A doughnut or a dough-not? — April 27, 2022

A doughnut or a dough-not?

As I’ve mentioned before, to the dismay of many, I do not eat peanut butter or drink coffee. Well, dear readers, get ready to once again be dismayed. Thanks to a conversation I had this week, I remembered another popular foodstuff I avoid – doughnuts.

Unlike peanut butter, which I have loathed since our first encounter, I spent years enjoying doughnuts. (I also drank coffee from childhood into adulthood.)

Indeed, one of my aunts is something of an expert when it comes to preparing doughnuts. She frequently made them for my cousins, my siblings, and me when we were wee lads and lasses growing up on and/or near the Goff Estate.

What’s more, one day in elementary school I, a lifelong cheapskate, agreed to go halfsies with a classmate and purchase a jelly doughnut. That was a big deal for me because I had never eaten a jelly doughnut.

And I didn’t eat one that day, either. When we cut into the doughnut, we discovered it was a glazed doughnut sans jelly. As you might be able to infer, I have not let go of that disappointment. Sometimes I wonder if my life would have turned out differently if I had gotten to eat one-half a jelly doughnut that day. Or if I had asked for a refund upon learning the doughnut was free of jelly. You never know. That could have been the turning point in my life.

Anyway, my sisters and I learned to make doughnuts and for years we would legit jump up at dern-near any hour of the day and whip up a platter of doughnuts. Then, for some reason I can’t recall, we stopped making them.

Maybe it was because we could more readily and easily purchase tasty doughnuts at the stores. And purchase them we did. As an adult, I discovered that jelly doughnuts left a bad aftertaste. This discovery elated me. So, I stuck to glazed or chocolate glazed.

But at some point a dozen or so years ago (it’s not like I noted the date in my journal), I realized that doughnuts made me feel, well, high. You might be saying to yourself, “Self, what’s wrong with that?” Nothing. Unless you’re feeling high at work.

Once I studied on the matter, I further realized this doughnut high had been occurring for some time. And it was always followed by a migraine.

Oh, there’s more. I also remembered that I had developed my first doughnut-induced migraine in college. Of course, that was a certain type of microwavable yeast doughnut that I swore off after it caused the second headache. These glazed – chocolate or plain – doughnuts hadn’t started bothering me until a dozen or so years ago.

What changed?

If I knew the answer to that question, I would be penning articles for medical journals.

All I know is that when I tell people I don’t eat doughnuts, I detect their disappointment. It’s as if they just cut into a plain doughnut…

This post originally appeared in the Appalachian News-Express.

Coffee break — March 30, 2022

Coffee break

I don’t drink coffee.

Most people react to this statement with disbelief. They stare at me with widened eyes and open mouths before peppering me with such questions as “Why not?” and “What’s wrong with you?”

There’s not enough bandwidth or time to properly answer that last question. As for coffee, unlike my aversion to peanut butter – another admission that folks struggle to understand – I don’t have anything against coffee. In fact, I enjoyed a cup a day for 20 years or so.

If memory serves, I started drinking coffee around age 11. By Goff Estate standards, that defined me as a late bloomer. I grew up in a family of coffee addicts who still drink the stuff all day. They’ve drunk it for so long that they’re immune to its caffeinated effects. Indeed, my mom and oldest sister have fallen asleep whilst drinking coffee.

At any time of the day, you’re likely to hear my mom, my sisters, or my nieces ask, “Whose turn is it to make a pot?” They go through coffee pots like they’re paper plates. Once, when Mother’s coffee pot started misbehaving, I said, “You’ve only had it for little more than a year and a half. Oh, wait, I guess that’s the life expectancy for a coffee pot around here.”

Of course, a single cup of instant coffee is not out of the question, either. Some people don’t care for what my late father referred to as boiled coffee. During my coffee-drinking days, I couldn’t tell the difference between instant and what he called percolated coffee. It all tasted the same to me.

Even back then, though, I wasn’t interested in anything like espresso or zucchini spiced mocha latte. And I’ll never grasp the concept of iced coffee. At the Goff Estate, iced coffee means you’ve talked so much that your previously-warm coffee needs “hottened up.”

Anyway, in adulthood, I finally sought help for my migraines. During a consultation with my doctor, he advised me to rid my life of caffeine. I complied, curbing my intake of chocolate, switching to caffeine free soda (that didn’t last), and quitting coffee.

If this change in lifestyle resulted in night tremors or hallucinations, I don’t remember them. Nor did I look at a cup of coffee with regret and longing.

Fast forward a decade or so later. Whilst making shortbread cookies one Christmas, my taste buds recalled that I had savored coffee with those cookies. Suddenly, I decided that one cup wouldn’t hurt. I poured some coffee and nibbled on a cookie as I waited on it to cool. As soon as I was sure it would not burn my tongue, I put the cup to my mouth, experienced my first sip of coffee in years and immediately said, “Yuck.”

It tasted terribly bitter and dern-near ruined the cookie. It also reminded me that when it comes to coffee, I’m not missing a thing.

This post originally appeared in the Appalachian News-Express.

Burn notice — June 24, 2020

Burn notice

Last Sunday, I decided to treat myself to hot dogs for dinner. Yes, hot dogs are included on my list of migraine-inducing-foods-to-avoid list. But since I develop migraines on days that end in the letter y and since Sunday does end in y, then odds were pretty high that I’d develop a headache no matter what I ate or did.

Surprisingly, though, I did not end up with a migraine. I did, however, end up with a boo-boo.

Although I prefer hot dogs prepared on the grill, I settled for boiled wieners. But with a functioning toaster oven in the house, I saw no reason to settle for microwaved buns. So, I tossed the buns into the toaster oven until they were toasted to something much less than perfection.

When I removed them from said toaster, the forefinger on my left hand grazed the top heating element. I felt next to no pain and quickly forgot the incident.

By the next day, a reddish, angry-looking raised blister on my finger had reminded me of the incident.

I ran cold water on the blister, treated it with boo-boo medicine, and covered it with a bandage. But every time I washed my hands – for something less than the recommended 20 seconds – the dern bandage came off. So, I decided to continue sans bandage. Besides, maybe the blister could benefit from some air.

Unfortunately, I kept hitting my hand on various objects, resulting in the blister’s bubble bursting and a smidgen of skin tearing loose. Even though the blister remained raised, red, and angry, I viewed this as potentially good news and a sign that the finger was healing itself.

By Thursday, however, part of the blister had turned yellow and green and it appeared to be oozing liquid. When I showed the blister to others, they recoiled in horror and advised me to wrap that thing up. When I explained that handwashing was adversely affecting my bandages, they screamed, “Quit washing it!”

I wasn’t really sure if, by that, they meant for me to quit washing that part of my finger, the entire finger, or the hand. I’m also unsure what to make of an adviser’s theory that burns don’t heal as fast as they used to. Regardless, I started using more powerful boo-boo medicine and I re-committed to bandages.

As of this writing, I am happy to report that the blister is smaller in size and pink in color and no longer angry or raised. It still throbs at times and the bandages are itchy. On an unrelated note, I’m also seeing auras and their arrival usually means a migraine is imminent. This day does end in y, so the odds are pretty high anyway.

This post originally appeared in the Appalachian News-Express.

Sigh of relief — September 2, 2018

Sigh of relief

As I’ve mentioned before, I suffer from migraines. Last week, I experienced the worst one I’ve had in five years. It lingered for days, beginning with pain in my left shoulder and neck. Fortunately, the pain in my neck (and shoulder) abated around the time my migraine eased up.

And then it came back with an excruciating vengeance. Indeed, for a couple days, I couldn’t turn my head or neck to the left. And turning to the right didn’t feel so hot, either. When I laid my head on my pillow at night, pain shot from the base of my head and down the back of my neck. I applied so much of one of those smelly sprays that the scent made me sick to my stomach and made my cat army high. I also spent a lot of time with the heating pad on my neck and shoulder.

Still, I could get no relief. So, I called a doctor who advised me to take Epsom salt baths. When I told him I had taken oodles of the baths last year yet had not experienced positive results, he asked if I had any magnesium oil. His question reminded me of the time I stopped by the courthouse to renew my driver’s license and the clerk asked if I had my birth certificate. As it turns out, I don’t carry my birth certificate with me and I don’t stock magnesium oil, either.

Well, at least I didn’t. But after the doctor advised me to stop what I was doing and obtain magnesium oil posthaste, I acquired some.

As I noted in the Epsom salts post, studies have linked magnesium to migraine relief. And whilst the magnesium in the salts didn’t give me relief, it appears that the magnesium oil has eased my pain. Every day I’ve noticed a better range of motion in my neck and shoulder. It’s been so beneficial that I’ve started applying the oil to the right side of my neck and shoulder as well. Somehow, the oil has helped me to locate pressure points in my muscles. Pressure points that I’ve massaged.

Anyway, I’m not at the point where I’m ready to describe magnesium oil as a miracle cure. But I am at the point where I’m ready to share my experience with others.

This post originally appeared in the Appalachian News-Express.