Bleary Eyed and Cushy Tailed

Well, dear readers, I’m a month and a half into my summer selling season, and what have I got to show for it? Bags under my eyes, a return to my daily ponytail habit, and an alarming degree of tightening in the pants that fit me fine in March. Heh. On the plus side (not to be confused with the plus size… yet), business is faring well so far and I haven’t inadvertently made any mortal enemies out of my fellow causeway workers. <– Again… yet.

I jest. (Not about the business part, but about the bitter rivalry part. Fingers crossed that I can emerge from this season unscathed by any drama!)

Anyone want to take a stab at Victoria’ primary industry?

Towards the beginning of April, when Harbour Season had just started up again, I posted a shining list of so-called “practical” goals for the summer. Hahahaha! Apparently my youthful naivete is a filthy habit I just can’t kick, because what I deemed “realistic” at the beginning of April seems laughably implausible now. Days off? Bwahaha! A cap on weight gain? I kill me! Let’s revisit my goals through wiser, albeit sorta bloodshot eyes, shall we?

1. Maintain a 3-day-per-week exercise regimen, at least until the end of June 

Actually, I haven’t been doing so bad with this one. I renewed my membership at the Y when we moved back into town (so long, cheesy 80s gym at the lake!), and I’ve been hitting up the elliptical machine pretty steadily. I made the mistake of attending a few weight lifting classes early on, but when I rode my bike to work right after and realized that I couldn’t even apply my own brakes because my arms hurt so badly, I decided to focus more on solo workouts for the time being. I’m pretty sure all my classmates were impressed by my uber-fit ability to do a shoulder fly with measly 3-lb weights (right), but the full-body corset I felt like I was wearing after the class was totally not worth it.

Water taxis! At least our workplace is festive and charming!

2. Put a 3-lb cap on weight gain!

Sigh. Can we just skip this goal and move onto the next one? My weight must be solely determined by good sleeps and tons of herbal tea, because now that I am lacking both, I have already hit my cap. Yes! In six weeks! I realize that my weight is just a number and that it shouldn’t define me as an overall human being, but when I saw that particular number smiling up at me from the scale (most likely chirping “na-na-na-boo-boo” in a sickening, sing-song voice– jerk!), I went apoplectic! (<– FYI: “Apoplectic” just happens to be my favourite overused word in the NHL coverage on TSN. That, and “conniption fit”. Both terms were very applicable on the fateful morning when I dared step on my bathroom scale. That son of a gun!!)

3. Take one day off every week

Hahaha, I’m so funny! What means “days off”? Yes, I have taken most Tuesdays and Wednesdays away from the Harbour since April, but I’ve used those days to unpack our boxes, clean up crap, and run not-fun errands. Not technically a “day off”, agreed? The original plan was to cook up a storm at least once a week, but I’ve barely been able to make us more than toast. (Full disclosure: it rained buckets yesterday, which meant we had a day off of work. I made us a stellar Carrot & Ginger Soup.) Luckily, there’s a vegan restaurant not too far from the Harbour that sells amazing (and cheap!) soups and salads. I discovered that they also offer live/raw sauerkraut, and for reasons unbeknownst to me, I have been buying it by the pound and shoveling it back on a daily basis. It must be like sandwiches and salads: they always taste better when somebody else makes them. I can’t get enough of the stuff! Healthy intestinal flora for the win!

Photo of chard from when I actually had chard in the fridge… not in the past month and a half, sorry.

4. Dress snappier. 

The plan was to wear more skirts and/or not-jeans outfits to work, but then Marty and I discovered that we had packed all of my “nice” clothes into storage in such a way that they can never be retrieved again. Seriously. I put everything nice into a box, which we placed into a cupboard, which we then proceeded to block with a bookshelf full of photo albums. The bookshelf, in turn, is blocked by a substantial dresser– a virtual Tetris of household belongings. The only way I can access my box of skirts and somewhat feminine attire is to take everything out of the dresser, move the blasted dresser out of storage, take everything off the bookshelf, somehow haul the gigantic bookshelf out of our storage unit, open the cupboard, fetch the box, and rescue everything delicate I own. Or I could buy all new skirts. Or I could just wear jeans to work. Guess which option I chose?

One of the skirts which is currently being held for ransom in our storage locker. Haven’t seen this baby (or the matching tights… or the jacket) since our trip to Seattle last October.

5. Kinda sorta keep abreast of other people’s blog entries 

I’m doing okay in this regard. Yes, I am falling behind and yes, there is still some catching up to do, but quite a few of my go-to blogs have decided to tone down their posting schedules this season, which has helped me tremendously. It’s so much easier to follow everyone I want to follow when they’re not all pumping out wordy, deep, or otherwise complex posts on a daily basis. Thank you, brevity! Bless you, not having to use my brain!

You know me: I don’t like to miss out. I will be sifting through handfuls of posts whenever I can sneak in a few minutes. If I’ve been absent from your comments sections for a while, please forgive me but know that I am plugging through the backlog in my inbox. I’ll get there, I promise!

That’s me in a nutshell, readers– same girl, but with less sleep and more weight!

How about you? Shall we commiserate about things? Share a laugh?

Sadness

Sunset at the Harbour

There is no easy or sugar-coated way to say this:

My grandpa is dying. He might even have passed away by the time this post goes live. (Who knows? I am writing this entry before rushing off to the airport to be with my family in Alberta. My grandpa isn’t expected to still ‘be there’ when we arrive.)

The sun is setting on my grandpa

After experiencing the highs of being at Race Rocks Lighthouse, Marty and I are now facing an indeterminate amount of time in Calgary, wallowing in the lows of grief. There’s no telling how long we will be away. How long will the tumours press on my grandfather’s brain? On his lungs?

Chances are extremely high that I will not be stopping by your blogs in my absence, making pithy comments or even hitting “like” buttons. Such is life. Such is death. (If I do happen to make a trip to your blog, though, let’s not think that I’m being callous towards the circumstances, OK?)

Please keep my family in your thoughts while we are away. Thank you in advance. xo

Under a blood red sky of sorrow.

The Answer is No

Back when I still worked at Ye Olde Office Job, my tiny Finance Team had an ongoing joke about the answer to any question always being no. All three of us were/are abnormally nice people who tended to be overly accommodating of the needs of others, but in secret, when we were sure nobody else was listening, we used to practice bellowing with authority: The answer is no!

Need a spreadsheet made? The answer is no!

Donation amounts need to be tallied and reported at the next staff meeting? The answer is no!

Can we please mail out the charitable tax receipts by the end of the day? The answer is no!

Is it possible to– NO! The answer is no!

(Yeah, I know it’s not very funny, but to our simple accounting department sensibilities, the idea of being Make Believe Jerks to our coworkers never got old.)

Well. It’s been a year and a half since I left my day job, but I’m finding that dirty, two-letter ‘n-o’ word creeping back into my daily existence again, especially when it comes to food. My awareness of this sneaky phenomenon peaked when I read Kathy’s recent post, 50 and Fat– or 50 and Fit? (Weighing in on Mid-Life) and again when I encountered a brief aside about “Kimberly [Snyder] disapproving of cashews” in this post from Housewifing Around. Kathy spoke of her mother basing many of their conversations on foods that she either could not or would not eat, and something about that wagging-finger, “disapproving of cashews” comment burrowed its way into the rotten core of my soul and annoyed me enough to start writing this post. Is food really the enemy? Do I need to start being a real jerk to sustenance?

I disapprove of molasses!

Most Foods: The Answer is No?

I’m sure we’ve all encountered “revolutionary” eating plans before that promise amazing results but demonize major nutrients. There are low-fat diets, low-carb crazes, no-carb devotees, detox programs that require abstinence from tropical fruits, fermented foods, flours, refined sugars, and even mushrooms– the list is truly endless. I’ll guiltily confess that my youngest sister and I once spent two weeks fearing the sweet wrath of carrots, potatoes, and tomatoes on the advice of one fad diet book, and I’ve also gone for several months before, honestly convinced that one of the worst foods I could ever eat was a banana. For real. Obviously, a diet based on cupcakes and diet sodas is going to take you nowhere fast, but I’m highly suspicious now of any so-called “healthy” program that demands its followers to deprive themselves of fruits or vegetables. Apricots are not the devil in disguise, am I right or am I right? (Unless you have a serious apricot allergy, in which case, they probably are the devil in a squishy orange disguise.)

Anyway…

I started on the Beauty Detox Solution last year-ish, very much in love with the whole concept. (This again? Yes!) For once, I didn’t have to find vegetarian substitutes for the “lean chicken breast” recipes in Food Book #1, and for once, I didn’t have to omit cheese or milk from any recipes, either. (All of Kimberly’s recipes are vegan.) I didn’t have to worry about finding an acceptable stand-in for “cashew cream” desserts or soups– because, as you just discovered, Kimberly “disapproves” of cashews due to the high possibility of them containing toxic moulds. (Have I ever told you how allergic I am to cashews?) And finally, finally, I didn’t have a dietician or nutritionist recommending pounds upon pounds of tofu or soy to satisfy the vegetarian contingent of readers. (Seriously. Soy will not save the world. A girl can only pound back so much edamame before her very bowels transform into long tofu dogs. Go on: Ask me how I know this.)

Yes, these soups are homemade and vegan, but are they raw? Tsk, tsk!

The Beauty Detox Solution seemed to offer a seamless, well-researched solution to all of the questions I’ve ever had about what I eat. I didn’t need to consume 10 pounds of lentils every day after all! Low fat yogurt was not a requirement– huzzah! The BDS spokesperson was an impossibly beautiful woman with a blindingly large, genuine smile, and I gravitated easily to the idea of prioritizing whole foods and becoming the best person I could possibly be! In retrospect, this was the honeymoon phase. I was practically giddy with love!

Kimberly makes a lot of recommendations in her book. True, most of them are small and simple steps that can be incorporated over time to achieve optimal health, but if you were to make a list of everything she suggests to do in her book (which I did– don’t judge), it ends up being a pretty lengthy list. (Then you go and read her blog and find out you also need to install shower head filters, buy organic eco-mattresses for the best, most planet-friendly sleep, and possibly even stop touching money. After all, it’s disgustingly dirty and contaminated. The answer is no, my friend!)

Originally, the super geek in me (the one who loves to make spreadsheets and cross items off To Do Lists) was pumped to tackle each of these recommendations, one by one, until I emerged from the process as a Radiant Goddess of Gastro-Intestinal Perfection!

(Aside: I should try to rustle up one of my earlier fertility charts so you can see just how OCD I am about graphs. I recorded everything I possibly could about my body every day– temperature, heart rate, secretions, cervical position, dreams, bowel movements, glasses of water consumed, mood, moon phase, etc.– and then color-coded it all. A RAINBOW OF FERTILITY! The Gigantic List of Things to Do with the Beauty Detox Solution was right up my alley.)

Gradually, though, my love for the Beauty Detox Solution began to fade. I lost the spark. I no longer felt the good vibes. I just wanted to be done with food combinations and excited about eating spontaneously again. I was tired of being the person who needed to schedule 1-hour blocks of time before and after eating an apple, and don’t even get me started on eating out at restaurants. Me: Can you believe they put both pecans AND avocado on this salad? Clearly, they haven’t read The Beauty Detox Solution and don’t realize you shouldn’t put two fats together in one meal. And wait– is that extra virgin olive oil in the dressing? A third added, albeit healthy, fat? Don’t tell me that’s balsamic vinegar, too– crikey!

“NO!” was beginning to permeate every aspect of my life. Can I please have a cup of warm water with lemon juice right before breakfast (and not 30-45 minutes before)? Is it possible to put flax seeds on my oatmeal instead of on my salads? What if I feel like peanut butter on a cardboard-esque Wasa cracker? Are the omelet sandwiches I made on marble rye bread acceptable? THE ANSWER IS NO!!!!! Like a rice racist, I seriously considered tossing the (white) sushi rice in our cupboard before the thrift-conscious side of me won that particular battle. Penny pincher vs. white rice finger pointer-atter. Any food with a dates-base was suspect, and I often found myself spouting the words “But Kimberly says…” like a knee-jerk reaction to anything that contradicted her Beauty Detox bible.

Enough of that. I don’t care what the gorgeous lady says: this girl’s gotta give.

I’ve decided that, for me, simple is truly better. I need to relax! Dried figs aren’t going to kill me! After reading The China Study book, I’ve found my newest touchstone when it comes to food:

  “Eating should be an enjoyable and worry-free experience, and shouldn’t rely on deprivation… The recommendations coming from the published literature are so simple that I can state them in one sentence: eat a whole foods, plant-based diet, while minimizing the consumption of refined foods, added salt and added fats.” (p. 242, emphasis added)

So much easier, yes? Even looking at these words makes me breath a huge sigh of relief! It’s kind of painful for me to admit this (because I’m abnormally nice and don’t enjoy disappointing people), but maybe the principles of the Beauty Detox Solution aren’t as clear-cut fabulous as I first thought they were, at least for me. (Disclaimer: many/most of the principles still are great, but I’m no longer trying to combine them all into one and achieve super-humanness.) Maybe I can go on without eating meat or dairy but not feel so bad if I’m not regularly consuming raw sauerkraut, too. Maybe it’s okay for me to enjoy some non-sprouted breads every now and then or to put two types of seeds on my salads. (Such a rebel!) I should be able to enjoy hummus without hearing the words “beans are Mother Nature’s “oops!”" (because they naturally combine proteins with starches) echoing in my brain. Heck, I might even dip crackers into hummus and not fret that I’m messing up the sacrosanct food combinations even more. Whoa. Can you feel my diet rebellion picking up speed?

Maybe I’m weak, maybe I’m stubborn, maybe I’ve failed at Shimmering Goddess Lessons, or maybe I’m just cranky, but I’m sick and tired of organizing such a huge part of my life– eating– around the word ‘no’. I’d much rather say YES! to whole foods, YES! to fresh fruits and vegetables, and YES! to foods in their unrefined, minimally processed states. That’s it! No need to break things down into a million sub-rules or minor clauses. Just eat clean food. Period.

[end rant]

What do you say?

    Are there certain “diet rules” that really chap your ass?

Are you consumed by “following the rules” or “sticking to” a particular eating program?

Are you a serial wagon-falling-offer like I am, at least when it comes to food plans?

Are you one of those mystical beings who seriously only eats food for fuel and never gets caught up in emotional eating? (And if so, can you be my guru?)

PS: Lest you think that I’m just going on a rant to somehow justify a lack of weight loss or a general state of unhealthiness, the last time I checked, I was halfway back down to my pre-harbour weight. Yes: I’m ten pounds lighter than I was in December, and I’ve done this by embracing the KISS motto: Keep it simple, silly.

Surviving the Non-Perishable Food Item Apocalypse

Here’s a tip: If you ever happen to meet me in person, and if– during this meeting– you’re inexplicably called upon to form a team of people to play an impromptu game of “Guess Somebody’s Age/Weight/Height” or “Guess the Amount of [Blanks] in the Jar”, do not pick me to be on your team! I am downright abysmal when it comes to estimating height, weight, age, distance, length, volume, or the passage of time, and the only thing I truly understand in terms of numbers is money. (Thank goodness for that last part, because I spent several years working in the Accounting Department of a local non-profit and am now in charge of anything finance-related in our art business. Phew!)  

What does my complete and utter lack of approximation skills have to do with surviving an apocalypse, you might ask?

Well.

It seems that my pitiful understanding of weight values– coupled with my sincere love for bulk discounts– has left me with a lifetime supply of quinoa (pronounced KEEN-wa, for those of you who are unfamiliar with this wonder grain). Have no fear, dear readers: should the ancient grain industry suddenly run dry, leaving grocery store shelves across the continent conspicuously bereft of quinoa, I’ve got us covered. Chez Machacek is hereby dubbed The Land of Plenty, at least when it comes to non-perishable food items that require cooking before they are actually edible.

Decked out in my Haz Mat suit, which sort of looks like a whale watching outfit, but is really quite dangerous and serious. I'm only smiling because it's an Apocalypse Drill, NOT because I'm going to see a Super Pod of whales in this pic.

Here’s what happened to render my quinoa cup overflowing:

1. I perused an organic grains catalogue, scanning the list for quinoa. (Yep– just an ordinary day of being hip and otherwise fabulous!)

2. I saw that quinoa was available in two different sizes through this particular bulk distributor– 2kg or 25lbs.

3. (No, the catalogue did not list one bag of quinoa in kilograms and the other in pounds. My mind just neatly summarized the chart by remembering whole numbers, as it is wont to do. 2kg stuck in my head more readily than 4.4lbs would have, and 25lbs was much more convenient a mnemonic device than 11.34kg. Oh, the benefits of being Canadian and (sort of) understanding both systems of measurement! Clearly, I use the word “understand” very loosely.)

4. I ran through my handy mental inventory of How To Understand Weight Values:

4a. 2lb weights are the tiniest, wimpiest options available to use at my Turbo Kick fitness class. (Note fatal lack of converting pounds to kilograms here.) Obvious (Flawed) Conclusion  No. 1: 2kg will not be enough quinoa to last us for any significant amount of time.

4b. Somebody who brags they can bench press 25lbs is not a very strong person and has no right to be bragging at all. Obvious (Also Flawed) Conclusion No. 2: 25lbs is a pretty insubstantial amount to bench press; therefore, 25lbs of quinoa is a perfectly rational amount to purchase.

4c. (Further proof of the relative ‘smallness’ of 25lbs) A 25-pound dog is less than 1/3 the size of our 80-pound canine, who really wasn’t that big. (RIP, beloved pup.)  Ergo, 25lbs of quinoa in the kitchen is totally doable.

"Dog?" takes on "DOG!"

4d. (Final proof) Despite having gained close to 20lbs last year, I can still (for the most part) fit into my same clothes. Hence, 25lbs of quinoa will hardly take up any space in our kitchen pantry.

Oh, youth! So misguided. So lacking in brain cells.

When our gigantic sack of quinoa was delivered, I encountered this:

I struggled to lift the sack upstairs without Marty’s manly assistance, and yet my mind still did not compute. I’m embarrassed to admit it now, but the full implications of my purchase didn’t really sink in until I started transferring the quinoa from the sack into my precious Mason jars.

I required a lot of jars.

Those jars took up a lot of room in my cupboards.

About halfway through the sack, I realized that I would need to start stashing jars of quinoa throughout the house, in order to leave a tiny fraction of cupboard space for our other, non-quinoa food items. I kept one jar in the kitchen cupboard to have at the ready:

Shameless product placement, but at no financial gain to myself

Then I tucked a jar or two safely into the recesses of my medicine cabinet:

Several jars were lined up on our window sills (to keep the plants company, of course):

And some even found their way into my sock drawer and under my pillow for safe keeping:

There's quinoa amidst the unmentionables...

What a blanket hog!

Finally, to remind myself of the dangers of not understanding numeric values as they relate to weight and volume, I hid a jar of quinoa in our bankers box of tax paperwork. Money (and taxes), I get, so every time I file a spreadsheet or complete a government remittance form now, I’ll remember not to be so hasty with my purchases of dry goods:

********************************************************

It’s been about six months since I purchased that quinoa. Early on, I offloaded generously offered jars of quinoa to several of my friends, and I have since been finding creative ways to add quinoa to practically everything we eat. Yes, I totally love eating quinoa, but 25lbs is still a whole lotta quinoa!

In case you’re like me and still have a hard time picturing just how much quinoa we have to chisel through, one cup of quinoa weighs this much: 

7.6 oz or 214 g

Yeah. Just under a half pound or about 1/5th of a kilogram. We cook it up 1 cup at a time, and each cup lasts us for about a week. We don’t exactly want to eat quinoa with every single meal, so getting through our stash will be A Task… perhaps even A Task And A Half. All of this is a roundabout way of saying: Don’t be surprised if I bring you all some Quinoa Surprise the next time you invite me anywhere. (Hey! [Sudden dawning of understanding] Maybe this is why we haven’t been invited anywhere in the last 6 months or so! [Searching for a snappy comeback] … [Still searching] … You’ll all come crawling back when the dry goods apocalypse hits! Don’t say I didn’t warn you.)

Zing!