV, day in and day out? While it might be nice to have instant friends, how do you feel the day your TV breaks down and the entire building complains?

When I had a car it was just like that. My buddies liked me because I had a car. Then, when I made the decision to be car-free, my buddies told me they didn’t find me useful anymore. Hearing that made me feel good, actually. I was relieved that they themselves acknowledged that they’d been using me. I didn’t have to say it aloud. Good riddance.

When I had roommates they used me for my car, all of them. I couldn’t seem to find one that didn’t. I had one for years that seemed to cling to me because of that car. When I ended up leaving temporarily she got so pissed since, in her words, I was bringing the car, and that meant she wouldn’t get to use it. I’ll never forget the day she said that to me over the phone. How to put your foot straight into your mouth.

The next roommates didn’t use me too badly. They were secretive and never spoke to me. I disliked the way they whispered to each other all the time like I didn’t exist. They gave me looks of disdain. Then they moved out, much to my relief.

The next one was a very bad user. She also pushed her religion on me. So it was both, religion-pushing and car-using, also she ran up a huge phone bill and then, took off. After that I put my feet down. No more roommates.

My dad didn’t quite understand, but the truth was that I had been downplaying to my parents just how bad these roommates really were. When my parents asked I’d say the roommates were “great” and leave it at that. Often we simply do not want to trouble our parents.

My dad wanted me to share the expenses. But actually it was more expensive with roommates. They created more expenses! Some made me pay for everything or some insisted “we” buy unnecessary stuff. Some ran up a bill that I paid for, or created messes I paid for, too. Never mind the gas bill.

Is it possible to have friendships that aren’t based on using? Yes! I think so. I have a few decent friends. It’s also possible for friendships to start off okay and then not be so okay after a while. Sometimes they start off rocky and then, end up fine. Often relationships grow after resolving a fight.

It’s also possible to have an excellent relationship with a paid person who works for you, say, the gardener or the housekeeper or the babysitter or the dog-walker. In smaller communities everyone knows everyone else. You might know the postmaster and you might go to dinner with the dentist and your kids might know the doctor’s kids. In a larger community, you could die in the middle of the street and no one would care, except your heirs, who come rushing in to see what they “get.”

I do think real caring relationships are possible. I have not yet given up on humanity. I have faith in us. Well, maybe for a few more years.

What is addiction?

I’m asking this questions because I simply haven’t considered it enough to answer it.

Is it an action, or a substance? For instance, can you really be addicted to booze? I don’t think so. If a person buys a bottle of liquer and it sits in the closet 20 years, is that person a long-term, chronic alcoholic? I hope not. Maybe you can be addicted to drinking booze, but not to the booze itself. You have to drink it to get hooked, don’t you? This gets me thinking….Isn’t that kind of a better definition? You can’t be addicted to food, but you might be addicted to eating too much or too little.

That said, can you be addicted to benzos? No! Not if you are pharmacist and you only dispense them to the suckers who come by once a week. You have to put them in your mouth, as I figure. So if you’re a benzo addict, you’re addicted to taking them, consuming the pills. Bottle to mouth.

This is why people can’t seem to fully understand the addictive nature of therapy. You only see a psychiatrist once a month if that. You see this therapist once or even twice a week. Day treatment patients see their therapists daily. Yes you get hooked fast, and the addiction is so powerful it’s most likely lifelong. The medical profession’s refusal to understand the seriousness of this, insisting on calling it “health care” is a crime, since before our eyes, thousands are being forced into dependence and neediness.

They even claim it is healing, but what is healing about creating an addictive dependency on a hired person? What is healing about neediness where there once was strength and autonomy? They say these people cure. I have rarely seen a person go to therapy and actually end it, pronounced cured. They usually end it as “treatment failures,” or, “Sorry, that’s not covered anymore.”

If you start therapy, ten years from now you’ll still be in it. Wanna bet?

Freedom of speech, responsibility, and conflicting life roles

If people had single roles in life, our paths would be so simple. We would have our lives laid out for us and we wouldn’t have much reason to question nor would there be too many conflicts to worry about. However, adults rarely have single roles. For instance, an adult may be both a neighbor and a mom. Or a dog owner and also, a tenant. These roles can conflict.

The idea is simple. As dog owner, the dog needs to go for a walk, say, at 6:30 am. But as the dog owner, also tenant, descends her stairs with Fido, the other tenant on a middle floor complains that Fido scares him as they walk past. The dog owner has responsibilities both as dog owner, to get Fido out, and also, as tenant, to respect the neighbors.

A fellow blogger has asked the question, “How much Freedom of Speech should teachers have?” He then mentioned different situations such as casual remarks made in grocery stores or on social media that might not be so appropriate, or a political rant in the classroom.

Here, I believe the basic concept is dual roles. Teachers are adults. They aren’t just teachers. They might be parents. They’re citizens of a country. They’re voters. They’re members of Facebook. They’re adult children of older parents. They’re neighbors and community members, too. They may hold second jobs in other fields, both related and unrelated. For instance, if a college professor is given a lengthy winter break, he or she may wish to work at a ski area and ski for free! Almost all adjunct professors either hold several adjunct positions or freelance in some way to make ends meet.

Any of these dual-role conflicts and cause a conflict related to Freedom of Speech. The rules of the classroom may or may not extend outside the classroom. I would guess each school system or college has its own policy. I believe these policies should be updated and should be very specific. This would help when conflicts arise. The old policies need to include a social media policy. They also need to take into account the policies of the social media venues themselves, along with the local and national laws.

My own life was deeply affected by a dual-role conflict involving exercising Freedom of Speech. Medical professionals and other professionals are bound by law to keep confidentiality. These laws have always existed. More recently, HIPAA was put into place, which meant violating confidentiality was an even worse offense.

For instance, a medical professional cannot say, “Know that guy Adam that lives on___? He just ended up in the ER and they brought him to psych.”  I have witnessed “staff” doing that time and time again. This is a violation of Adam’s privacy, and that’s an inappropriate use of Freedom of Speech since it’s violating the terms of the job. They are trained not to do that! I actually went through that basic training as hospital volunteer. If I went through it, why can’t these “professionals” follow simple rules? It’s because we all have dual roles in life. The professionals are also neighbors, churchgoers, Bingo players, and golfers.

As patient, I wasn’t bound by HIPAA. People don’t realize this, but we as patients do not get HIPAA training and these laws don’t apply to patients or nonprofessionals such as families and visitors. If a patient violates the confidentiality of another patient, it can be very serious, agreeably, but it’s not a HIPAA violation. Unfortunately, such squealing has to be handled internally or better yet, prevented.

Of course most institutions realized these things could happen. Say you have one 80-year-old woman in one room on the 4th floor, and another 80-year-old woman next door. They’re both out walking one day, helped by aides, and lo and behold, they recognize each other and say hello. They’re very happy to be able to converse.

There’s absolutely nothing anyone can do if one of them, Marge, upon release, says to her son, “Know who I saw? Remember Jeannette? She had gall bladder surgery.”

Has some crime been committed? No! Marge was not bound by HIPAA. Only those working in the facility are bound by these rules. Yes, it gets sticky all the time! Visitors to a psych ward might run into an old friend there recovering from alcoholism. “Oh Brian, we haven’t seen you for so long! How are you? Gosh it’s good to see you!”

As per facility, some might prep the visitors to  maintain confidentiality. Others try to keep groups separate. Often patients make requests for privacy.

What about my rights as writer and my own personal freedom of speech? For one thing, I signed nothing saying I wouldn’t write about what happened in individual sessions over the years. This is NOT violating the confidentiality of the therapist. The therapist isn’t exposing her innermost secrets to me, or isn’t supposed to, although I must admit one or two did.

I never signed a Yelp Review contract saying I wouldn’t write a bad review about them after leaving. Believe it or not, a group of dentists got together and made it their policy to have patients sign statements saying they wouldn’t write bad reviews of them. This of course has raised legal questions. The retaliation factor runs huge here as well.

Retaliation against patients who expose facilities is illegal. Retaliation of all sorts is so common that I see such stories in the news almost daily. I have even spotted laws whereby a judge can deem an individual’s actions retaliatory and this can affect the fine he levies upon that offender.

What happened was that after I was abused in Massachusetts General Hospital they then realized they needed to get rid of me. I was a patient of my psychiatrist, but they weren’t going to allow me any further “care” at their facilities. They feared that I would find fault with it and then, write about what I found distasteful or harmful. Doing so is legal on my part. They don’t have to like it. On the other hand, I could have loved the care and written that, too. If it was decent.

I honestly feel that facilities and individual carers have nothing to fear if they are honest and deliver what they promise! For instance, if I go to a particular professional and the payment is laid out to me upfront and honestly, if the services turn out to be as advertised, if the job is done well and nothing extra or unnecessary is on the bill, then I’ll be very happy! I’ll be extra happy with exceptional workmanship, promptness, and a coupon for the next visit. Or a coupon for free groceries.

MGH knew already that they did not deliver as promised, that their services involved gross human rights violations (this is not an opinion, but a legal fact) and also, they knew that they didn’t want anyone talking about it or writing about it. The obvious answer was to deny care. Illegally.

So this is what happened. I called them asking for a therapist. They said no, that insurance didn’t cover. I thought about that one and asked around. Why would MGH not take Medicare and Medicaid combo? What I did, ultimately, was to blog, publicly, that MGH didn’t take these insurances, or that for reasons unknown to me at the time, they had refused mine. I had no idea that their refusal was due to my blogging about the 2011 abuse, due to their own fears and paranoia. To publicly state that I had been refused was completely legal.

What happened next was that I was terrorized by my psychiatrist. She told me I had to stop writing about MGH. This was actually quite a bit later, April 2013. I’m not sure, but from her demeanor, she was completely out of control, not in good form at all, with raised voice so loud that I worried it could be heard in the other offices, so from what I could tell, she was running off at the mouth and maybe leaked stuff that she later regretted. I also found the experience embarrassing.

She said I was denied a therapist due to their fears about my writing. She said I was a “liability case” and they’d denied me for that one reason. She said that MGH did indeed take my insurance but due to my blogging they couldn’t have me there.

To write about treatment isn’t illegal. I never signed papers. I don’t write about other patients and their particular petty issues which is the usual worry when confidentiality problems arise between patients. In fact this wasn’t their concern at all. They shouldn’t even have worried if they didn’t already know they violated basic human rights. Since they knew already they were guilty, they knew the very first thing I’d do would be to expose these violations to protect other patients. Why? Because while I may have been a patient, I am also a writer, a person who has the capability of writing this stuff down in words, and I also care about my fellow human beings since I am HUMAN. I write this stuff out of sacred obligation to you all out there. I do not get paid a cent. I do it because I care.

What happened next? I quit my psychiatrist since her threats were just too much. When I was unlucky enough to end up in another hospital, as soon as they made contact with my psychiatrist, the hospital personnel abused me, in attempt to silence me in any way they could, again fearful of my pen.




Corn griddle cakes recipe

I thought I would attempt to estimate a recipe and write it out for you alls in imperial measurements as best as I can. Here it is:

Corn Griddle Cake(s)

Corn meal (dry polenta works fine for this)
Flour, any type, including rice flour or garbanzo flour
Flax seed meal (harina de lino)
Baking soda (bicarbonate of soda)
One egg, any type
Oil, any type liquid or melted
Water or milk

Optional: sesame seeds, paprika, salt, oregano, chopped onion, chopped leeks, etc.

You should start with about 2/3 cup corn meal. The corn meal can be any grind, fine, medium, or coarse. Add 1/4 cup flour. Unless you are using wheat flour, you’ll need to add 1 tablespoon flax seed meal, which is ground-up flax seeds. If you don’t have flax seed meal on hand, potato starch will do, or tapioca flour (mandioca), or corn starch, and I’m not sure of the quantity. These are for “stickiness” that is lacking when you do not use wheat. The third dry ingredient is the baking soda. Don’t add too much. You will need less than 1/8 teaspoon. Blend your dry ingredients together. Add 1 tablespoon oil and the one egg. Now add water. You probably won’t need to add much, just a few spoonfuls to loosen the mixture a bit.

Add oil or butter to a pan and heat it up to sizzling. Add your mixture, either divided into two griddle cakes, or all as one. Now, allow this to cook until the bottom is a dark brown, then flip it over and cook the other side likewise.

This will feed one person if hungry and two if only for a snack.

Your griddle cakes should be stiff, not floppy, but not crisp like crackers. You should be able to pick up one of these as if it were a sandwich.

This recipe will feed one active hungry person or two who only want a snack. I’m not sure if you can wrap and pack them, but I’ll bet you can.

Have a nice day.