Gin and Ginger and Serious Heat

It’s only 112 degrees on the back porch just now. Balmy, yet. They say it will reach 118 today. This gives the local Play-Nooz nabobs something to write about, and an excuse to pepper their copy with exclamation points!!!

LOL! What foolishness. Every time the weather breaks 105 degrees, we get another hysterical EXCESSIVE HEAT WARNING!!!!! As though this weren’t a desert. As though we were all basking in a Midwestern summer with mosquitoes as big as F16s. WTF? What part of “deserts are hot in the summer and warm in the winter” needs repeated explanation to the stump-dumb public?

Oh well.

Here at the Funny Farm, the human and the dogs laid on extra water come dawn, knowing the potted plants will fry by midday unless they get at least one dose of water. Most of them will need to be watered twice today, actually. So about 45 minutes ago I set the watering system to come on a second time, which should up the chances that most of the plants in the front courtyard will live. Under the supervision of the Queen of the Universe, who is feeling preoccupied with having to herd Charlie the Golden Retriever around while coaxing the human to play with Ball, I deep-watered all the citrus, ran extra water on the roses, and manually watered the front flowerbeds.

This month’s water bill should be interesting.

All this heaving around comes at a cost: excruciating pain. The accursed back hurts so much I can barely limp up the hallway — and limp is the operative term. I can’t walk normally unless I consciously force myself to do so, and then it hurts even more. Driving is highly problematic, since I can’t easily shift my foot from the gas pedal to the brake pedal.

This has gone so far as to detach me from my usual science-based thinking and push me to call a chiropractor, whom I intend to visit on Monday. He was on his way out of the Inferno when I reached him this morning and so couldn’t see me today.

In the interim, we’re medicating ourself with a new analgesic. Sorry not to have a photo…that would entail limping into the back room to get the camera.

I’m sure I’ve written about the pain-relieving effect of ginger, which can be steeped in water or tea to make a tisane or even soaked into olive oil to create a topical ointment. But to reprise, here’s how you make a ginger tea:

Take a good-sized chunk of fresh ginger. (The one I used for today’s batch was about three or four inches long). Trim off any crusty or mildewed parts. Wash. Do not bother to peel (puh-LEEZE!). Cut it into several small pieces, about 1/2 thick, more or less. Just chop it up, remembering that the cut surfaces will leach ginger juice into the water you’re about to pour over them.

Bring a pot of water to a boil. Place the pieces of ginger into a teapot or other heatproof serving vessel. If you want to drink the tisane straight and are not on a diet, pour a bunch of honey or sugar in there with the ginger chunks. For today’s effort, I added no sweetener.

When the water comes to a rolling boil, pour it over the ginger, to fill the teapot. Let this steep for upwards of 20 minutes (the longer the better). You can store it in the refrigerator after it cools enough to safely set it on a fridge shelf.

Now for the ultimate analgesic:

Get yourself a fine bottle of gin. Scare up a cucumber and some fresh mint.

Slice off three or four thin disks of cucumber. Punch them with a fork or knife to sort of macerate them.

Place some ice in a favorite tall drinking glass.

Pour enough ginger tea in there to fill it about a quarter of the way. Add more ice if need be. Toss in the cucumber slices.

Add a jigger of gin. Stir the mix around to macerate the cuke a little and blend the ginger tea with the booze. Fill to the top with club soda. Add a few macerated leaves of fresh mint.

Consume.

Very palliative.

Mijito and his band of friends are convening in Chicago as we scribble. I understand the weather’s a bit problematic in the Windy City, but whatever is going on there, barring a tornado it will be a welcome break from the low desert’s July heat. In the meantime, Charley the Golden Retriever is hanging out at my house.

Charley has grown into a mellow sort of golden retriever. Not real bright, in human terms, but laid-back and easy enough to have around. This thing, whatever it is, is not a German shepherd. Not a corgi, either.

The corgi has no problem lording it over poor ole Charley, despite the fact that he’s about four or five times her size. He doesn’t seem to mind being herded around. But on the other hand, he waits for his opportunities and visibly rejoices whenever he gets a chance to grab a toy, scarf down some extra food, or distract the human’s attention his way. Cassie has to work to maintain her sovereignty when Charley is around, whereas with only the human to cope with, she’s unarguably the Queen of the Universe.

Well, it looks like the pain is down to about a 4 now, on the famous scale of 1 to 10. So I believe the cold pack can return to its place in the freezer and I can retire to the bed, where I’ve spent most of the past three or four days, thereinat to bake the chilled back on a heating pad.