“911, what is your emergency?” (graphic)

Some of this is just the gist of my recollection, not necessarily verbally accurate to every word spoken to me.

Some of this is 100% precise thoughts and words and deeds – mostly mine.

Overall, though, generalization and sequence should be enough to put you there, with me.

When the operator answered, I was momentarily stunned; marveling at the accuracy of every stereotypical dramatic portrayal of a 911 operator.

“911 – what is your emergency?”

I wasn’t expecting that.

“911 – what is your emergency?”

I wasn’t particularly panicked, but I was absolutely emphatic. “I can’t wake my husband up. I’ve shaken him and yelled in his ear, but I can’t wake him up.”

“Is he breathing?”

I put my ear to his chest.

“Are you still there?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said. “I’m trying to listen….”

“Do you know CPR?”

“Yes, I think so… but you’ll have to remind me….”

She urged me toward mouth-to-mouth resuscitation, instead.

“OK, tilt his head back.”

“I can’t,” I said. “His head won’t move.”

“Put your hand under his head, and push up on the back of his neck.”

“That’s not working, either,” I said.

“Is his mouth open?”

“Not really,” I reported. “Well, I mean, a little… like normal sleep…not closed, but you know, not open.”

It was explained to me that I was going to have to open his mouth in order to breathe my breath into him. I wasn’t sure how to do that, so I awkwardly tried to ease his lips apart.

“I can’t,” I said. “It won’t open.”

“Try putting your hand in his mouth and pulling down” she suggested.

I inserted two fingertips and squeamishly applied pressure to his bottom teeth.

“It won’t move,” I reported. Exasperated with frustration, I raised my voice to make the situation clearer. “Nothing is working!”

“Is he breathing?” she asked, again.

“I don’t know!” I repeated. “I can’t tell.”

“Do you have a mirror? Can you go find a mirror?”

“Yes,” I said, but I didn’t move.

I stood there, frozen, scanning with my eyes. Head to toes and toes to head and head to toes. Panicked bubbled up as I almost came to grips with reality.

“Are you still there? Did you get the mirror?”

“Yes,” I said, even though I hadn’t left his side.

Instructed to hold the mirror to his lips and watch for condensation fog, I must have registered some part of the truth, at that point.

While I instinctively knew what the mirroring result would be, I also concluded we were wasting time.

I needed to try something else. Something powerful.

Something with enough impact to prove what I didn’t really want proven.

Quote for the Week: 2019 10 08 insisting on static concrete paths leaves no consideration jakorte

 

Uncertain Pie

I did a test run, because no one wants to eat bad pie. Especially not on Thanksgiving.

Backtrack just a tiny bit to July of this year, when I discovered I was getting older. It’s not like it’s not an annual event. Yet, for some reason stringing them all together as the years go faster and faster was ne’er fore minded or after minded. Pretty much, not minded at all.

So, when a new specialist physician gave me orders that I couldn’t imagine they would be willing to follow themselves, I couldn’t imagine I’d be following them, either.

I’ve never attempted to keep two story lines going at once, before. Just know – there’s a new blog just around the corner, I am affectionately calling, “Keto-tonic.”

So, that’s how I ended up uncertain. My first attempt was a little knabble-fied, as usual. I miss-moshed a raved crust with a gloried filling from two different sources. Yes, I knew I was flirting with danger, but the description “Pumpkin Pie Cheesecake” assured me, it would taste just fine.

I also, might have tried to use the ingredients for one filling and the instructions/cooking directions for another. And maybe, I assumed I knew what I was doing when I mixed all the filling ingredients together instead of layering them as one version explained.

You know, it came out ok. Not at first bite, nor the second. By the third tentative taste, I felt I’d come close to a restricted diet dessert I would be willing to share without embarrassment. Just to be certain, I enlisted samplers. They didn’t not eat it, so that was encouraging. They also, didn’t leave any to slide into the garbage bin, which was also uplifting. We all agreed, it could use more spice. They helped me figure out that it’s better to be upfront about the non-traditional crust.

I was still a little uncertain whether this culinary creation would be acceptable for Thanksgiving. After a day of debate, I decided to go ahead and make another one, following the instructions at least a little more closely. The second round began tonight and is still the oven….

Instead of an unfirm cheese-cakey-pumpkin mash-up filling, I layered as I was supposed to originally. 2/3 of the cheese base mixture went straight into the pre-cooked almond-flour crust. The remaining 1/3 combined with the pumpkin carefully set atop. The purple pie plate kinda hindered my determining if I’ve achieved any real separation. As to whether this time I’ve achieved the correct custard consistency… the proof will be in the pudding, as they say.

The thing is, if you’ve got no expectations, it’s really good.

If you explain that the almond crust isn’t flaky and adds its own flavor flare:

If you don’t explain it’s supposed to be precisely layered just in case it comes out marbled:

If you don’t offer it up specifically as Pumpkin Cheesecake Pie: you’ll be better off.

I think. I hope. I’m not certain.

 

(I’m bringing my full-sugar, un-monkeyed with, homemade cranberry sauce, as back up.

And I’m certainly thankful I’ll be sharing both with family.)

Quote for the Week:2017 11 21 Baking requires certainty jakorte

Enjoy This Week’s Discovery Links:

Cranberry Sauce: How I do it

Pumpkin Cheesecake: How I didn’t do it

Keto Pumpkin Cheesecake Filling: How I kinda did it

Almond Flour Crust: How I kinda did it (2)