7 quick takes. Or maybe not so quick.

1.       Today I am feeling EXTRA tired, and therefore my filter has collapsed. Maybe this is why I decided finally to blog. So your welcome. Or watch out. I’m not sure which way this is gonna go.

Food:

2.       So, food. Right now I am eating a salmon patty, sautéed yellow pepper and zoodles cooked in butter, chai tea with a huge tablespoon of whole fat coconut milk, a jar of home brewed kombucha and a bowl of Kellogg’s Rice Krispies with homo milk because I poured the milk before my two year old could tell me she would prefer almond milk. And I’m too tired to fight this morning.

The first things in my list are Whole30-ish, Paleo-mostly. Kellogg’s Rice Krispies. Not so much. In fact, I haven’t settled in my heart how exactly I am going to deal with (phase out?) some of those big brand names because the food industry is seriously broken. They don’t care about feeding people. But, I guess the point is that there is always juxtaposition in our lives. Sometimes things are squeaky clean. Sometimes I eat Chinese food smorg. Probably not this Lent, you know, the fasting and whatnot, and I haven’t eaten Chinese since October when I started a Whole30 reset, but I do see it in my future. I’m a little scared and a little excitedly expectant. Sort of like knowing I am going to ride a roller coaster that is going to be so incredibly fun and will most likely make me vomit after. That kind of good time.

3.       In the food vein, I just want to say that one day, a few years ago, I sat in my living room and cried on my couch after watching Julie and Julia because I was so excited about the idea of food and writing and how I could combine the two and my faith and write a cookbook about how amazingly these three things go together and it was going to be brilliant and the best thing I could ever do forever and ever amen.

I still love food. And writing. And Jesus. But I have seen some of those food bloggers on the internets and in the Instagrams who really have their shiz together. They GO for it, and this cooking/writing/Jesus project of mine never took any shape beyond the tears on my couch and a few impassioned discussions. Food is POWERFUL! I could tell you all about it some time.

I haven’t developed any recipes. I haven’t taken any food styling courses. I haven’t even done any serious writing. Obviously without some serious changes to my life course, this little project is not going to materialize. I mean, check out Cristina at The Castaway Kitchen. This girl deserves all the props. She obviously works her tail off running after her food dream, and it is amazeballs. I especially love how real and raw she can be, and her energy is contagious. And I don’t even know her. And her recipes are delicious, and so good for a body. Another amazing food person I follow is Danielle Kartes of Rustic. Joyful. Food. This gal is SO FUNNY! I can’t handle her Instagram stories. I wish we were best friends.

  

Now. This is not to say that I feel like the competition is too intense for me to jump into it. I mean, I would probably have moments where I’d feel like this were the case, because let’s be honest, the Competition. Is. Staggering. But I also listened to a podcast recently (Among the Lillies - I think, but I don’t know which episode because I don’t listen to them in order) and in the episode the girls were talking about how there can never be enough beauty in the world, so don’t be scared to contribute what I feel like God is calling me to contribute. Amen to that.

 

However I don’t think I’ll be throwing my hat into the food blogging ring. I think putting all that pressure on food would maybe ruin my relationship with it. And I’m just starting to figure that out. So I’ll borrow some recepies from Cristina and Danielle and from @thefeedfeed and Jaime Oliver and post a couple of pics to Insta when I feel like oversharing my life. The end.

4.       Whole30. I just have to talk about it for a minute. I sort of don’t want to because I feel like I am about to join a fad or reveal how trendy I am or how much of a crazy-control person I am (anyone who knows me knows how OUT of control I usually am! Yikes.) but I still need to confess. I did one. A Whole30. And at first I thought, “This sucks balls.” I was scared to start. As mentioned above, food has power, and I was under sugar’s spell. I am a full blown sugar addict and I could not stop myself from eating it out of control. If I had a bad day with the girls, I’d hide in the corner of the kitchen and eat seven packages of fruit snacks, just shoving them in by the packetful to try to sooth my angst. I used to hide mini Toblerone bars in my dresser and eat four of them at night after everyone went to sleep - or any time I got to leave the house solo I would stop at Walmart for a disgustingly dry package of $1 powdered mini donuts and eat the whole package in the five minute drive from the store to my house. Or get Twinkies at 7-11. Ew. The thing is I wasn’t even happy eating these things. I’d feel gross after, I would only enjoy the first bite or two, and then I would feel guilty about eating them. Hence the hiding. Emotionally, I had a tough autumn, and I finally got to the place where I decided I didn’t want to be controlled by junk food, and I wanted my mental health to improve. I needed to get a handle on something. So I was doing some reading, and everything was pointing to gut health and the things I ate affecting EVERYTHING about me. From the obvious things like weight and cardiovascular health, to mental health, infections, inflammation and all other aspects of life. So I wanted to figure it out.

Whole30 didn’t require any purchasing of anything. No supplements, no shakes, no meetings or communities to join. No monthly fee. I didn’t even have to buy a book. I got them from the Library. (Win!) And in fact, all the necessary information is on the website, so really, there is nothing they are trying to hide. It is honestly just straight up food. So after being in mourning for a couple of weeks at the prospect of not being able to binge on whatever, whenever, and feeling like I could never be happy with a restrictive food diet - even if it was just temporary - I decided that this thinking was pretty messed up. Food should not - and in actuality does not - determine if I have joy in my life. So I obviously needed to get this under control. I bit the bullet. I did some food and sauce prep. I committed to 60 days instead of 30. Because honestly. I was sneaking around eating disgusting donuts. 30 days of rehab wasn’t about to break this habit. It wasn’t the revelation that many people claim it to be. As the first 30 days wore on, I still felt angst-y, I still had huge sugar cravings, zits, and I have no way to measure how well I sleep because I have small kids. Sleeping through the night is non-existent in my world. By day 25 I was ready to quit. But since there were only five more days until I would measure and weigh myself, I decided to hold on for those next five days. On day 31, I stepped on the scale to see if anything had actually changed. To my great surprise, I had lost 16 lbs. What? I didn’t even feel like I looked different. And that made me feel self-conscience because if my pants were still fitting me 16 lbs lighter, I must have been stuffing myself into these things sausage-style all this time. Yikes. Also, how could I have lost 16 lbs on a diet that didn’t count calories, and let me eat ALL the fats I wanted? You guys. I was cooking everything in ghee, spreading it on all my veggies, eating tablespoons of mayonnaise, and putting coconut cream into my tea all the time. ALL THE TIME. 

So I decided to keep going and stick out the next month. Actually, I was going to do 66 days total, but Christmas stuff started happening December 6 and that marked 60 days, so I kind of said, I’m just going to do Christmas. I had clean meals in between days of feasting, and I enjoyed myself, but by December 28^th my tummy was in knots and I went back to W30 full force for two weeks to recover. I meant to do a reintroduction carefully and scientifically so I would know how things affect me, but I failed at that. It was really hard to introduce grains without also introducing dairy and sugar and Oh My! I obviously still don’t have the Food Freedom that Melissa Hartwig talks about, but I have learned that I feel better when I eat more veggies and protein and less grains - especially wheat - and dairy. So I am kind of right there. Where I eat food. But I listen to my body and if it doesn’t feel good, I eat a W30 type of meal and snacks for the next while until I feel good again. I don’t have the exact information that I could have gained, but I do have some valuable knowledge in my easily accessible repertoire which I access frequently. And I have a strategy that I can easily get back to if I am feeling out of control. Good things.

As for overall what my results were - since October 9, I have lost about 28 pounds. My emotional state is much more even keel. I also started tracking my menstrual cycle when I started W30 and I have found that I am a nut job on the second last day of my period, and knowing that that is just a bad day overall, I can get through it easier knowing it is just hormones and not “me” or my failures that is making the day so BAD! My energy level has also improved. I am able to get more of the stuff done around my home. More laundry gets done. I vacuum now. The kitchen counters aren’t such an insurmountable task, and getting out for walks and adventure is easier - if the weather permits, which has been a whole thing for us this winter. Sometimes (usually) I still struggle with sugar. Like those Welch’s Fruit Snacks have trapped me in the kitchen once or twice since I started back to eating food with added sugar, but now I recognize disordered eating patterns AND I don’t have to feel guilty about them, I just use tools I have to move back in the direction of food as fuel instead of crappy comfort for a crappy moment. I had a phrase kind of hit me a couple of days ago - well, I don’t really remember exactly how it went, but it was along the lines of there being no sense in allowing a food choice to make me feel crappier on an already crappy day. Very eloquent. I should really be a writer. Must have been the second last day of my period.

Ok. That was more than a minute. I guess it depends on how quickly one reads. Maybe I’ll make it one post on its own.

Not Food:

5.       So I’ve also wanted to write about being a Creative. What is a Creative (with a capital C) and how does one become one? How does one know if one is one? How many times can one use one to describe oneself in sentence anyway?

I have often felt a bit like I have serviceable skills in a number of areas and no real exceptional skills in any particular area. This might be true. For some reason I have this idea that there should be SOMETHING that is my one incredible exceptional talent. I don’t know where I picked it up. Maybe the same place “they” try to teach us that there is only one true love out there for each person. The B.S. factory.

What does this have to do with being a Creative? Well, I guess it is thinking that I should have one kind of art that I do and do well. Like make it a career well. I often lay awake fantasizing about how I will make a job out of my creative pursuits. Here is the thing. I don’t have a specialization, and so I often doubt that I will be able to ACTUALLY sell any of the things I make. I like to make. I like it a lot. I make all kinds of things, but I am an amateur at all the things I make. I took up knitting a few years ago, but I don’t make my own patterns I just make ones I find for free online. And I haven’t even finished a project bigger than a toque. For a baby. But I’m close. I don’t think I could sell knitting anyway.

I’ve been making cloth dolls for my girls. I like to bind leather covered books. I write. Making things makes me happy. It is a life giving thing.

I have been falling in obsessive love with pottery. Like I think about it all the time. I stress out about glaze fires to the point of glazing and re-glazing pieces after laying awake at night thinking about how I did it wrong. But I am still an amateur. Just learning the ropes. The thing is, I will always be an amateur if I don’t put the work into something. The woman at my pottery guild who inspires me said there is a book out there that says it takes 10,000 hours to become an expert at something. That is five years of full time work. Will it take me the equivalent of five years of full time work to become a Creative? Do I need to settle down and just work on ONE kind of creativity?

One of the things I really want to do is start selling pottery because I honestly don’t have room to keep it, and I’d like for this obsessive habit to cost me zero money. But am I good enough to do it? This makes also makes me sound cheap. I am. I want to be generous and give pieces to everyone I know, but I only know so many people. And they might not want my attempts at pottery in their homes. SO if I sell it, people will pick pieces they actually want and I will feel accomplished. Like I’m a real Creative.

Is being a Creative equivalent to selling one’s work? Probably not. If the statement I mentioned above, “there can never be too much beauty in the world” is true, just the act of making, or the way in which we “do” the things we do should be the definition of being a Creative. I guess by our nature, we are all Creatives, styled after the greatest Creator of All.

Perhaps the lesson for me here is to worry less (stop worrying and wondering completely) about defining myself by my own means or by how saleable I am or by some social construct. There is a deeper, truer truth about who I am. Help me settle into that. And maybe sell a few pots. And maybe a doll. Or a book. How does one create and Etsy shop anyway?

6.       Often when I am writing, I am tempted to use the pronoun “you.” As if I can define you all by my experiences or by some general statement or universal feeling. I am trying real hard to stop it. When I write word “you” in my pieces now, I go back and try to change the pronoun to “I”. This is my story anyway. And, I don’t need to project onto you how you feel or what you should do when really, these writings are mostly cathartic exercises for me and a chance to analyze and come to terms with some aspect of my life. Anyway. I feel a bit like it is rude and presumptuous to put you into my head.

7.       I don’t know if any of this has been useful, but I have been thinking about all of these things for months and it was finally time to put them out there. If you made it to the end, you are a champion! God bless you, heal you and free you.

Peace.

Writing Assignments

60 Word Nano Stories

*

I abhorrently used femininity as an excuse to be lazy on the farm so I wouldn't have to pitch as much hay or manure as my brothers. But when they'd accuse me of not pulling my weight I'd dive into a task and hope that if they told my dad I'd be found up to my elbows in pig shit.

*

We used to graze our milk cows in the ditches to conserve pasture. Four hours a day, every day, all summer. If a cow crossed a broken down fence into the neighbours' and cut up her teats there was hell to pay. The sky was impossibly blue. The wind weathered our faces. The horse flies bit chunks out of our skin.

*

Hazel eyes sparkle – squinting and grinning. Shaking hair like a mane. Strawberry stained lips, cheeks, fingers. Small arms reach hugs and kisses, “Hi, Eena! Hi!” Shrill voice patronizing yet so sweet. Chubby legs kick in delight. Gummy smile spilling strawberry slop on last night’s pyjamas. Blue eyes crinkle. Bright sunshine in the summer kitchen makes angels out of both. Sisters. 

100 Words On Departures

In Darkness, sparrows and robins have begun loudly making their daily plans as the mourning doves’ lament coos three part harmony in the moist air. A thread of light is birthed in the east and the grey shroud begins to evaporate exposing wells of colour beneath. Breath of dawn expands in the lungs of birds, trees, sky. Old Man Moon, still bright, hides his visage behind the trees as he makes a hasty escape. Clouds play an orchestra of purples, pinks, gold across a firmament young and ancient. Immeasurable verve begins the dance of the day. Unnoticed, night departs.

Ode to the Potty

O life of peace and diapers depart from me!

Thou hast lulled me into a stupor of simplicity and ease

Where I could come and go at my whim,

Hours tediously carefree.

But No more!

My life, now ever more compelling, abounds in

bargains and careful contemplation.

“To pee, or not to pee,” before undertaking any endeavour:

This is the question.

Once unhappily leisurely, days are now filled with puzzlement.

“Mommy! I’m DONE!” Lies spurt forth like diarrhea

After gorging on seafood entrees at a

Saskatchewan truck stop.

Can I trust this tiny tot’s emphatic pronouncements?

These are the riddles that breathe life into

Previously uneventful days.

I relent.

Wearily satisfied by untruths

And receive the hearty reward:

Soft and pungent evidence of the dupe.

Foul words fall from my lips like so much defecation

Spilling forth from toddler’s shorts.

Time has been a villain until now -

Permitting frivolity and devil-may-care!

Now - O - potty training

Thou induce order and acuteness to this life of laxity!

Hemming in thoughts, actions, and creativity;

Attuning the senses to one small mortal in one small chamber.

Pray! Make me privy to your secrets

As I contemplate this discipline confined to

Education’s stool.

Potty - well of wisdom, sharpener of focus, throne of patience,

Let not your lessons be evacuated from my consciousness.

- Peace

About Writing....

Journal-ling on my deck. AKA "my happy place"

I have been getting excited about writing again. To be honest, I am always excited about writing. I have an inner monologue that runs in my head as if I were constantly writing a journal entry. Some nights I lay awake and think about what I wish I was writing in my journal, but I often don't get up to write. Instead, I rationalize that I am too tired, or will need to be up with the babe soon and I should just go to sleep. I would probably be further ahead if I just got up and wrote for half an hour and then went back to bed instead of mulling it all over for an hour or two.

The elusive "sleeping baby"

Tonight, I didn't even try to lay down to sleep. I went out to a movie with some girls and had a large Coke and popcorn, so I am all jazzed up on sugar and caffeine. Not to mention all that popcorn in my pregnant body is giving me some serious heartburn. Babies take up so much room! There will be no sleeping for a little while yet. 

Since July, I have been more motivated to make an effort to write every damn day. It's a hashtag. I have been following the writing prompts of "lilblueboo's" blog and while I have only done about a dozen of them, they are a great way to get me putting pen to paper, telling stories I might never have written down and actually making me think about my craft. So far, I hadn't written anything today besides copying some recipes from the interwebs into my "make-your-own-cookbook", so this is an opportunity I will not waste. And what better way than to put up a blog post?

Writing Prompt #6 - Courtesy of lilblueboo.com

I have been working with a writing group at my local museum. The title of the group is "Family Secrets" and the goal was simply to get people writing their stories. Especially stories about family history. There are so many things in life that are lost because no one took time to do a little recording. We aren't a group who is about genealogy or chronology or even names of places. We are simply trying to tell our stories. The beauty is that as we tell our stories our histories come out in them and are recorded. We leave a legacy of ourselves and also those who have influenced us. And maybe nobody else gives a crap, but since stories are a universal glue that holds humanity together, I think someone somewhere might actually crap. Or give one. Or whatever. 

At first, I wasn't sure I was fitting in as a writer with the group. Everyone else has stories of horse drawn wagons, homesteading, and one room schoolhouses. My stories have a similar feel, as I grew up largely in a rural environment, but my stories also feature technological advances such as electricity and tend to feel more like a journal entry. (Obviously, most of my writing experience takes place merely between the coil bound covers of my journals, so besides university papers, I don't have much experience as someone who actually "writes".) It took me a little bit to realize that my stories were the same as my counterparts - even if my style was a bit different. I was writing about being a kid, growing up, funny anecdotes, relationships with parents, and the other members of the group were too. It is just that they are all 30-50 years older than me. 

Our leader, a local author named Tyler Trafford, has been extremely helpful and encouraging getting our group moving forward, getting stories down, sharing our voices. He even suggested we create an anthology of our stories to publish and will be walking us through the process. He has a great deal of knowledge and experience to share with all of us amateurs. In fact, he has really challenged me as a writer, which no one has done since my 20th Century Irish Drama class in university. That professor was an extremely tough marker, but I didn't take her grading as an invitation to improve my craft. It was merely a formula I needed to passably achieve in order to make it through her class. I learned in university that my writing ability was not necessarily magnificent, and while I have always harboured hidden hopes of one day being published for my own merits, I let my laziness and my arrogance lull me into believing that my words were somehow....a big deal. That if I bothered to write it down, it was good enough. That is the danger of only writing in a journal . The only audience is me. And I know exactly what I am trying to say. I like my writing style. I don't notice my grammatical errors. I think I am witty and entertaining and profound. That is also the beauty of just being a journal-er. No one insists I do better. No one challenges me about my craft. No one can burst my bubble.

Tyler burst my bubble. It has taken me a couple of days to grapple with it.

He is SO encouraging. He calls and leaves messages about how he and everyone enjoys my stories and that my words are so great. It has been nice having people pump my tires about writing like I did in junior high. But - He told me I do well at getting words out and once I spew it all out on paper, I get lazy. He told me my pieces were good, but if I would just invest more time and effort into them, they would be great. The elements are there. However, I need to rework them.

I want to protest. To say, "but I am so busy with a little kid in the house." I want to say, "I've never had to put so much extra effort in before." I want to say, "Aren't my words, the way I say them, enough? Aren't they already magic?"

You know what, though? He is right. It happens all the time with me. I get excited about doing something, but then I don't pursue it to my full potential. And it is OK to do that. I can't throw my whole self behind every project I take up - it isn't realistic to think that I can be fully invested in every endeavour I find interesting. Nobody can.

This is where my problem is: I have this black balloon I have been packing with me for years. It is the idea that I am kind of good at a bunch of things - but excellent at none. That there is nothing about me that makes me special. At least not in tangible gifts. My husband and I used to have this joke between us: this is Mark, (followed by a lengthy list of his accomplishments and talents), and this is his wife, Val, she's a good friend. 

The truth? I have never really put myself out there in a way that has challenged my abilities and talents. I had enough to get by - and get by pretty well - so I left it at that. Honestly, it is easier to coast through than to make myself vulnerable by really striving. That way if I fail I know I haven't really tried anyway. Super cliche and super lame, but also, ashamedly, super true. I have the potential to learn how to be excellent at writing. I have been keeping a journal fairly consistently since the 8th grade. I think that is a pretty good indicator about my passion for writing. Journal-ling is the only thing that I started in my childhood and have continued through my life. I have always wanted to write down the things I think, feel and experience. The craft of it is something that I can learn to improve on. I can learn to be an artist with my words. And you know what? Even though I am interested in trying and doing lots of things from knitting to tanning leather to pottery, I will be happy to do all of those things decently - but I want to be excellent at writing. Maybe one day I will be published for my own merits.

I guess that means I should spend some time editing this post before I put it up.

Peace.