Lasagna Siatica

While finding myself almost completely debilitated with a major case of lower back ache, something that revisits during the most inconvenient times, I decided that an easy plan for creating many time-saving dinners out of one, would be lasagna. When it had cooked, I could slice it into sections to place in handy cruets and put them in the freezer. Having mistakenly purchased a package of noodles that do not need pre-boiling before assembling, I thought I had found the perfect solution to convenience while enduring my current back/knee/ankle pain called sciatica. The latter word sounding deliciously Italian, most likely because of it's Latin roots, I felt justified in taking down the carton of spaghetti sauce thinking to embellishing it with whatever I had in the fridge. Yes, there was a side of red pepper, a sweet onion, some frozen spinach and the ever present jug of sherry over at the wine cooler. Not being able to spend time frying up the onion and meat, I simply dumped everything into a pot and let it simmer. I felt justified because Italians do this in making their wonderful sauces. Furthermore, no one was looking. Since I creep about woman-handling a walker with the basket intact, a left over from my dear mother's hip replacement days, I felt quite able to handle mere lasagna. Wrangling a walker cum basket in my miniature kitchen is no easy feat. I had forgotten to take the lastest dose of pain reliever and the walker and my kitchen stool presented a challenge when they met each other and had to be separated. Having wisely placed the pain reliever bottle in the walker basket, all I had to do was reach in and pop the top off and voila, no pain. Ha! Bending to retrieve the bottle from the miasma of assorted usefuls in the basket caused the sciatica to wake up and make itself known. Groaning loudly and struggling toward the fridge doors, there are two of them, I managed to knock over the step stool and trip over the walker but was able to regain balance avoiding hitting my cranium on the granite counter top. I captured a part can of tonic water and downed the pain pill. It required sitting in the walker momentarily to work, while feeling guilty about the bad language that escaped my lips over the fallen foot stool escapade. The pot of tomato sauce was splashing everywhere as I dug about in the freezer section and found four half empty packages of shredded cheese. Their dates were unknown and I didn't care to look. Since the sherry was near by, I grabbed the stubby little round bottle and maneuvered us all toward the stove, emptied a portion in that I hoped was one quarter of a cup. My fire alarm system demands that I keep the door open when I cook and since I had forgotten this step, it began to shriek. Ah, all we needed was a quasi coloratura soprano. Next time I have sciatica, I'm ordering in a pizza.