Share a cookie by using your cake pan to make a giant cookie
1-3/4 cups all-purpose flour
1-1/2 cups ground
blanched almonds, ground almond slivers or almond flour
3/4 cups sugar
1/4 tsp. salt
1-1/2 tsp. vanilla
Cut 14 Tbsp. cool room temperature butter into pieces.
Cut butter into mixture using pastry cutter. Butter should be completely worked into mixture.
Place and press 3/4s of the mixture into a 10″ spring form pan.
Place remaining mixture and clump over top of pressed mixture.
Bake at 350F for 25 minutes until cookie turns golden.
Then reduce to 300F and bake another 10 minutes until dry.
Cool on cooling rack. Release the sides of pan. Release cookie from pan bottom.
Notice the word “like.” I’m not going to be so bold as to introduce eight steps that will have you love yourself. Baby steps, right? For some, self-love is a no-brainer. They grew up in homes where LOVE was the predominant four-letter word. Some possess too much, and like Vanity Smurf, are most comfortable with a mirror in hand. These are the loud talkers, who think that everyone 20 feet behind and ahead of them should hear what’s on their mind. I have been working toward self-like for 25 years now and think I have about 25 more to go before I’m truly comfortable in my own skin. I have lots and lots of exercises I use to get me smiling in the mirror instead of growling, gleaned from the bookshelves of self-help books I’ve read over the years and the lessons I take away from therapy sessions. Here are…
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“She’s definitely better,” he said.
“She’s trying a lot of new things. It’s hard to say what’s helping the most.”
“Well, she’ll always have it. I mean, it will never go away completely. But she’s able to manage her symptoms as of late. She’s able to get out of bed in the morning and go to work.”
Wow, I thought to myself, he gets it.
He truly gets it.
In some ways, he accepted the enduring nature of my illness long before I did.
I’m an easy sell—dangerously gullible–so when I hear commercials for new drugs promise an end to death thoughts, fatigue, apathy, and anxiety, I believe them, much like I believed in Santa Claus until my mean cousin made fun of me because I was way past the age to have not figured…
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½ cup water
½ cup vinegar
8 drops essential oil including lavender
1 teaspoon detergent
Large airtight jar
Place cloths into large jar
In a jug combine water, vinegar, essential oil and detergent, mix to combine
Pour liquid over cloths
Use to clean things when done with wipe rinse it and place in laundry to be washed .
Saves money and doesn’t have all the weird chemicals as store bought wipes
Some of you may recognize my dream, but I like to repost it every now and then to keep it alive and give it legs.
In celebration of Martin Luther King, Jr.:
I have a dream that one day I won’t hold my breath every time I tell a person that I suffer from bipolar disorder, that I won’t feel shameful in confessing my mental illness.
I have a dream that people won’t feel the need to applaud me for my courage on writing and speaking publicly about my disease, because the diagnosis of depression and bipolar disorder would be understood no differently than that of diabetes, arthritis, or dementia.
I have a dream that the research into genetics of mood disorders will continue to pinpoint specific genes that may predispose individuals and families to depression and bipolar disorder (like the gene G72/G30, located on chromosome 13q), just as specific…
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thanks for sharing well written
There’s a great e-card that reads: “Dear whatever doesn’t kill me, I’m strong enough now. Thanks.” It was the second most-liked item I posted on my Facebook page. The first was a quote by William Gibson: “Before you diagnose yourself with depression or low self-esteem, first make sure you are not, in fact, surrounded by xxxholes.”
Nietzsche was responsible for the line, “What doesn’t kill me makes me stronger.” I’m not sure I believe that, given the long list of names of extraordinary people who ended up taking their lives in desperation. Sometimes the pain of severe depression—the hopelessness that is its constant companion–simply becomes too much to endure. Having visited the doorway to suicide for periods of time that lasted months and years, I understand that.
However, there is also truth in what C. C. Jung writes, that “there is no coming to consciousness without pain,” that a clay…
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