Better Living Through Chemistry

It starts with a little twinge in my back. Nothing to get excited about, except that it keeps coming back throughout the day. And the little twinges get bigger. I'm still able to be at the computer and answer the phone but I know the best thing to do is go to the couch and get horizontal. But often the phones don't let me stay horizontal for long.

Such was the case this past Thursday. By the time Mark came home I had started whining that it was twinging. He reminded me that I did have a muscle relaxer or two and some pain pills left over from when it happened last year. I took the pills but the phone kept ringing and I kept getting up to go to the computer to check his calendar and enter appointments into the scheduling system. And the pain was escalating.

Usually when this happens, I wait for the pain to reach 11 on the one-to-ten scale before heading to the emergency room. By that time, it's typically after 10 or 11 PM and I'm in too much pain to sleep. Toughing it out is the economical choice. An ER visit is almost always $500 or more, even if you have insurance. But my previous experience tells me that this will get much worse before it gets better - so this time we decided to go to the ER around 8 PM. The pain was only about a five.

We decided to go to the same ER that we went to the last two times this happened. The logic of this is that they can just look in their records to see what they did the last time and then do it again. Even though we passed two other hospitals to get there, we figured it would save time in the long run.

By the time we got there, the pain had escalated to a six on the one-to-ten scale. We didn't wait long before the doctor on duty came in, made sure I wasn't having a heart attack and sent the nurse back in with a valium. That really helped me because as long as I didn't move, I didn't hurt. Then she came back with my discharge papers and a couple of prescriptions. That just couldn't be right. No one had injected me with anything and I still hurt if I moved. She explained to me that the doctor had prescribed some valium and some codeine and suggested that I buy some over-the-counter Motrin. This wasn't what I came in for. But it would be important to remain calm and polite.

"We drove past at least two other hospitals in order to come here. We did that because you've treated me for this before and I thought you could look up what you did the last time and just do that again. Every time I've had this problem, and it seems to be an annual event, I've been given an injection. I do not want to be sent home still in pain."

The nurse said she would let the doctor know. Within minutes the doctor on duty returned.

"Do you really want to have your body injected with narcotics?", he asked.

Without blinking I answered quite simply, "Yes".

Was this a necessary question? Would I sign on to pay $500 or more for an emergency room visit if I could fix the problem with something from CVS pharmacy? I'd taken a muscle relaxer and a codeine before going to the ER. They hadn't helped. I wanted to feel better...then and there. Not next week. I wanted to be able to sleep. I didn't want the stabbing pains keeping me up all night. An injection of a narcotic drug will fix it? Sign me up! Clearly this doctor had never experienced level 11 pain.

The nurse came back with not one, but two shots of something. I needed a wheelchair to leave. But I slept through the night and I was fine when I woke up in the morning - although I admit that waking up did take a bit of extra effort. But it confirms my belief in better living through chemistry.

  

There's Nothing to Watch

When I was a kid, we had three channels - ABC, NBC, and CBS. PBS existed, but was known as "the educational channel" and was primarily used in schools. (I still remember watching science lessons on the black and white TV that would be rolled in and out of the classroom when I was in fifth grade.) The UHF channels didn't really come into their own for another decade and cable was unheard of.

There was no cartoon network. Cartoons were on Saturday morning and there were a few kids shows on weekday mornings before school. Howdy Doody and Mickey Mouse Club came on after school. Soap operas aired in between. And I had to behave and be quiet while my mom watched her "stories".

If I missed my favorite TV show I had to wait for it to re-air during the summer reruns. There was no recording device of any kind that allowed me to watch at my own convenience. You waited years (if not decades) for a movie to air on TV. No waiting a few months until it came out on video - there was no video - no Netflix download either. You went to the theater or you waited.

But even so, at the tender age of nine when I said "there's nothing to watch" - what I really meant was that there was nothing I wanted to watch. At that age I didn't care for drama and it's very likely that I'd already seen the comedies - even though I often didn't mind watching them again. 

But now, here we are with hundreds of channels - dedicated to sports in general, a sport in particular, comedy, news, cartoons, home decorating, cooking, history, the military - you name it and there's a network dedicated to it. There's more to watch now than there has ever been. (Worth watching is a very different story - and if I'm honest, much of what I watched as a kid wasn't really worth watching, either.) So when I hear grown people, (GROWN PEOPLE - not nine year old kids) moan that "there's nothing to watch" I'd like to slap them back to their childhoods, or better still, back to mine.

A Cruel Joke

Ever since we missed a flight because we got stuck on the M1 or the M3 (or whatever M road it was), we have gone to the airport the night before our scheduled flight, returned the rental car and stayed in an airport hotel. This actually presented a few additional problems - none as bad as missing the flight - but annoyances all the same. For example, after we checked in to the hotel Mark would have to take the rental car back and either walk or get a cab back to the hotel. The weather wasn't always conducive to walking and the cab was an additional expense. Then we no longer had a car so we had to eat the hotel food (not always the best option) or walk someplace to eat dinner. Again, the weather might not be suitable for a stroll. Then there's the issue of the hotel itself. Most airport hotels are over-priced. The ones that aren't are places you don't really want to stay. (I won't go into the reasons, just trust me on this one.) And you still have to pay for a cab or a shuttle to the airport the next morning.

But we have solved the problem! We can book an afternoon flight, drive to a small town near the airport (like Windsor or Staines), get a better hotel for the price and take the rental car back just before we're due at the airport. The rental car shuttle will deliver us to the terminal and life is good!

So that's what we did! We went online, found a nice hotel - The Stanwell Hotel - booked it with a bit of help from Mark's daughter. (Mark made an attempt to book it himself but ended up booking a hotel in the Lake District - no where near the airport - and for the wrong night. - We blame the website.)

As you can see from the picture. There is an old section and a new section. Reception is in the new section. We were given a room in the old section, although we weren't told that. We took the elevator to the second floor but the room numbers weren't right. After several trips up and down the hall, I went back to reception to ask how to find the room.

"When you get off the lift, go to your left, go through the corridor and you'll see the room numbers. Lots of people get confused."

If lots of people get confused, perhaps better instructions should be given at reception. But no problem, I returned to Mark who was minding the bags to relay this set of instructions (I never want to have to tell an airline security person that my bag was left unattended.) There were some small steps in the corridor. I was starting to not like it. I really don't like steps of any kind when I'm trying to manage large bags. But we finally managed to get the bags up the stairs, find the room and open the door. And there they were - twin beds! We're just not ready for that. It was decided that I should go down to get our room changed and Mark would wait there with the bags.

I made my way back to reception.

"The room we were given has twin beds, which isn't what we want."

Instead of saying, "What would you prefer, madam?" the young lady started pounding away on her computer and announced "That is what you ordered. It says right here - twin accomodation".

I've encountered this in English hotels before so I wasn't surprised. But I didn't want to debate about what had been ordered, I just wanted her to change the room. I figured I might get what I wanted faster if I blamed the mistake on someone who wasn't there.

"Okay, this might be my stepdaughter's idea of a cruel joke. She made the booking for us, but it is not what we want. We would like a double."


"Certainly madam"

See! Now I was getting somewhere! I was given a new key - to a room in the new section where there would not be any stairs to deal with. Plus the room had a lovely balcony and the weather was perfect to sit on it and read a book after taking a stroll through the village.  (There are some photos of the village below.)

And by the way, we checked the online reservation - it only said it was for two people. The number or type of beds was never mentioned.

The Legacy Kingscliff

Since the Chudleigh (where we stayed in February) had no vacancy the night we wanted to stay there, we were forced to find another place. We settled on the Kingscliff, and quite frankly after staying at the Esplanade and the Comfort Hotel, our expectations were not high.

We were most pleasantly surprised. Even though there is no elevator, there were strong young men available to carry the bags up and down the stairs - a level of service that is usually reserved for properties at the very top of the market, yet the Kingscliff is moderately priced.

Our room overlooked the North Sea, which is always pleasant to look at when you wake up in the morning - even if it is cold and rainy, which thankfully, it wasn't (as you can see from the photo). The room was spacious by European standards and had free wifi. It was also clean and nicely decorated.

A full English breakfast was included. It should be noted that I don't do "full" English. I only want "half". For instance, I instruct them to leave off the egg, sausage, and black pudding. I'll have the bacon, baked beans, mushrooms, and tomato. I'll have the potato if there is any and I'd rather have toast than fried bread. When the waiter discovered that I'm American, he assumed (correctly) that I like my bacon crispy. (Well, yes! I do!) I told him not to worry because I know how difficult it is to get English bacon to fry up crispy. He told ME not to worry. I was amazed! The bacon was remarkably crispy! And I didn't think it could be done.

Bottom line, the Chudleigh is nice, but it doesn't have sea views. The Chudleigh is a guest house while the Legacy Kingscliff is a full service hotel - not to mention the Kingscliff is closer to Mark's dad's house. I think we've finally found THE place to stay.

Bonnie Ruth's Revisited

A couple weeks ago I posted about a visit to Bonnie Ruth's in Frisco that went badly. Since that post, Mark received an email from the manager recognizing that customer loyalty is worth more than $20. They invited us to come back as their guests without limits. I was delighted!

We went last week after seeing the Star Trek movie. It was a beautiful evening and we sat on the patio. We were treated like royalty! We shared the pear salad and then Mark had the Steak au Poivre and I had the Seafood Crepes. The seafood crepes are currently my favorite menu item. They're relatively new to the menu, so I've only had them maybe four times, but they are wonderful. And this time they were the absolute best! They were chock full of seafood and topped with lots of crab meat. Perfect! For dessert we had a cheese and fruit tray and the chocolate raspberry cake.

Nothing came out too quickly. Our servers were attentive without being a distraction. It was all perfect and I'm glad to say we'll be going back - frequently.

The Best and the Worst

The best things about Amsterdam (in no particular order):

1. Language - Nearly everyone speaks English. No problem understanding or being understood.
2. Public Transportation - Plenty of ways to get around. Trams, cabs, buses, trains, and boats. Not to mention bicycles and horse carriages.
3. Food - Wide variety of Asian and European restaurants, and let's not forget the delicious cheese.
4. Friendly People - And because most of them speak English, they don't mind striking up a conversation with you.
5. Things to do - Museums, day trips, sitting at an outdoor cafe watching the world go by.
6. Cats hang out in cafes - What can I say? I love cats.

The worst things about Amsterdam (again in no particular order):

1. Steep staircases - I know the narrow canal houses are part of the charm, but those stairs killed my knees.
2. The Red Light District - I suppose this is part of the charm as well, but half the girls looked like caged animals scanning the crowds for someone to rescue them, and the other half were bored to tears and playing with their cell phones. And what's with the "no photographs"? If you don't want someone to photograph you, don't stand in the window in your underwear.
3. The airport - Set up differently from every other airport I've ever been in. Security is at the gate. You're lulled into sitting around and having lunch without allowing yourself enough time to clear security and get to your gate.
4. Breakfast - Average at best and most of them didn't hit the average mark.
5. Long lines - Seems there was always a line to get into most of the museums. It's hard to see them all because you can only get in if you're there before they open. So seeing one in the morning and another in the afternoon is fairly impossible.

Looks like the good outnumbered the bad! The sign of a successful trip.

Periwinkles - Animal or Vegetable?

When I think of periwinkles, I think of the vine that grows profusely in my back garden that has little purple flowers on it in the spring. I'm sure this is what Mrs. Bucket is referring to when she mentions her Royal Doulton with the hand-painted periwinkles. (You Brit-com fans know what I'm talking about.)

So when the menu description for the sea scallops included a salad of arugula and periwinkles I was expecting a salad with little purple flowers on it. Eating flowers is not unheard of. There are entire cookbooks devoted to serving up flowers. Although it's my preference to enjoy flowers in the garden or in a vase, I was willing to give it a try. (A curry spice blend that I made last fall used dried rose petals.)

I'm expecting flowers so you can imagine my surprise when the salad was delivered to the table with what appeared to be tiny little stones on the plate. I started making assumptions, the first of which was that periwinkles were not in season and face it, you can't just replace them with tulips. I also assumed that the things in my salad were tiny little stones because I tapped them with my fork. Then I noticed that I had a half lemon with a hat pin in it. The lemon and the hat pin must be there for a reason. I began to suspect that the little stones were not a decorative garnish. A closer look revealed that they were in fact tiny shells. According to Mark, they were what the English call winkles. (Of course, this was a French restaurant and apparently the French call them periwinkles.)

Mark told me about going to the seaside as a child and gathering up the winkles and how his mom or grandma would cook them up and they all snacked on them. The pin is used to get the meat out of the shell. (The lemon was just there to keep me from swallowing the pin.) Even though I was hearing about how wonderful they are from a man who thinks jellied eels are yummy, I decided to give it a try.

I wasn't particularly adept at getting the meat out of the shell. In order to avoid the bloodbath that would occur if I pricked myself (Plavix does an excellent job!) Mark got the meat out of a shell for me. Escargot it was not. Imagine chewy sand. That's what a winkle tastes like. But at least now I have an informed opinion, which is probably more than I will ever have about jellied eels.

Help, I'm Surrounded!

We waited until our last day in Amsterdam to visit the Rijksmuseum. We didn't plan it that way but it turned out to be another of those places where you had to be in line when they opened or you would be in line all day and there were some days we just didn't feel like getting up at the crack of dawn. (It was a vacation, after all.)

We got in line a bit after 8 AM and they were to open at 9 AM. We were probably about the sixth and seventh people in the line. By the time the museum was ready to open the line extended past the portico. I couldn't tell if it went around the block or not. I do know that if I had arrived after 9 AM that I would have been waiting far longer than 40 minutes.

While we were waiting, we could watch through the windows. At first it appeared a bit unfortunate that the museum employee uniforms consisted of black skirts or pants and brown shirts, sort of a fascist fashion. Mark pointed this out to me. I'm not sure if the "brown shirts" were a totally European phenomena or if I'm just too young to remember. If the "brown shirts" existed in the U.S. it's not something I would have known much about. But when we went inside we could see that the shirts were actually brown ombre, so not as Nazi-esque as we originally thought.

Anyway, fashion aside - we bought the audio tour guides and cued up the 90-minute highlights tour. I was listening to the audio and gazing intently at Vermeer's "The Kitchen Maid" when I realized I'd been surrounded by a group of Japanese tourists. They had managed to insert themselves between me and the Vermeer. They clearly had no concept of personal space. There must have been 20 or 30 of them but I did manage to escape. Unfortunately, there were several groups of them to contend with. None of these Japanese tour groups waited for anyone to move on, they just descended on the target painting and you could get out of their way or be engulfed. But they were stealthy, you didn't see them or hear them until it was too late and you were surrounded. Fortunately, by noon most of them were gone (probably moved on to the Van Gogh museum) and we could go back to looking at the paintings without feeling rushed or crowded. I don't know how people visit museums with a time limit.

The other thing that I found mildly annoying in the museum were the people who were photographing the paintings. Why on earth would anyone do that? Although I didn't look, I'm relatively certain that the museum gift shop sells books with beautiful, professional photographs of the museum's collections. And let's not forget that everything is available on the internet. (Where do you think the image of the Vermeer above came from?) But hordes of people were in there taking photographs. And then to my horror, Mark started taking pictures, not of paintings but of small items - to highlight the intricate detail. Which, as you can see, is quite stunning.

The museum was wonderful. Not unmanageable like the Smithsonian or the British Museum - those will take your entire week and you'll only see a fraction of what is there. Not that we saw everything in the Rijksmuseum - by 2:30 we were feeling a bit museumed-out. But we did see the highlights and most of the collections and we had a very nice lunch.

Cheese, Clogs and Windmills

So what is Holland famous for? Tulips, windmills, wooden shoes, cheese, and legalized pot. We weren't especially interested in pot, and quite frankly as we were out walking around, when could smell it and started noticing headshops we left the neighborhood as quickly as possible. Those streets were likely to be filled with people who had over-indulged and we were happier avoiding them. So that leaves tulips, windmills, clogs and cheese. There was a tour that would take us to the tulip fields and another that would take us to see windmills, a clog factory, a cheese factory and a trip across the Zuider Zee. Tough choice, but we could only do one so we choose the Cheese, Clogs and Windmills tour.

A bus took us to Volendam, a small fishing village where we toured a cheese factory. It wasn't so much a tour as it was a brief talk by a young lady in a traditional Dutch costume followed by a cheese and mustard tasting cleverly disguised as an opportunity to buy cheese. And buy cheese we did! Some for us, some for our kids! I regret not buying any mustard, but it is a bit trickier to get home. Cheese is a solid and can be taken in the carry-on bag. Mustard could end up on your clothes. And besides, I felt like I might be able to replicate the taste of my favorite with some French mustard and some dill.

After a stroll around the village, we got on a boat and sailed across the Zuider Zee to Marken. While in Marken we visited a clog making shop. Wooden clogs became the footwear of choice in Holland because they keep your feet dry and much of Holland is below sea level, which makes field work a bit damp. Much of the process is automated, but still interesting. I tried them on but didn't find them comfortable.

And then we went to see the Windmills outside Amsterdam. Very strange that some could be toured at no charge but others required an entry fee. We just had a short time there - not enough time to tour the windmills and eat lunch, which was disappointing. The tour brochure indicated that we would be given time for lunch but the only place we were given enough time was Volendam, our 9 AM stop.  (Anything before 11:30 AM is just too early for lunch in my book.) So we skipped lunch, bought a chocolate bar to tide us over until we got back at 2 PM and toured the windmills.

I wish we'd also had time to go to the tulip fields. They only offer tours at certain times of the year and we were fortunate enough to visit while they were being offered. But there just wasn't enough time! An while there are tulips all over town, I'm sure it's stunning to see fields of them. Another year, perhaps.