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I bought me a rosemary bush at Lowe's. $12. The guy there told me to keep it in the pot and inside the house when it freezes until next Spring, then I could put it in the ground and it would survive in this growing zone with ease. I keep picking off a sprig occasionally and chewing it to see what happens when I mix it with other tastes.
This morning I am eating some Cheezit crackers and Christmas-y gourmet cheese to have something in my stomach to take my prescribed medicine, and chasing it with coffee and wine. I like it. A lot. I'm reading about it on the web. My friend Rainey may have something very positive going on with these herbs. I'm gonna clip a few sprigs and put it in some wine. It really changes the taste of the burgundy into something special.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rosemary
This Wikipedia article has a number of links that allow an inquirer to follow up on their interest. I chose the one below and it has a series of articles on herbs. I particularly like that rosemary is an ancient ingredient for treating gout (arthritis), and while it may not compete with Prednisone steroids for reducing the inflammation and pain, it may help in a distinctly pleasant way.
http://www.superbherbs.net/rosemary.htm
The articles in Sara's Superherbs are well written, and include more information than I'm really after. I don't know what I'm really after. I've never pursued a deeper understanding about herbs in general, but I'm hitch-hiking on Rainey's current interest to see if it'll take with me. Whatta I go to lose?
Odd, very odd, I stopped typing and noticed the pictures of a flowering rosemary plant in the Wikipedia article behind my text program page. Below these pictures are it's scientific names. It's of the Kingdom: Plantae, the Division: Magnoliophyta, and the Class:Magnoliopsida, and the Order:Lamiales. I.E., it's part of the Magnolia family, the State tree of Mississippi where I was born. "Oh, goody.", a connection to my ancestral ho-me.
I've read about people in Europe having gout in the past. Particularly the stories in the older books. Gout of all sorts. But I didn't know gout was a form of arthritis. Anything that is good for gout has gotta be good for my arthritis. Have you noticed that I've begun calling it "my arthritis"? Is that smart?
I may be almost over the whining stage of realizing I have this incurable disease that causes me a lotta pain. Whining appears to be the way I segue into an attitude of acceptance. The same as my internal conversations. The pundits who claim that internal conversations should be eradicated are idiots. To me, they're the best self-teaching tools I possess.
There is the long-running documentary that keeps showing up on PBS about what's referred to as "primitive artists" who build and paint unrefined art. Unrefined because they usually have no lessons in art at all, and yet appear obsessed with what some call "tinker toy art".
I watched the interview the documentarians had with one of the more adept of this very interesting group of artists. He had done some truly amazing things with scrap metal he usually got from the junk yard or whatever showed up. I knew from looking at him that he was a Coharie or a Lumbee Indian. They're smarter than your average bear, and usually as friendly as you wanna be. Up to you.
He mentioned that he was 84 years old and still creating this art which included some really difficult physical work to make happen. As an aside, he commented that doing this art must be good for him, because none of his brothers and sisters lived beyond 72 years old. When asked about his health he said it was pretty good, then he held up his hands and said, "I got a little arthritis, but I ignore it and keep going. I don't let nothing like that stop me." I think that's where I'm headed.
By that I mean that I'm gonna do what I can, including going to the rheumatologist at the VA Hospital in Durham, and most likely letting him be the doctor and taking the medicines he prescribes, until it gets to the point that they seem to do more harm than good, and get on with what's left of my life.
I do not attempt to tell the God's own truth here because I don't know what the truth is or hardly ever. I try to capture the drifting thoughts that randomly appear in my imagination for reasons I may not understand. I don't know if the content I capture with these words is true or false. The Comments settings are turned off to prevent me from having to defend what amounts to little more than fanciful, sometime crude speculation. Great moments in our lives never return.
