Warning: The post you are about to read was written under the influence of an unholy amount of sugar coursing through my veins. I am not responsible for a single offending thing I say in this post.
Or EVER, for that matter.
I’m writing this post on Easter Sunday. This is the most holy of days in the Christian calendar. On the O’Holy o’meter it’s OFF. THE. CHARTS. Which is why Christians everywhere engage in ritual sacrifice of rabbits and chickens on this most sacred of days. To celebrate the resurrection of Jesus.
What’s not to celebrate? I’d come back for chocolate too.
Pause here to bow your head and genuflect. Show some respect. Because those cute little critters down below… they’re about to have their HEADS EATEN OFF. And they haven’t a clue.
They are the innocents. Who. MUST. Die. For us.
Look at them. So…cheerful. So unsuspecting. Well, maybe not the bunny. Her smile looks rather forced to me. And WHAT is that she’s clutching? OMG! A little purse. She thinks she’s going shopping. Or to the movies. Oh, why doesn’t someone SAVE her??? Where is PETA (Confectionery division) when you need them? Where?
Because if someone doesn’t STOP ME, I will do what I was raised to do. WITH THE CHURCH’S BLESSING!!!
Starting with the ears. I will break them off her tiny little head with my bare hands. Just. Like. That. And then, as she watches (still smiling but it’s a horrified smile) I will BITE PEEP’S HEAD OFF. And. Swallow. It. Whole.
And then I’ll get back to Miss Bunny….
But I will spare you the details. It’s not a pretty sight but it MUST BE DONE. To honor new life. New beginnings. The glories of spring.
Unless you live in the southern hemisphere. Where Easter co-insides with the decent into the hell of winter. That REALLY sucks theologically, doesn’t it? You want my advice? Go eat a chocolate ‘roo. It’ll make you feel better. Maybe.
Change of topic:
Put a couple of albums of art up on my FaceBook page. It’s like an Arty Life Lite. Kind of. Come on over and check it out. And while you’re there, PLEASE, PLEASE, PRETTY PLUH-ESE click the ‘like’ button on the top of the page. ‘Cause that Zuckerberg kid said I could trade them in for a PONY when I get enough of ’em.
Ah, my sweetums….my most loved readers and friends…happy LUVVVVVVVVV day to you!
Today. And EVERY day. Every single freakin’ BLESSED day. No partner? No problem. Because the kind of luvvvv I’m taking about is the kind that feeds you down to your soul. Curls your celestial toes with heavenly bliss.
I’m talkin’ the ZING!!! that wakes you up happy just because you’re here. And alive.
The magical mystery tour (can you tell I’m in a Beatles mood) that comes from the grand adventure of appreciating the wonder–the starburst BLINDING non-judgmental WONDER that is you.
With. No. Apologies.
The take yourself-out-on-a-date kind of love. Because you ENJOY your own company. With a special thanks to friend Emma for sharing this wonderful video.
But…but…THIS IS VALENTINE’S DAY. I want candy! Flowers! A Hallmark card! I want my significant other to make a fuss and tell me how wonderful I am.
I don’t want no stinkin’ New Age date with myself. I WANT TRADITION!
Tradition? Very well then. You can read all about that here.
And while you read about Valentines’s day tradition, I’m going to indulge in some self lovin’ that doesn’t involve dead goats and naked Romans.
I started writing this post in a rant. A foaming at the mouth fingers burning up the keyboard RANT.
And I had good reason…I had been taunted–positively taunted–by my jeans.
Stupid jeans. Stupid size 8 skinny jeans. The ones I haven’t worn in over a year. Had the NERVE to jump out from wherever they were hiding and remind me neener neener neener…we are skinny. And YOU. Are. Not.
Effing jeans.
Then I pulled out the size NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS fat jeans. The ones that ride low enough on the hips to diffuse the muffin top. Maybe. A little. If I suck in my gut ALL the time. And throw back my shoulders like a Marine on parade. Which I don’t. But I pretend no one else can see it. And then I spend the day pulling up the jeans that are sagging on my butt while tugging down the shirt that’s riding up.
Last year at this time I was in the size 8s. And then I took care of Mama while she died and then–
Oh hell, who am I kidding. Yes, I was in the 8s last year. Maybe even the year before that. But honestly? The entire last DECADE has been up and down with the emotions, up and down on the scale. Because when stressed…I eat. No, no–I inhale anything remotely edible. And with a kid in Iraq three times, an aging mother and just life, you know, I did a lot of inhaling.
And then I’d exhale. Gain. Lose. Gain again. Lose a little. And on and on and on. I have EVERY diet book to prove it. And after reading them I have concluded the only safe food to eat is air. Because everything else packs on the pounds, is bad for the environment and KILLS YOU DEAD.
And calories? They good. They’re bad. They don’t mean a damn thing.
Awww geeze…. I just wanted to run in circles and scream because it shouldn’t be this crazy making difficult.
As it so often happens, the beginnings of the answer hit me when I was with the horses this evening. They are wise creatures indeed…because they keep their mouths shut and let me ramble on. And somewhere in the ramblings the AHA! glimmer began…I need to forget about the books and listen. to. my. body.
I was so excited I hurried back to the studio and began rewriting the post. Which was stressful. Which meant a diversion. No food in Studio Grande so I turned to the next best thing…FaceBook.
And that’s where the glimmer of AHA! became a full-on moment. It was a comment in a thread from Liv Lane’s Build a Better Blog e-class. A closed group where the students share all manner of information about growing our blogs. The comment was by fellow student AnaLisa Rutstein, MA CHHC. As I remember it, she mentioned the pleasure of savoring dark chocolate in the morning. My kind of woman. And then she mentioned being a health coach.
Well, that sounded interesting. A health coach who savors dark chocolate. Definitely my kind of woman. I decided to check out her site. The first thing that hit me was her tag line. “Helping women LOSE WEIGHT, MAXIMIZE their METABOLISM and REDUCE cravings, without deprivation, so they can gain the life they are truly hungry for.”
Hello? Wasn’t that what the ponies and I had just discussed??? Was this synchronicity in action or what?
I delved deeper into her site. Checked out her credentials. And I was impressed. Even more impressed with her philosophy of weight loss, so much so I asked for an interview.
We spoke on the phone tonight. She looks so young in the pictures but her voice sounds so wise. We spoke about life and stress. About the answer being within. About your body KNOWING what it needs. About allowing yourself to FEEL the feelings. About having compassion for yourself.
FEEL my feelings??? Might as well surf in a tsunami. My kid was in a war. My mother died. Job. Family. Money. And on and on and on… FEELINGS? I’ve been putting those suckers on hold for a long time. And compassion for myself…Whoosh. Now that’s a big exhale…. Huge.
This was an interview, not a therapy session. But as AnaLisa discussed her program I felt walls that I didn’t know I had begin to crack. And I knew the most compassionate thing I could do for myself was enlist her help.
So I did. I signed for her Jumpstart. Six 45 minute one on one coaching sessions. Handouts and experiential exercises. E-mail support.
Afterwards, as I was kicking myself for spending the money, because really, there are other things in this world to invest in…I stopped and thought, whoa…how could I NOT invest in myself. Because this is my life we’re talking about.
As I work with AnaLisa I’ll be sharing this journey with you. Not the gory parts, but the illuminations.
Soup covers? Umm-hmm…check out the women’s magazines. Practically every one of them sports bowls of steaming soup or chili on the cover this month. Because they KNOW a good many of us porked up over the holidays and want nothing more to do with food. Ever. Except comfort food. There’s always room for comfort food.
And what’s more comforting than soup?
Pause here for flashbacks of the Campbell kids. Rosy cheeks. Runny noses. A bowl of tomato soup with a side of grill cheese and that about sums up my childhood memories of winter. That and the tablespoon of wine Mama always gave us when we came in from the cold. “To warm us up.” We did a lot of running in and out of the house during those days.
Now fast forward to the present. Because this is about the soup I made tonight. My I-can-figure-this-recipe-out kale and white bean soup. I will tell you straight up that it was way better than last week’s supper nightmare. The one I talked about here.
Tonight’s soup was quite nice, actually.
First thing I did was admire an onion. Because I’m an artist and can focus in on almost anything. Which annoys Mr. Spouse to no end.
Just look at that texture. At the way the stem twists. And that round little body all covered in paper thin sheets. Luscious, luscious, luscious, I tell you. The artist in me had brief fantasies of forgetting about dinner. Of running off to the studio and having my way with Onion O’Mine and some charcoal.
But Hungry Girl took a deep breath and chopped it up instead. And then threw the bits in some olive oil and browned ’em. Just like that, without flinching even. Because Hungry Girl isn’t into anthropomorphizing vegetables.
Alas, no fresh garlic. Mine had seen better days and needed to go away. So I used garlic powder. How much? I dunno. Enough to fit in the cup of my palm.
The next step was to add one of those big boxes of chicken broth. This is a work night dinner, no homemade stock tonight, no overnight soaking of beans. I used two cans.
And then the spices. Oh my, thyme or rosemary? A search of the spice rack reminded me I’d used the last of the thyme so it became rosemary by default. Another handful measure. And salt and pepper.
And wine. White.
I let it cook for a bit, enough to soften the rosemary leaves. Then I put a bunch of it in the blender. Umm..note to self…the cover must be on securely before operating the blender. And don’t forget to put the laundry in the dryer before going to bed.
After I mopped the counter and the surrounding floor, I poured the pureed soup back into the pan. Gave it the taste test. Sigh…okay but something was missing.
Sausages! Smokey goodness. Of course!
I chopped them up, thinking all the while about a post I wrote earlier in the month. Don’t click on the link, fellas.
Puppies came running when they heard the kale. Yes, they know the sound of those leaves. They cannot get enough of it. By the way, the bean crusted jacket is in the wash right now.
I threw the kale in the soup, covered it and turned off the heat. Then I fed the horses, went down to the studio and fell asleep with Studio Quat on my lap. About an hour later I came back to the house. The soup was still hot and the flavors had had time to blend together just right.
Parmesan cheese on top, some sourdough bread on the side and dinner was delicious.
Chicken enchiladas, what’s not to like? I mean, anything smothered in hot and gooey melted cheese has an advantage over all the other food groups. And I had all the ingredients in the house which was a definite plus considering my recent pledge to actually eat the food in my freezer.
But I also had a bag of mixed greens that was past perilously close to it’s toss-by date. I should just saute them up with some onions and mushrooms and call it a night with all the good nutrition boxes checked.
But I wanted enchiladas.
So I came up with a plan. Make enchiladas as a layered casserole–which I’ve done many times and it’s delicious. Only this time I’d add the greens. And I’d take lots of pictures and blog about what a great dinner I made.
It seemed like a good idea at the time.
Look at that. Layers of corn tortillas, chicken, wilted greens, enchilada sauce and cheese. Ready for the oven. Oh, I think I’m in luvvvvvv….
And here it is all cooked and ready on the plate. Complete with salad.
Too bad it tasted like crap.
Oh well…next time, if there is a next time, I’ll use mild greens, like spinach. I’ll save the big boys, the collards, turnip and mustard, I’ll save them for the onions and mushrooms saute with a dash of balsamic. Where they belong.
To be honest this wasn’t the worst dinner I ever made. Far from it. That honor goes to Tuna. Eggplant. Casserole. Which should be against the law. And has been forever banned in our house.
Sometimes being creative isn’t necessarily a good thing.
Brown things. The code name Mr. Spouse and I used for chocolate when the kids were young. Peppermint patties, our favorite. Consumed only when the kids were safely in bed. Three each. Because everyone knows four is the gateway number to binging on even simpler carbs. Like Gummies. Or Blow Pops.
We kept the Yorks in the freezer, way in the back. In an empty Garden Burger box. Under lots of other boxes unappealing to children, like spinach. And green beans. FirstBorn found them eventually. And it wasn’t by accident. When it came to candy that kid had the instincts of a drug sniffing dog.
But that was years ago. The kids are grown now. The Yorks are still in the freezer but are in plain sight. Which is good because A: we like them frozen and B: neither one of us can see worth a damn anymore. We know they’re in the top drawer, left front. Can find them by feel if we have to.
It’s been a while since I’ve indulged in brown things but I decided I wanted some tonight. I opened the freezer door and AHA!!! The lights came on, the music blared forth and I was struck upside the head by the spirit of Holy Crap! There’s a LOT of food in here. And all it’s doing is serving as a backdrop for peppermints. Because we don’t eat it. I just buy it, toss it in and hope to God we don’t have a power outage, in which case I throw it out.
Which is always nice because then, after I whine about how much food was wasted, I can start all over with a clean slate. This girl knows how to have a good time.
This is the top drawer. Yorks to the lower left. Always are. In case you ever break into my house looking for candy.
And this is the bottom. Look at all that food! I don’t even know what’s in there. Why, why WHY do I go to the grocery store every other day???
I am headed down the path to freezer burn. So I came up with a plan…. WE WILL EAT THIS FOOD. Imagine that! We’ll excavate the freezer one layer at a time until we hit bottom. We will save money and only shop for perishables like milk. Salad greens. Smoothie greens. Potato Chips.
I will not bore you with the daily details, unless I unearth something…interesting. Like the hamster that went MIA a few years ago. Or a really clever recipe for edamame. Which I haven’t eaten in years but occasionally feel compelled to buy. Probably to feed the hamster.
But I may say something about it while blogging about mixed media techniques. Like how the gesso reminds me of the bag of green beans I ate all by myself. Or something like that.
Feel free to hold me accountable to this. Feel free to join me in person or in spirit.
