I’ve been busy on Sock Summit and not doing much else.
This photo is actually Christopher. This is how he kept himself busy as I worked on Sunday.
Fleur de sel caramel.
Two batches.
Solo.
My husband is a very sweet (and salty) man.
It’s that day, so I’m doing something white bread. (Well, 10% whole wheat.)
Our little girl is growing up.
I’m always learning. Last night I went to a Cheese and Whiskey class at The Cheese School of San Francisco.
While I’m starting to know my way around cheese, I know practically nothing about whiskey (or whisky or bourbon). The instructor Wil Edwards shared plenty of his experience with both. And for that, I am grateful.
Whiskeys (l to r): St. George Spirits, Single Malt Whiskey (Calif.); Old Rip Van Winkle, 10-Year Bourbon (Kentucky); Readbreast, 12-year Old Pure Pot Still Whiskey (Ireland); The Glenrothes Vintage 1985 (Scotland).
Cheese (clockwise from top/12:00): Capriole, O’Banon (Indiana, past. goat); Brie de Nangis (France, past. cow); Landaff Creamery, Landaff (New Hampshire, raw cow); Compté (France, raw cow); Boerenkaas (Belgium, raw cow); Montgomery’s Cheddar (England, raw cow); Ardahan (Ireland, past. cow); Colston Basset, Stilton (England, past. cow).
(Wil’s a photographer too, so enjoy his work from Culture, the cheese magazine.)
Putting all my dogs in one basket.
I’ll be knitting over here.
I guess I left the cleanse at a cliffhanger moment. Who won? Ghee or coffee? Did I complete it? Did I lose 100 lbs. in 10 days (Ask me how!)? Will I be joining an ashram any time soon? Perhaps I have joined an ashram, hence my not writing about such worldly things…
The truth is, I did slog it out. As best as I wanted to. I didn’t quit. The whiny entry was deep in the throes of caffeine withdrawal. Either it’s a really powerful drug or I’m a sensitive flower (who has the ability to withstand ultra-distance endurance events). For about one day there, it was like Trainspotting. I couldn’t concentrate because the pain in my head was terrible. Looking back, I wonder if that was my first migraine. (And if that’s what they feel like, or even a fraction of so, I am so sorry for y’all.)
We were counseled to get off caffeine a few days before starting the cleanse to avoid what I promptly ran into. I remember it was difficult last fall when I did it for the very same reason. Whether it was time (and my brain releasing its desperate pining for a fix) or a modified abhyanga just on my feet, on the third day I broke through. I didn’t even need to give in a little with some black tea.
I followed the rest of the cleanse much more loosely than last time. I wasn’t strict about the daily meditation or yoga or greasing up. Although food-wise, I followed it to the letter and enjoyed discovering a quick lentil soup that I’ll be making every few weeks or so. There was no major personal transformation or toxic evacuation or enlightenment. I’m anything if not stubborn and the fact that it cost more than $20 (yeah, kind of into getting my money’s worth) meant I wasn’t going to throw it all away, especially after the bodily pain. That said, there are a couple things that I have taken away from it.
As far as weight loss, sure, there was some. But that’s really not the point. And I’m not going to tell you. I’m no Gwyneth Paltrow. I don’t believe in diets or fasts. But 10 days of focusing on simply digestible food, that’s seasonal and homemade—what could be better? I now differentiate between eating vs. nourishing my body. Sure it was a reduced range of foods that I took in (vegan except for ghee, no gluten, no alcohol), but by turning the volume down on the hoovering I usually do, I can listen to my body a bit more closely. As I introduced my usual foods back into rotation, I could notice if they truly felt good in my tummy, not just in my mouth.
I guess the biggest take-away has been mindful eating. To me, that plays into my selection of what goes in, how much I eat, and enjoying whatever I eat to the fullest, whether it’s quinoa or nachos (which I’ve been meaning to have, but haven’t felt the need yet). While I do believe there’s a possibility for scientific breakthroughs in nutrition research, most of the noise in the media is just a faddy flash in the pan. Common sense and simplicity rule my choices. I love frozen fake meat products as much as the next pseudo-vegetarian (I prefer vegaqurian because I eat seafood and fish), but wouldn’t I prefer something that didn’t come from a factory in a box?
A big buzzword (buzzphrase?) when I used to work in food was portion control. In the middle of the cleanse, I just ate mung beans and rice with spices for all three meals. And, yes, it was just three meals a day. No snacks. As a grazer and former athlete, I thought we had to eat many small meals a day for optimum health. Maybe, but are you really just eating mini meals? Our perception of serving sizes are out of whack, so five American meals a day ain’t gonna help nobody.
The cleanse forced me to focus on just that one bowl when it’s time to eat. Torture? Not really. How much is enough? When you think about how most of the world lives, a mono-diet of just rice and beans obviously has been sustaining people for centuries. Which appetizer to choose and dressing on the side are first-world problems. A simple bowl, maybe a bit more than I could hold in my hands, can be a hearty meal. Which takes me to my big idea for a best-selling diet/weight loss book… but that will have to be another post.
There was no hedonistic binge after the ten days. Like Marcy said in the comments, “Everything in moderation.” That’s kind of what I’ve been doing. No food is inherently bad. The amount of it and the percentage it represents of what I typically consume matters. So that means no drinking vats of fondue, as much as I think I’d enjoy it. But I’ll have a tater tot. Or a couple. I still don’t snack. I make sure to eat satisfying, but realistic meals. I don’t need to be constantly packing my digestive system with a steady stream of food. I eat, then I stop. Just like playing green light/red light. Repeat at lunch and dinner. That’s not so extreme is it?
Part of me wishes I did more of the yoga and meditation bits. I could roll out my mat, but haven’t really gotten around to it. When I need it, it’ll be positive addition to my life. I’ve run a few times since my birthday. I’m not ready to say I’m a runner again (although I would love to do the Reykjavik Marathon in 2012 with Mel and do a little Knitting Iceland thingy-doo), but I have run somewhat regularly and that’s a welcome return and change.
The most surprising change for me is coffee. I have not dove back into the brown waters of daily consumption. Part of me does not want to hurt like I did coming off of it, and indulging in it as before doesn’t seem prudent. I am sleeping better, waking up earlier and generally brighter and more clear-headed (not a raging detoxing addict). I miss the joy it brought me, the mornings together with Chris, and the delicious taste of great roast or perfectly pulled cappuccino. But I can make our Chemex for Chris’ morning mugs, I still walk the dogs to Sightglass for an after-work or weekend ritual, and on occasion I will enjoy a cup of joe. Just yesterday, my first post-cleanse Americano hit the spot.
Life’s too short for no coffee. But it’s also too short for bad (or bread or wine or cheese).
It’s clear to me that I don’t have the most altruistic and / or spiritually-enlightened reasons for doing this cleanse. Deep down inside, I’m hoping it a silver bullet to drop 15 pounds (very unreasonable over 10 days) and a kick-start to a life of healthy habits. If that was true, why am I doing it a second time? Shouldn’t the yogic living already be ingrained in me from the first time around? Why am I so upset by numbers on a scale? A scale that I have read (and experienced personally) to be inconsistent in reporting numbers. Nonetheless, I am. I know that doing this reflects a deep unsettled feeling or inadequacy in my psyche that I am attached to. Maybe I can just work on letting that go and let this be about 10 days of trying something new and developing a closer relationship with my body and learning how to listen to it more closely.
Heading over to the first class for the cleanse, kind of an intro meeting / dinner / mini yoga class, I was very stressed out. Of course I was running late, but the reason I was delayed was I had misplaced my wallet. Even upon calling the place where we had lunch, then figuring out it’s possible I left it at the coffee place, I felt unsettled, upset and not wanting to be there. I knew there was nothing I could do about my wallet at that moment and that I wasn’t going to devote the time to call up the credit cards to cancel, but still I was stressing. (Not to worry, it was found at the coffee place and they tweeted my dog to let me know.)
Walking into a yoga studio can either be calming or nerve-wracking. It could be a blissed out intuitive sanctuary. Or, it’s a new space, where I am not a regular, so I don’t understand how the flow of traffic, I can’t figure out where to put my stuff and change. Because of my own mind state and the oddly curtained narrow hallways and multiple doors to bodywork rooms, I was more of the later. Even before stuff began, I felt like I was wasting my money. That I would just fall off the horse again. That I was fooling myself and not really going to get a lot out of this because look at my life: it’s a series of failures and things I have quit. (I know none of this is true, but that’s how my mind works.)
That all said, when we stood up on our yoga mats, even in my jeans, I had a moment of feeling home. Look, I know I’m a honky who grew up in an evangelical Christian background, and that I dabbled for ten years of (really good) yoga at work, but never sustained a home practice. So it wasn’t so much that the yoga studio or the modality of movement (and we did minimal stuff) was perfect. My body was just really grateful that I was moving a little. It gave a little grin when I ate the dinner of rice, mung beans and simple salad. A whispered, silent “thank you” for doing something good for me on a deep, no, deeper level.
I still haven’t shopped for all of my groceries for the next four days of gentle eating. I’m relying on the crutch of the eating plan to drive my consumption. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit to be holding onto a hope that this is temporary and that I’ll see infomercial-type results in the next two weeks. I’m already looking forward to a return to pizza, burritos, nachos, beer and bread. I don’t feel like I’m 100% ready to follow this to the letter of the “law,” and I’m afraid of doing this alone, without the support of my coworker Michele, like last time. Heck, I’m not even faking it until I make it.
But somewhere deep down, there’s that quiet voice. Maybe it’s even an invisible nod. My true self’s approval of living a little more in my body. Not going for the quick hit of superficial pleasure, but instead orienting myself on a path that is just a little more right. It’s not really about losing weight or cure-all’s. It’s a nudge towards more balance. A meaningful gift to my body and mind. A break from the easy way out and a moment in something truly better. It’s too soon to say whether this is going to be a miraculous transformation or the theme of my 38th year on the planet. And it may never be said. I’m just going to hop out of the way of indulgence and try to savor the joy and satisfaction and fulfillment mindfulness can bring.
I’m sure there’s a way to mindfully enjoy a beer, once a week. But that’s not part of this here and now. Not for the next two weeks, at least.
Wouldja look at that? A little quiet stint. It’s interesting to me how my writing ebbs and flows with my mood. Or is it the other way around? This week did not see the same success I’ve had previously this year doing 30 Days of Lists, 750 Words and Health Month. My gut reaction is to quit and beat myself up for never seeing anything through and finishing (um, yeah, big overstatement, and I have the race medals to prove it). So here I am, early Saturday morning, sitting down to jot out the past five lists and catch up on today.
3.7 – blog goals
3.8 – what’s inside my bag
This is going to be a really short one… I don’t have any baggage. Or I don’t tote one around with me, since I work from home and have not successfully managed to go work at a coffee shop. My “bag” consists of my kitchen table.
That said, I do travel up to Portland every 4-6 weeks so my florescent pink Timbuk2 messenger bag with computer sleeve carries everything, including: my liquid toiletries, work computer, work notebook/cahier, iPad, power cords, headphones, iPod with a beloved TinyMeat sleeve, housekeys, Clipper BART card, and a smaller musette (made from old Clif Bar banners) with my current travel knitting (often a sock, imagine that!), some pens, a tiny reporter’s Moleskine that holds ideas for designs, wallet, phone, and perhaps a tube of something for my lips.
3.9 – favorite websites (all are “.com” unless otherwise noted)
3.10 – wish list
3.11 – date night ideas
3.12 – weekly rituals
This one is going to be a tough one. Not because I haven’t any goals, but because I tend to have too many. In my mind, time is plastic and expands to fit whatever task I set out to do. Should I try to be realistic?
Writing down “goals” causes me to pause. What’s the difference between goals and plans? Is one a sure bet? Is the other necessarily aspirational? Do they have different levels of grandiosity?
Here goes (with a mix of both):
(written as part of 30 Days of Lists)
