I want to have the discipline to have a farm, but I know myself well enough to know that the focus and dedication even a little kitchen garden requires is more than I am currently able to commit to. And my husband categorically refuses to own chickens, and what's a farm without chickens?
I do, however, enjoy reading about other people's explorations in the agricultural arts as well as the local food movement. While fulfilling one of my pre-requisite classes for midwifery school 4 years ago, I read The Omnivore's Dilemma by Michael Pollan. Our classwork also included keeping a food diary and performing a nutritional analysis with the use of this antiquated but relatively thorough computer program. I was hooked. The way food is put together, both molecularily and the creation of processed food (and the crap that goes into that food in the name of 'palatability') fascinated me. The difference in nutritional value of organic vs. conventional food was amazing. I could actually FEEL the difference in my energy-level and my alertness as I made choices that supported local, organic, sustainable food. This is also the moment where my love of kale really began to take hold.
Then, a couple years ago I read Barbara Kingsolver's Animal, Vegetable, Miracle and was awed and inspired to reclaim my place in the local food chain. Shortly after reading that book, I began having my organic, local fruits and vegetables delivered to me by Dandelion Organic and supplementing with trips to the local farmer's market and the occasional 'treat' of illicit, exotic bananas and out-of-season strawberries from the community food co-op. I did my best to support local industry with my dollar(s), and really embraced making EVERYTHING from scratch, including bread and yogurt and the occasional ball of fresh 'churned' butter.
Then school and family beckoned and my focus on that aspect of my life waned to a dim memory. I even cancelled the Dandelion Delivery because I couldn't seem to keep up with preparing and eating all that fresh local food and my family seemed to have little inspiration to figure out how to prepare foreign items like sunchokes, and tended towards the frozen tater tots for ease and familiarity. I did, however, keep up with the morning kale smoothie ritual.
Now, with all the available time and energy afforded my in the wake of my son's exodus, I am tentatively renewing that spark and passion for local, sustainable food. My dear friends lent me the book Plenty by Alisa Smith & JB MacKinnon out of Vancouver, BC. I started casually reading it on my daily bus ride to and from work, and then this week-end, became increasingly drawn into their story of attempting to eat ONLY food that was sourced within 100 miles of their home (with very few exceptions). This seems to be just the inspiration my smoldering love affair needed to fan the flames of true passion.
In spite of the fact that it's just my husband, the cat and me in our drafty little house, I am once again inspired to cook. And not just cook to fill our bellies and fuel us for whatever projects we turn our attention to, but to really involve myself in the creativity and inspiration that go into preparing a meal. I don't know as this renewed passion will fare so well for my waistline, but I expect that once the immediate novelty of it wears off, I will be able to settle into creating truly nourishing meals that are both creative and tasty without taxing the stretch in my wardrobe. It will also help to inspire my husband's and my commitment to have 'singles suppers' in our home monthly, inviting all our single friends who otherwise tend prepare and eat their meals alone.
So what's a girl to do with 5lbs of red cabbage? Our dinner guests will soon find out!
.
Monday, November 14, 2011
The Aftermath
So I've fallen in to a slump. The aftermath of all the internal drama has led me to this place, where I spend my free time doing anything I can to avoid finishing cleaning up the mess that was made from the youngest child's exodus and focusing my attention on my own interests.
Some of my good habits are hanging in there, but some are struggling for air. When I'm home, I've become enamoured with the idea that my time is all mine. I am moving through my evenings, reveling in the moment of doing 5 little things in an evening without any interruptions but that of the distractions of my own making (see above opening statement). So now, rather than ousting myself from bed at 5:15 every morning to do yoga and go for a pre-dawn run, I get out of bed (I still can't sleep in??!) and leisurely make coffee, smoothies and lunch while cleaning the kitchen of the previous night's dirty dishes. Don't get me wrong; these are not bad things. The problem is that as I move throughout my day and especially my week, I feel the effects of lapsed physical discipline.
This Sunday evening, after a day including a leisurely morning lie-in with my husband, a decadent couple's breakfast of french nog toast with a side of turnip and sweet potato hash, and a noon walk with a friend, I'm sitting in sweats, drinking tea, eating chocolate and cookies that are upsetting my stomach and watching a silly movie. I could be productive with my time, but in this aftermath, I think it is equally important for me to just settle in and get adjusted to this little life I have finally acquired.
Some of my good habits are hanging in there, but some are struggling for air. When I'm home, I've become enamoured with the idea that my time is all mine. I am moving through my evenings, reveling in the moment of doing 5 little things in an evening without any interruptions but that of the distractions of my own making (see above opening statement). So now, rather than ousting myself from bed at 5:15 every morning to do yoga and go for a pre-dawn run, I get out of bed (I still can't sleep in??!) and leisurely make coffee, smoothies and lunch while cleaning the kitchen of the previous night's dirty dishes. Don't get me wrong; these are not bad things. The problem is that as I move throughout my day and especially my week, I feel the effects of lapsed physical discipline.
This Sunday evening, after a day including a leisurely morning lie-in with my husband, a decadent couple's breakfast of french nog toast with a side of turnip and sweet potato hash, and a noon walk with a friend, I'm sitting in sweats, drinking tea, eating chocolate and cookies that are upsetting my stomach and watching a silly movie. I could be productive with my time, but in this aftermath, I think it is equally important for me to just settle in and get adjusted to this little life I have finally acquired.
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
The End
Yesterday all hell broke loose in my world. The day started out with an email from an acquaintance who has cancer. Although I only got to know her briefly, she is the grandmother of my friend's son (yeah, figure that one out), and has been a huge influence on the society I am involved in. Her message was upbeat and full of love and gratitude as she said good-by to all. This weighed on my mind as I then got word that a dear friend of mine was dealing with a son who was having a mental health crisis. This son of hers, although almost 10 years older than my son, shares a number of personality traits with my son. As I ponder this and do my utmost to remain positive, I am also considering the two disturbing tarot readings I have given myself in the last 2 days - one with the Tower in it as my resolution and another with Death as my challenge. In keeping with the Abraham philosophy, I envision these cards to mean that I will have sudden and irrevocable GOOD things happen for me. But the images play in my mind and I cannot fully envision these as 'good' signs.
The day meandered on as I struggled to maintain focus at work, and managing to get some important projects done there, I moved on to my next job of cleaning/cleansing my friend and client's home. My husband had called a few times with a play-by-play (short version) of how his day was falling apart, and again I pulled myself out of my musings to try to maintain a positive perspective on his situation. I even managed to go to the gym and get a decent workout in (I'd give myself a B for combined effort and execution). Sometime during the day my son had managed to wash and dry his clothes and as I arrived home, I realized he had been there in the brief time I'd been at the gym and they were out of the dryer. I called for him to see if he was upstairs, but not surprisingly, he was not there. I sat down to my lone Tuesday-night dinner and to check Facebook, when I read that my son had, in fact, managed to connect with his friend's mother whom he was hoping to ask to 'rent out' her spare room. I was initially happy for him, but a little frustrated that he hadn't called to share this news with me. I go upstairs and that's when it all hit me: my son had moved out. He was gone. He'd done what we asked and in a classic move of his, left without saying good-bye or letting me know what was going on. And he wasn't coming back.
Now for all of you who say "oooh they ALWAYS come back!", I say to you: It is not the same. The first time your child launches out on his own, however that looks for them, it means they are officially 'of this world' and no longer your child in the same sense. It has been gradual steps leading up to this, and my heart has ached a little more with each step he's made towards the door (or with each nudge we've given him), but the reality of the magnitude of the impact that this moment would have on my life from here on out hit me.
In a vain attempt to connect with my daughter I called to check in with her. It was a brief conversation that brought me further into that moment of parental questioning of 'Did I do the right thing? How many times have I fucked up my children without knowing? Is this their destiny, or is this my failure?". Her perspective, as is to be expected, was one of judgement that I let go too easily. TOO EASILY. Of course, my initial reaction was to read her the riot act about how I am the parent and she is the child and she has no idea what it's like to be the parent of her and her brother. But the judgement stung and brought me back to those questionings nevertheless.
And that was the moment I broke. I looked around my house and realized they were gone to me. Both of them. I had a flood of flashbacks of them as children hugging me with abandon, crawling into my lap early in the morning, the adventures we had tromping through the snow, just me and my babies, so that I could feed them one winter when we foolishly moved in the middle of a blizzard to a remote island. I remembered the times one ran away and the other told me she hated me. I remember the heartbreak of the divorce from their father and all the many, many difficult choices I had to make in the hopes that they would be safe, cared for and loved by both parents. And I remembered my son being in ICU at Children's Hospital and the tenuous grasp on life that he had, while my daughter was home alone at an age too young to have to deal with the uncertainty of what was happening without having a parent to comfort her.
As I felt my grief and sorrow bleeding out of me, I sat down in the corner of the kitchen, like I have in so many other grief-ridden moments of my life, and started to sob. And it just kept coming. And it still flows. However, I managed to call my wonderful husband who encouraged me and loved me from afar and helped get me to a state where I could get my legs back under me and wander up to bed.
Although the card readings I did were for now-seemingly-mundane issues in my life, I believe the cards were preparing me for this. This moment of self doubt, loss and hopefully, eventually, rebuilding.
For today, though, perhaps I could catch a break and just coast a little.
The day meandered on as I struggled to maintain focus at work, and managing to get some important projects done there, I moved on to my next job of cleaning/cleansing my friend and client's home. My husband had called a few times with a play-by-play (short version) of how his day was falling apart, and again I pulled myself out of my musings to try to maintain a positive perspective on his situation. I even managed to go to the gym and get a decent workout in (I'd give myself a B for combined effort and execution). Sometime during the day my son had managed to wash and dry his clothes and as I arrived home, I realized he had been there in the brief time I'd been at the gym and they were out of the dryer. I called for him to see if he was upstairs, but not surprisingly, he was not there. I sat down to my lone Tuesday-night dinner and to check Facebook, when I read that my son had, in fact, managed to connect with his friend's mother whom he was hoping to ask to 'rent out' her spare room. I was initially happy for him, but a little frustrated that he hadn't called to share this news with me. I go upstairs and that's when it all hit me: my son had moved out. He was gone. He'd done what we asked and in a classic move of his, left without saying good-bye or letting me know what was going on. And he wasn't coming back.
Now for all of you who say "oooh they ALWAYS come back!", I say to you: It is not the same. The first time your child launches out on his own, however that looks for them, it means they are officially 'of this world' and no longer your child in the same sense. It has been gradual steps leading up to this, and my heart has ached a little more with each step he's made towards the door (or with each nudge we've given him), but the reality of the magnitude of the impact that this moment would have on my life from here on out hit me.
In a vain attempt to connect with my daughter I called to check in with her. It was a brief conversation that brought me further into that moment of parental questioning of 'Did I do the right thing? How many times have I fucked up my children without knowing? Is this their destiny, or is this my failure?". Her perspective, as is to be expected, was one of judgement that I let go too easily. TOO EASILY. Of course, my initial reaction was to read her the riot act about how I am the parent and she is the child and she has no idea what it's like to be the parent of her and her brother. But the judgement stung and brought me back to those questionings nevertheless.
And that was the moment I broke. I looked around my house and realized they were gone to me. Both of them. I had a flood of flashbacks of them as children hugging me with abandon, crawling into my lap early in the morning, the adventures we had tromping through the snow, just me and my babies, so that I could feed them one winter when we foolishly moved in the middle of a blizzard to a remote island. I remembered the times one ran away and the other told me she hated me. I remember the heartbreak of the divorce from their father and all the many, many difficult choices I had to make in the hopes that they would be safe, cared for and loved by both parents. And I remembered my son being in ICU at Children's Hospital and the tenuous grasp on life that he had, while my daughter was home alone at an age too young to have to deal with the uncertainty of what was happening without having a parent to comfort her.
As I felt my grief and sorrow bleeding out of me, I sat down in the corner of the kitchen, like I have in so many other grief-ridden moments of my life, and started to sob. And it just kept coming. And it still flows. However, I managed to call my wonderful husband who encouraged me and loved me from afar and helped get me to a state where I could get my legs back under me and wander up to bed.
Although the card readings I did were for now-seemingly-mundane issues in my life, I believe the cards were preparing me for this. This moment of self doubt, loss and hopefully, eventually, rebuilding.
For today, though, perhaps I could catch a break and just coast a little.
Monday, October 31, 2011
Monday, Monday...
The week-end was full of fun and activity...and food. I had many, many little epiphanies throughout the week-end, many of which simply filtered in and then back into the unconscious void of my mind. My biggest focus was re-framing my body image and my relationship with food. I had two great work-outs. One on Thursday and one on Saturday. Today is Monday, and pursuant to my goal of running a 5k race every month, I need to get back to running a full 5k without stopping by next week-end. Yoga is still something that is tickling my mind regularly and I have yet to re-incorporate it into my daily routine. I see it on my list each day, so it stays fresh in my mind to get back to it.
It being Monday, this is as much as I can articulate at the moment.
It being Monday, this is as much as I can articulate at the moment.
Thursday, October 27, 2011
New Blog - Let's see how long this one lasts
I believe this is either the third or fourth blog I've started. I guess when I start a new chapter in my life, I really want to start a new blog (?).
This morning, among the other squirrels running around in my brain, I decided I needed to blend the three compartmentalized journals I have into one. Yes, I have three. And each one rotates in its rank of importance in my life throughout the seasons.
One is my quick journal at the end of the day: a synopsis of how my day went. Its intention is to be a review of how I felt throughout the day and why, but when I'm really tired, or avoiding my feelings, it's just a play by play of stuff I did (or didn't do). The second is a journal of what I ate and how I worked out for the day, along with a few other 'good things' I do for my well-being. The third journal is my career musings journal - my birthing journal. This one is more theoretical than functional. I have a lovely leather-bound book given to me many moons ago and has only a few thoughts/ideas at the moment. I will continue to use it like a sketch book, catching ideas and inspiration before and after each birth I attend.
Today's musings are primarily based around my growing frustration about the extra weight I can't seem to shake. This summer, for the first time since I have been paying attention, I did not lose the winter weight like I always do. It could be a number of factors, but I'm focusing on the ones I feel I can tackle. Since I was very active this summer, riding my bike to work, running, hiking, etc, I have determined it is my food intake and (AND!!) my changing hormone levels. In the last 6 months, I have felt some pretty significant mood swings, along with rushes of adrenaline (aka: panic attacks), and with certain family members having diabetes, a new attention to how sugars affect my overall well-being. I've been reading a lot about hormones and how your food affects a number of them. Ironically, as a woman and a midwife-to-be, one of the chapters I performed the poorest on in my Anatomy & Physiology class was the chapter on the female reproductive tract, and hormones in particular. Hormones are their own very important and hugely complex messenger system in our bodies (men and women alike!). But, more on that down the road...
I am aware that my hoovering down of food after supper (yes, after) is a huge problem. I'm trying to remedy that by knitting and putting on a pot of tea as soon as I bring my supper dishes into the kitchen. And as always, working on incorporating exercise into my daily routine in some way, shape or form.
The following is a peek at my 'good things' list.
Weigh In
Yoga
Smoothie
Drink 8 glasses H2O
Vitamins
Eat Healthy
Protein
Run
ABWORK/Resistance Tng
Walk
Bike
stop eating 2 hrs before bed
Read 20 minutes
floss
Wash Face
This morning, among the other squirrels running around in my brain, I decided I needed to blend the three compartmentalized journals I have into one. Yes, I have three. And each one rotates in its rank of importance in my life throughout the seasons.
One is my quick journal at the end of the day: a synopsis of how my day went. Its intention is to be a review of how I felt throughout the day and why, but when I'm really tired, or avoiding my feelings, it's just a play by play of stuff I did (or didn't do). The second is a journal of what I ate and how I worked out for the day, along with a few other 'good things' I do for my well-being. The third journal is my career musings journal - my birthing journal. This one is more theoretical than functional. I have a lovely leather-bound book given to me many moons ago and has only a few thoughts/ideas at the moment. I will continue to use it like a sketch book, catching ideas and inspiration before and after each birth I attend.
Today's musings are primarily based around my growing frustration about the extra weight I can't seem to shake. This summer, for the first time since I have been paying attention, I did not lose the winter weight like I always do. It could be a number of factors, but I'm focusing on the ones I feel I can tackle. Since I was very active this summer, riding my bike to work, running, hiking, etc, I have determined it is my food intake and (AND!!) my changing hormone levels. In the last 6 months, I have felt some pretty significant mood swings, along with rushes of adrenaline (aka: panic attacks), and with certain family members having diabetes, a new attention to how sugars affect my overall well-being. I've been reading a lot about hormones and how your food affects a number of them. Ironically, as a woman and a midwife-to-be, one of the chapters I performed the poorest on in my Anatomy & Physiology class was the chapter on the female reproductive tract, and hormones in particular. Hormones are their own very important and hugely complex messenger system in our bodies (men and women alike!). But, more on that down the road...
I am aware that my hoovering down of food after supper (yes, after) is a huge problem. I'm trying to remedy that by knitting and putting on a pot of tea as soon as I bring my supper dishes into the kitchen. And as always, working on incorporating exercise into my daily routine in some way, shape or form.
The following is a peek at my 'good things' list.
Weigh In
Yoga
Smoothie
Drink 8 glasses H2O
Vitamins
Eat Healthy
Protein
Run
ABWORK/Resistance Tng
Walk
Bike
stop eating 2 hrs before bed
Read 20 minutes
floss
Wash Face
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