…and so should you. If you haven’t seen Firefly, you really need to. Seriously. Go ahead, I’ll wait.

Fifteen episodes. That’s all they got before the networks foolishly cancelled them. The network executives must not have watched the show because I can’t imagine how else they could possibly miss the fact that they had the most original universe in television since the original Star Trek. I refuse to believe that they’re all imbeciles.

Admittedly, the concept of a space western is generally cringe-worthy, but that’s just because it’s so very hard to do right. Joss nailed it from the get go and, no disrespect to my beloved Star Trek, did it all without a single alien. Firefly had the perfect combination of writers, actors, scoring and filming. It was funny, smart, and honest. What they lacked was publicity and a proper respect for the intended order of presentation. And the fans, who called themselves Browncoats in honor of the underdog characters of the show, knew it.

They knew it so well, in fact, that they made the movie version, Serenity, possible by sheer force of will. While I am less a fan of the movie than of the television series (there were a few tweaks in the storyline in translation), the point is that this show was so important to so many people that they got a nationally released feature film. The hope was that it would renew interest in the television series. At first it didn’t look like it had worked. But word is still spreading and new Browncoats are being recruited to the cause every day.

There’s still hope.

(Mym’s suggested title was “Little Bastard, I’m gonna break, break, break your bones”)

As he often does, Mym made sandwiches for our lunches today; turkey with normal condiments for me, roast beef with horseradish and swiss for himself. *shudder* We take turns guarding them from the cats during the construction process until they are safely ensconced in lunch bags or backpacks.

Usually, we’re pretty vigilant about it – we have to be – but this morning Ozzy managed to run off with Mym’s sandwich wholesale… and drag it straight to his lair before tearing into it. Under our bed. Inside the box springs. The only piece of it Mym could reach was the saran wrapping that Ozzy had inexplicably managed to remove without tearing. The rest of the sandwich was safely beyond arm’s reach, though he stayed in there guarding it anyway, just in case, pawing playfully at Mym’s reaching hand. That cat has no idea how narrowly he averted his doom.

Since I had already left for work by the time Mym discovered the theft, the rescue mission had to wait until after we were both available to dismantle the bed and shake out whatever else had been squirreled away right under our noses. I fully expected to find a few lost toys.

As it turned out, all we found was a stale bun with hard cheese (also known as “treasure type J” for those of you playing at home.) Either way, it was obviously time to patch the hole in the fabric. So I dug out an old, tie-dyed, flat sheet from the closet (I -knew- I’d find a use for that someday when I first inherited it a decade ago), pulled out the stapler, and re-upholstered the underside of the box springs.

While I was at it, I turned the mattress, too. Voila, lemons into lemonade!

Over the past few years, I’ve had to quit eating most of my favorite foods: fresh fruits and veggies, steak, nuts & seeds, and anything even remotely spicy. Possibly forever. My one remaining consolation was cheese.

There wasn’t much left to make a balanced diet from that was terribly appetizing, but at least I had cheese. If I had eggs for breakfast, there was cheese in them. If my lunch didn’t have an item that already contained cheese, I packed an inch or so of sliced cheddar to accompany it. Sometimes I did it anyway. When I wasn’t feeling well, which was often, dinner would consist of either soup or a toasted cheese sandwich.

So you can imagine my shock when, starting with an impromptu accupressure treatment on Christmas eve, I was suddenly feeling orders of magnitude better than I had in years. And although the accupressure had been a great help, it didn’t account for all of it. It took a full week to figure out that the only change in my diet was a complete lack of cheese.

Now, after a month of this (mostly) dairy-free diet, I’m still feeling better than ever. I’ve decreased my daily meds by a full third and plan to try stepping down even further. The “as needed” meds are beginning to collect dust. Last night I had a regular sized cesar salad (minus the cheese) with dinner and I still feel great.

If giving up cheese means I can start eating some of the other stuff again, I consider that a fair trade, indeed. In fact, from what I’ve been reading lately, I’d be better off not having the dairy even if I weren’t sick.