Denise Domning's Blog, page 35

Curing Poison Ivy

Western Poison Ivy

No, I did not take pictures.  At least not of my arms.  No one wants to see what that looked like.  Suffice it to say it was pretty darn ugly and may well leave my forearms scarred when all is said and done.

I thought I was being logical.  I was wearing two shirts, jeans, leather shoes and gloves.  The poison ivy was dormant so there were no leaves, just stems and roots.  Even Ed says he would have thought himself protected.

Who knew the irritating oil–urushiol (u-ROO-she-ol)– 1) wasn't an oil but a resin (meaning it's present in the stem and roots) and  2) could soak through two layers of fabric.  I've since learned, thanks to my nephew Lorne Lehr who's a pharmacy student, that I could have purchased Ivy Block and used that to prevent the resin from reaching my skin in the first place.  Burning my clothing after the fact might also have been a good idea because, thinking nothing of having worked in the ivy patch for 2 hours and not yet reacting, I continued to wear everything for hours after the fact.

So there I was, three days later, with some really nasty looking burns on my arms and searching for the ultimate relief and cure for what ailed me.  It took weeks, but I finally narrowed it down to exactly what it takes to survive Poison Ivy.

First, if you have any of Dr. Bronner's liquid olive oil soap on hand and you're aware of the exposure I think you should try using it on the premise that new oil removes old oil.  That's my theory and I'm sticking to it…  Now onto:

WHAT REALLY WORKED

What you need to survive poison ivy

Burt's Bees Poison Ivy Soap…buy it as soon as you know you have poison ivy!  Better yet, buy it if you know you have any poison ivy in your area and there's the remotest chance you might be exposed.  Or if you know you're really affect by poison ivy.  It has Tea Tree oil in it (I'm allergic) but even at that it was the best thing I did for myself.  The second best thing I did for myself was:

HOMEOPATHICS

Homeopathics (the little blue bottles in the photo) work on the premise of the "hair of the dog that bit you".  By taking a miniscule amount of poison ivy I was telling my immune system to go look for stuff just like that and get rid of it.  By the way, the nice thing about homeopathics is you can take them as often as ever ten minutes to get relief.  The worst thing that happens if you overdose on homeopathics is you get the symptom you're trying to alleviate.  I once accidentally dumped a full bottle (about an ounce) of a homeopathic for joint pain  onto my leg.  Every joint in my body stiffened up for about half an hour then it was gone.  Can you say the same for any prescription drug you might take?

Boiron Rhus Toxicodendron which is (I'm not making this up) Poison Ivy.

Boiron  Apis Mellifica or bee sting.  I had a lot of swelling and taking this made a huge difference.

Traumeel.  I used this like a lotion, spreading it over every inch of affected skin.  It's both analegsic, pain killing (by the way DO NOT  take acetominophen, better known by it's trademarked name Tylenol.  Stuff goes into your liver and lodges there forever, thereby lowering your body's ability to get rid of the very thing you're treating with it.) and anti-inflammatory, swelling reducer.  It stings a little going on but gave me consistent 2-3 hours of itch and pain relief.

Dr. Christopher's Original Black  This is stuff I keep on hand all the time.  It's a drawing ointment, meaning it'll pull the poison right out of you.  I used it on my inner elbows when they got so swollen I couldn't bend my arms.  I didn't use it too long because Ed hates the smell.  I think it smells like bacon, so I didn't mind.

OTHER REALLY IMPORTANT STUFF

Sea Salt, Bragg's Apple Cider Vinegar (with the mother), Epsom Salts.  

I bathed several times a day for the first week, nightly the following weeks, using either Sea Salt (about a quarter of one of those round boxes) and about a cup of the Bragg's Vinegar ( I figured the Mother (bacteria) in the vinegar was helping to eat away the dead skin), or Epsom Salts by themselves (itself?).

Gauze, lots of gauze.  Rather than try to stop the oozing, I kept my arms covered with gauze and changed it often.  It felt better air dried.

Witch Hazel. I didn't get to this until well near the end of my recovery, but I wished I'd thought of it earlier.  The witch hazel is soothing while the alcohol is drying.

Aloe Vera Sunburn Gel.  I didn't use this a lot, but it did really seem to take away the burning.  I wished I'd had a more natural version of this, like maybe just the aloe vera juice itself.  That would probably have worked quite nicely.

THINGS I TRIED AND DISCARDED

Caladryl.  Caladryl went on like a layer of plastic.  True, I didn't ooze while it was on my skin but it felt horrible.

Golden Seal/Bentonite Clay Poultice  This was something several people recommended.  The bentonite clay is supposed to draw while the golden seal is supposed to be good for rashes and such.  I kept the poultice on for half an hour and it felt so awful I never went back to it.  After I got the Poison Ivy soap I didn't need it anyway.

Comfrey  Trying this was worth it just because the co-op store sale assistant described wet Comfrey powder as "mucilaginous".  Oh great.  Snot.  And boy was it ever SNOT!  My skin crawled the whole time I wore it, which was for about half an hour.  It actually made my skin feel much better, but the experience was not worth repeating.  Besides…after I got the Poison Ivy soap…did I say that already?

So there you go.  For anyone out there reading this because you've got third degree urushiol burns somewhere on your body, my heart goes out to you.  Get the soap and get into a salt water bath ASAP!  Good luck!

PS…DON'T EVER BURN YOUR POISON IVY!  If you think it's bad on the surface, you'll hate it on the inside because the urushiol become airborne in the fire and you BREATHE it in.  So, NO BURNING!

 

Trees for the field

My first hole is in place!

"It's time to plant trees." That's what Ed said yesterday, surprising me because I had just that moment been thinking we needed some trees for our lower field. We both agreed immediately on Cottonwood trees. Why such huge trees for a field we're going to use for veggie planting? Because the soil's dead in that field; it's been compacted by horses staked and standing on it for years. Not only will the tree roots break up the soil but its leaves will keep the ground cool (preventing the annual summer bake-off) and release moisture into the air that will drop to the ground to keep it damp. I'll be adding more smaller trees and shrubs as time goes on for the same reason. I dug the first hole yesterday–I LOVE the tractor for digging holes! (otherwise it's too noisy)–and there wasn't so much as a worm to be seen. I'll be adding plenty of horse manure, chicken straw and leaves before the Cottonwood's roots touch the soil.

A Blow OUT!

Yesterday we had a blow out in the embankment around lower field. I'd been watering it because it's been unseasonably warm here–although it will be below zero again next week and my fruit trees are all flowering, yikes!–and the water, which is flowing at some incredible PSI, found a gopher hole. And, boy did it find it! By the time I returned to the field the water had carved a cavern under one of my elderberries. I was in time to watch the poor little thing drop from its original planting spot to a new spot some three feet lower. It took the tractor to plug the hole, but I no longer have any hope that the embankment will continue to hold water. Rocks. I need rocks. (Thank heavens I live next to Oak Creek which seems to supply us with an endless number of rocks…)

Oma Gives Sewing Lessons

Years ago I sewed.  A lot.  All kinds of strange things including wedding dresses (not just for my weddings although there were a few of those) and Renaissance Faire costumes.  I had nine of my own, just for fun.  But that was years ago.  When my writing career started in earnest something had to give.  It was the sewing.

So you can't imagine my surprise when I asked Judah my granddaughter (her mother is my stepdaughter from my second marriage) what she wanted for Christmas.  "A sewing machine," she said with as much excitement as her brother says "I want a Star Wars General Grievous Starfighter because it's the only one I don't have."  (Okay, he didn't say that this year, because this year he's into Ninjago.)

"Really?"  I mean I didn't even know kids these days knew what sewing machines were much less wanted one of their own.  "What do you want to make?"  Me, because I'm the oldest of six, expected her to say clothes.  When I was growing up the family clothing allowance was pretty darn slim and our sewing  machine got a workout with us older girls turning out shirts and skirts and dresses.

"Pillows," Judah replies.  I probably blinked a little at that, but then I realized how perfect this was.  I could get her a sewing machine, then go visit Bakersfield for a few days to make a couple of pillows.  Sewing machine plus a few lessons equals One Great Christmas gift for both of us.

The Janome 2206 on Judah's desk

The only problem was the sewing machine.  What to get?  Frankly, I was thinking about a nice 1960s Singer with the easy dials and no digital interface like I've seen at the local fabric store.  Programming the machine to run isn't the same as sewing.  Instead, I found a Janome 2206, which prides itself on being "a great machine for the beginning or returning sewist."  We had one beginning and one returning, so what could be better?  Well the price, for one.  It was under $150.00!

The sewing machine made it there for Christmas.  I didn't arrive until the 28th.  And unfortunately, Judah was a little under the weather so we didn't hit the fabric store until the next day.  For the first time in years, I sat down at the little wooden desk every fabric store has and opened up a Simplicity pattern book.  It was a blast into my past.  These days my "wish books" are seed catalogs but from the time I was twelve until my mid-thirties, it was pattern books.  I'd stare at those layouts, the models dressed in beautifully sewn garments made with fabrics that didn't always find a home in my local fabric store.  But I could dream, walking up and down the aisle, my fingers rippling across linen, broadcloth, calico, satin and silk.

the beginnings for pillows

We went straight to the Home Decor section and the first pattern offered was perfect.  It included on "Tootsie Roll" pillow, one square pillow, a pillow case and, should she decide to take a stab at it, a bed spread.  We did look at the others, but that first one,  Simplicity 1960, was just what the seamstress ordered.

Then it was time to do the dreaming.  We started down the cotton aisles, which now are organized for quilters.  That makes dreaming a lot easier because you can see what coordinates with what.  But, Judah is a girl after her Oma's own heart, because she took a left at the remnants.

"These are cheaper," she told me.  She apparently has a friend who sews and who has already informed her of the treasures available in the remnant bin.  We pawed through it for a while, but couldn't find anything we loved.  Then we saw the sale cotton.  There was a pretty pink fabric printed with glittering silver butterflies.  Judah combined it with bright turquoise and hot pink fringe and, after adding a seam ripper, some batting and white thread, we were good to go.

While Amberly, her mom, went off the the gym (she's been dedicated to working out since beginning her training for the 3 day 60 mile breast cancer walk which she completed back in November), we laid out our fabric and cut out two pillows.  Judah had chosen to make the Tootsie Roll (okay, I know that's not what its called but it ought to be) and the small rectangular pillow. As usual, I'd bought more fabric than we needed just in case and after the pillows were cut out I was thinking there'd be enough for a third.

Judah threading her machine

We pinned the first seams and she sat down at the machine.  I can't even remember the first time I sat at a sewing machine it was so long ago.  We threaded, rethreaded, filled the bobbin, installed the bobbin, took it out and did it again.  With everything in place, she pushed the fabric under the foot and pressed on the pedal.  WHIRRRRRRRRrrrrRRRRRrrrrrRRRRRrrrrrRRRRRrrrrr.   It's no easier controlling a sewing machine pedal than it is the accelerator of a car.

The rectangular pillow was first because it was so dang simple.  She was thrilled when it was turned and stuffed.  Now it was time for inset fabric.  With each seam we got closer to the quiet steady whirrrrrr that the machine is supposed to make.  She got more comfortable with holding the fabric straight as it went under the foot.  Corners were made.  We learned how to baste and how to back up when you sew too far.  We even sewed right over the bumpy fringe with no trouble.

The only mistake made was made by yours truly.  Dang, I knew she had that turned upside down when she ran it through the hem stitch.  That's when I got to tell her that the seam ripper is your best friend and that I've never made a project that didn't have mistakes in it.  The key is to recognize the mistake, remove it or work around it and KEEP GOING.  No quitters allowed.

She was having a great time.  Two pillows were finished and now she's eying the leftover fabric.  "Do you want to make one more?" I ask.  "I think we have enough to make a pillow case for your sleeping pillow if you want."

The scissors and pins came back out.  This pillow case had to be pieced, and learning how to make a sheet of fabric from bits and pieces is a priceless lesson to anyone who wants to be creative.  Before long we had our pieces joined and the pillow case half made.  Then the creeping crud overtook her.  One minute she was sewing; the next she was promising she could keep her eyes open to watch while I finished.  It really wasn't much more than a seam and the hem.  I told her to go to bed and she dozed while I put in the last stitches.

Here she is with her three pillows

But for all intents and purposes, she had made all three projects with just my supervision.

That's my girl!

 

 

Cowboy Girl Hat

I've finally come close to kicking the Crud, whatever it was.  I can tell because two nights ago I cleaned the kitchen.  When I'm sick I couldn't care less if things dissolve into a heaving pile of slime mold or that there's no place on the counter top to make a cup of tea.  That's how I know I'm sick; the kitchen gets dirty.

I'm posting this morning sort of as a promise to myself that I am, indeed, recovering.  So, here it is.  While I was sick, lo these last ten days, my niece Melissa came to visit.  I kept apologizing that I was ill and she kept telling me it was fine.  She's a college girl (what happened to that darling baby Ed carried around on his back across the breadth and width of the Netherlands?) and has been working as hard as any college girl with an above 3.0 grade point average works.  She totally enjoyed the opportunity to sleep in, lounge around in her PJs, chat as much as my constant coughing allowed, and read books.  As far as I'm concerned that's a great time.

Cowboy Girl Hat

After she left yesterday I was kind of awash in niece nostalgia.  Then this morning I found this photo.  This, as the caption suggests, is a Cowboy girl hat.  That's what my niece Hannah named it when we bought it for her at the Phoenix Zoo back when she was three and I was her babysitter every Wednesday.  (She's almost ten now.)

I started watching my sister's daughters one day a week when Maddison (almost 14 now) was 18 months old and my mom, who'd been watching her five days a week for my sister, said she couldn't handle a full week of childcare.  I took the middle day to break up the stretch for her.   That gave her a day off and me the motivation not to work seven days a week.

It didn't take Maddison too long to go from "Mommy, why are you leaving me with that strange lady" to calling me just "Denise".   That's significant.  To a child calling you by a single name puts you in the same category as "Mama" or "Daddy".  To this day Maddison and Hannah both call me "Denise" without "Aunt".   Maddy was four when Hannah was born, so Hannah never knew anything but Denise's house on Wednesdays.  After Maddy went to school full time, it was just Hannah for a few years until she, too, left me.  Now that we live in Cornville I working get them to come stay with us for a couple weeks.

So there we were, Hannah and I, visiting the zoo on a very warm late May Phoenix morning when I realized we'd forgotten her hat.  She's a red head so going out without a hat isn't really a great option for her.  I detoured into the zoo gift shop and started toward the clothing section, thinking I'd get her a ball cap.  Instead, she gasped in happy delight, pointed to a display and called out, "Look!  It's a cowboy girl hat just like Jessie wears!"  (For the kid-challenged, Jessie is the cowgirl doll mate to the cowboy Woody in the Toy Story movies.)

As you can see from the picture, it isn't a cowboy hat at all, but as far as Hannah was concerned it was the best hat she'd ever seen.  Our purchase made, we headed out finish visiting the zoo with Hannah talking about being a cowboy girl while watching the spider monkeys, while eying the elephant, while looking for the tiger and while sipping frozen lemonade in the hot car on our way home.  She wore that hat to the zoo every time we visited even after it had gotten too small for her.

I like nieces!

 

Another Kindle book hits the ether

First, a note: Ten days into the new year and I'm still sick.  If this is an omen, it doesn't bode well for the rest of the year.  I did, however, make a connection.  Last night I was at my neighbors' house for a brief time.  They heat their house with firewood.  Smoky environment = no voice for me in the morning.  Well ugh for real.  How am I supposed to live here and not breath smoke?

I was trying for a sort of ghostly image...

That aside, Lady in White is now a kindle book.  I forgot how much I liked that book.  Talk about characters trapped by society's conventions!  We, living in these modern times, tend to forget that in the past there was very little free choice about what you did or became in life if you didn't have the power or capital to change things–and those with the power and capital were hell-bent on making sure no one else got any.   The quiet, shy people, or those given to following conventions, just bowed their heads and endured.

And the ending of this book always makes me cry.  Weird that my own writing can do that, but I guess I really loved Nick.

Well, that's the best I can do while I'm still coughing my guts out. It's back to bed for me, where I can watch my fruit trees start to bud out in this unusually warm weather–then it'll freeze and I'll lose all the fruit again this year.  (I really need to go back to bed I think.)

 

Merry Christmas Eve

Merry Christmas

 

 

 

 

Merry Christmas to everyone! Like all of my Medieval characters, I love the Christmas holy-days (all twelve of the holy days) for the magic, gratitude and generosity they represent. This year I won't be giving one of my tunics to my most prominent servant as Rannulf would have done at Graistan keep. (Cloth and clothing was so expensive it was considered a great honor to wear your higher-up's cast offs, especially if said higher-up was the king or your liege lord.) Nor do I have to provide presents for everyone in my family. Now that we're at 23 members we all decided it's too expensive. (Although some people insist on shipping chocolate–BAD people, bad, bad people!) So only the younger children, those not living outside their parents' homes, get presents while those of us in Arizona participate in a gift exchange: 1 wrapped gift with a value of $50 and one ridiculously useless gift, the value of which might well be priceless. Take the leather rhino that I found in the basement here, complete with spider webs and absolutely beyond value as a gag gift. Almost as good as a box of empty pens or one used shoe with a holiday ribbon instead of a lace.

So Ed went out to get wood from the catio…

and screamed at me, "There's something killing the chickens!"

I, and my mighty piddling Aussie, went dashing out in the frigid night. I ran down to the chicken coop, threw open the window in their luxury apartment, and they cooed at me as if to say, "What are you doing here?" Meanwhile, I'm hearing what's listed in this video as the Vixen's Scream.  It was pretty awesome and not a little unnerving.  I will mention that it wasn't my husband who went dashing out into the night to face what might have been the Chupacabra…  No, it was us intrepid girls.

Oh, that's right!  Sedona stopped at the top of the driveway down to the barn, then turned around and retreated to the house.  I was just me down there with those chickens!

A new garden and what to do with thinnings

I'd been stuck inside for too long.  The sun came out two days ago and the temperature promised to soar above the 60 degree mark at some time that day.  It was time to do something with dirt!

My new sockmonkey hat

It was still cold when I stepped outside what is presently the front door of our house.  (Ergo the sock monkey hat.)  That's the door that faces Page Springs Road.  The one to which I've taped a sign that says "We can't hear you knocking.  Please come around back".  This door disappears in the remodel.  Our new front door will be around back.

Sedona, thankfully not helping me

But for now, our present front door gives me easy access to the Lasagna garden (plundered by the raccoons but my herbs are doing great), and to the afterthought garden: my new salad bed.  Why an afterthought?  Because after I planted out the bucket garden I still had a couple of six packs of broccoli and a bunch of seeds.  I stood at the front of the house, staring at this dead and long-empty planter bed with the sun warming my back and had an AH-ha moment.  This stretch of ground was going to get the sun all day long, all winter long.  Come summer, anything here will burn to a crisp, but not during the winter.

With that I started digging.  I went down more than 12 inches, layered in 3 inches of horse manure, topped that with dirty chicken straw, topped that with some of the previous awful dirt and topped that with the last bag of compost.  And planted.

I stuffed that sucker.  There are peas at the back about every inch, Rouge d'Hiver lettuce down the middle, broccoli and spinach along the front.  In between I spread Mesclun mix seeds from Botanical Interests and arugula and parsley and cilantro seeds.  (The pot at the end of the picture has sorrel in it.  I'm still learning how to use that, so for now it's just a a pretty plant.)  And everything grew.  More on that in a moment.

So, two days ago there I was with my sock monkey hat and a rake, meaning only to rake leaves when I realized I was missing a huge opportunity.  It wasn't only that little afterthought garden that was getting the day's sun, but the whole length of wall that descends the dirt driveway that leads down to the pump house.  It was time for a new garden.

My new garden. You can see the front of the greenhouse in the background

Out came the shovels. Six hours later I almost had a garden. I just layered my dirt on top of the piles of branches and debris I'd left there after cleaning out the space for the Lasagna garden. Some of it is already topped in chicken straw. The rest is going to get Starbuck's best…as soon as I can reach Cottonwood and plunder their trash can. The dirt I used actually came from the driveway/cart port that wall protects. (Cart port because Sam had an electric golf cart that he used to keep parked down there behind that wall.) Because that driveway is so much lower than everything else around it, it has collected leaves, runoff, organic debris and whatever else (no doubt plenty of Cadmium from the road but oh well, there's no avoiding that), and it's all composted over the years. Whatever else, it gave me something physical to do.

Now all it needs is something to keep it from collapsing all over the driveway…ROCKS!  This is the last warm day for a while.  It'll be me, the wheelbarrow and the pile of rocks.

It was as I was trying to avoid thinking about rocks yesterday that I looked down into the afterthought garden and realized how really overcrowded it was.  The sun was warm, the kittens were playing along the garage doors and Sedona needed me to throw something so she could work off a little energy (thus sparing Webster and Burtie from being chased relentlessly; Billy refuses to let her chase him, running off to hide instead ).  I sat on the edge of the planter and started thinning lettuce in between tossing Sedona's stick.

Tasty!

When I was done I had half a colander full of very infant lettuces and arugula.  I considered giving the thinnings to the chickens then changed my mind.  They were really good.

 

Cabin Fever

Look, Ma! No hills!

Another foggy cold morning here in lower-northern Arizona.  Cold and damp or not, I'm going to spend the day outside.

 

 

See, Sedona! You can lay down for at least an instant!

After three days of rain five-month-old Sedona (the puppy) has a really bad case of cabin-fever, which includes chasing all the cats and demanding we throw her frisbee down the stairs so she can fetch it.

Ed says it suits me, and it does

 

 

It won't hurt me to get a little exercise either…I suppose, sigh. At least I have my new sock monkey hat to wear.

As for Ed, he continues his amazing