Monday, April 8, 2013


I don’t often make raw meals any more.  I did for a while, but my boys didn’t like them that much and they are really quite a lot of work to make.  A lot of work, planning and expensive.  For all that I am willing to make the effort if it is loved.  but if it isn’t then why? 

So this morning I found myself making a raw meal for tomorrow night’s dinner.  Because that is when you have to get started.  I haven’t even started tonight’s dinner, which makes my brain get all twisted, but I still enjoyed it.  Occasionally, having different foods is fun!

So I get in my car to go work out and the audiobook I am listening starts up.  And what is the author dissecting?  The evolution of the processed meal.  How women used to have no choice but to be at home and manage the home and the food and with the invention of the processed meal it allowed women to fully express themselves and not have to spend all their time making food for their family.

Hmm.  I have struggled with this for a while now.  I would rather spend time planning, ordering, purchasing and preparing meals for my family than rushing around and sacrificing good nutrition.  But that is MY (or rather OUR) choice.  I have felt external as well as internal struggle as to whether this is enough.  This time consuming and important job at which I am currently employed.

And that brings me back to this morning.  It feels like some sort of defeat of the modern woman that  I don’t have paid employment.  Since this is such a new option for women.  But I have had plenty of jobs.  And I pretty much hate them all.  So why would I do that?  Just to make money? 

Is it really such a luxury that I stay home?  is it really such a bonbon eating, feet up kind of life?  I disagree.  But until I get paid for it then I will continue to defend this way of life.  And feel good about my role in providing a safe and edible home to my boys.

Thursday, April 4, 2013

Do you love roses?

I do.  I remember when I started planning my wedding that I began to hear that so many people don’t love roses.  I can’t imagine.  They are so beautiful, cylindrical, conical, so elegant.  And sometimes, oh sometimes, they smell so amazing.  Like nothing else. 

During that time I began to garden.  I never had before.  A brown thumb that could kill anything.  And for many years I loved gardening.

Now I live in this house that has begun to represent all the hardship of the past few years.  It represents the darkness that grows within my and the literal darkness that disallows gardening here.  The beautiful trees prohibit it.

So I just finished a book (so many things I write about begin this way) and these best friends take walks to admire the roses.  And I realized that in this city of roses that I can’t wait for my partner and friend to be able to join me on walks to admire the roses.  When that will be I don’t know.  But as I run, hurry and rush around life I admire the people who slow down, walk around and admire the roses.

Thursday, January 3, 2013


I have been quiet for a while.  A long while really, but it doesn’t mean I haven’t been thinking about food, lifestyle choices and emotional eating.  What I came to about six months ago was that I am tired of dieting, of dieting choices, of thinking about foods I do or do not eat because of some reason important or not.  I am tired of spending so much time on why I am not the size, shape, fitness I want to be.  My first memory of being “chubby” was when I was eleven.  That is a long time to be thinking about this.  Yes, it is important.  It is vital.  Really, how can anything be important if you don’t have your health?

But for me, that isn’t the problem.  My health is good.  My fitness is good.  My eating is good.  It is my head-case-ness about eating that isn’t.  And this, unfortunately, hasn’t changed through all the experimentation, the great ways of eating and the interesting lifestyle choices.

So, for the last six months I have just done what I wanted (mostly).  And (mostly) it works.  I am larger than I would like, I am slower than I would like and I eat meat (more than I would like).

I no longer want to be special.  Eat special.  Be different.  I rarely even talk about it.  I tell people I am a librarian, even though my license is about to expire.  I just don’t want to talk about it anymore.

The problem is the problem.  It isn’t solved.  I still eat emotionally, destructively and without regard for my digestive system.  I am still waiting to see when I will just grow the fuck up and stop eating crap.  Desiring crap.  Needing crap. 

I keep trying.  Knowing that life is good.  That things are definitely better than they were.  But that doesn’t help in the moment.  That moment of self hate and painful self talk.

So, I stay quiet.  I have learned people don’t want to hear this stuff.  But ultimately, this is for me.  And when it needs to come out.  And writing it is much better than eating it.