Number Four

Writing is tough work. It may seem like an idyllic, cushy hobby of a job, but it's not easy. Trust me. I've been staring at the three paragraphs below the prompt wondering where the heck to take this story for so long that banging my head against the desk seems much more appealing and fun than continuing to write does. That's the frustrating thing about writing. Some days it flows, and some days (most days), even when you have an idea, it's stagnant.

I realize I've written about death in each of my most recent posts. I've always leaned more toward dark storylines. I guess it's just my preferred style, but I feel like something more uplifting in is order for the next few days. My body and mind are craving it.... Still, though, I love this prompt. I just have to get myself in the right emotional state in order to take it in the direction I have in mind. Frankly, I don't have the energy to get to that place right now. But this is something I definitely plan to come back to.

(9:00pm- Mom gave me a few good and happier sounding ideas for this number four prompt. Maybe I'll retry tomorrow. Goodnight!)



She's curled up on the couch. Tears trickle down her cheeks, and I haven't seen her blink in the last four minutes. I made her a cup of tea. Valerian root. It smells like rotten feet, but I thought it'd help her sleep. She hasn't touched it. In fact, she hasn't moved since late last night after the last wave of cramps rippled through her body.

I know the worst is over so I move the makeshift toilet out to the back porch. I want to burn it, the seatless chair with a trash bag lined five gallon bucket underneath to catch the blood and gray tissue escaping her body. I tie the ends of the trash bag together, grab a shovel, and trudge to the Japanese maple in the far right corner of the back yard. I bury what is left of my child.

This one would have been a boy. I am sure of it, just as I am sure that the first three were girls. She hadn't carried any of them long enough to determine the sex, but I knew. The girls came and went over the course of one year, and three years passed before she became pregnant again. The doctor warned us not to get our hopes up, but I insisted we name him. Thomas Caleb.

When I left... a writing prompt

When I left the river I never expected to see his face again. I laid him face down in the mud. The slick earth swallowed him whole, sucked him into the creamy muck. I smattered his grave with rocks and broken tree limbs left over from the storm. I lit a cigarette and inhaled, pulling the orange glow toward my lips and walked away.

I first fell in love with his face. His smooth, chiseled jaw. His skin, tanned and taut except for a deep furrow in his brow. His eyes were as dark as fresh tilled soil. He only half smiled, curling up the corners of his mouth just enough to make me want to kiss him and unlock his lips. I never did kiss him.

He awarded me a peck on the cheek once. It was a Sunday in October. We stood in the empty parking lot of the church. He leaned toward me, wrapping his arms around my waist and pressed his lips against the side of my face. As he pulled away, fibers of my wool sweater dress clung in patches to his dark, tailored jacket.

"There's someone else," he whispered. His eyes locked onto mine, but I shifted my gaze to the gravel at my feet and chuckled.

"I only invited you to church. I didn't expect anything more." I lied.

He grinned and exhaled. "Good. I just wanted to make sure you knew."
He hugged me again, more of my dress transferred to his sleeves, branding him.

I saw him weeks later with her. They sat on the same side of the booth, investigating a single menu. Black whiskers peppered his chin and upper lip. He smiled fully now, his straight teeth glistening in the glow of the restaurant light. She turned and pressed her full lips onto his. My cheek burned recalling his feather touch.

A thick beard masked his beautiful face at their wedding. Hair blanketed his entire jaw, and a mustache hooded his broad smile. He wore his tailored jacket. Remnants of my dress still lingered. She stroked his furry chin at the reception, and he nuzzled it against her neck as they shared their first dance.

When the storm came, I called him. He arrived at my house just as the river banks overflowed and crept toward my back door. He lifted me into his arms, carrying me over the water to his truck. His beard grated my cheek like sandpaper. He placed me in the cab and climbed into the driver's seat. As he turned the key, I pulled the paring knife from my pants pocket and drew it across his throat. A thick crimson river trailed down his neck, and his chin dropped to his chest.

I grabbed clumps of his matted, damp beard and sawed them of with the knife. The strong, angular face I so loved slowly revealed itself. I retrieved a razor and cup of warm water from the house. His jaw was smooth when the rain stopped. I kissed his chin, cheeks and pushed his lips into a frozen half smile. I drove him to the river.

The police questioned me, but nothing was proven. His wife held a memorial service. She hugged me as I left.

The next storm arrived two months later. Rain hammered the ground, and the river swelled, birthing a flood. The water seeped into my home and bathed my floors. It took a day or two for the earth to drink in the excess. When the waters receded, I sloshed through the kitchen and opened the door to the back porch. Murky inches spilled onto the pine boards and pooled around the body. His body, green and stiff. His face, sunken but still smooth. His lips still curled in the half smile only for me.

October challenge: write every day

I'm not sure if October is national write every day month, but I've seen a lot of the people and pages I follow on Facebook mention that daily writing is their goal for this month. Considering that November is National Novel Writing Month it makes perfect sense to prepare and cultivate the writing habit in now in October. So I throw my hat in with the rest of you. I am going to write every day in October. Maybe just a paragraph or a page. Maybe I'll hit on something ingenious and crank out a whole story. My hope is that I create some spring board ideas from which to launch the novel I commit to write in November. Note: it will be a shitty novel, but that's ok. The first ones usually are.

I'll post everthing here because 1.) it will keep me accountable and 2.) it just seems easier this way. Editing will go by the wayside for this month. Each misspelled word and forgotten comma will haunt my inner grammarian, but for now I'll resist the proof reading urge for the sake of getting words on the screen. You've been warned. Try not to judge me based on those errors.

I've no plan as for what to write. One day may be a reflective essay followed the next day by a poem and the next day by rant. I try to avoid the use of profanity in my writing. I feel like it's a cop-out for more creative and unique description. But sometimes the only appropriate word that works is a big, fat "fuck" (or "shitty" in the case of describing a really awful first novel writing attempt in November). I won't censor myself here. So again, you've been warned.

Now that we've covered all that, here is today's work....

I'm not good with death. The death of someone I know. I fumble around feelings and trip over words. I cry a little, but I don't think I cry enough. Or sometimes I think I cry too much. Death is one of the few things in life on which we can rely. Sooner or later, painfully or peacefully, quickly or drawn out, we will all die. It's a fact that has never sat well on my heart. Even the belief that after death we will go to heaven doesn't soothe its sting.

Mrs. Mary Lou Robbins and Mrs. Esther Mallard both died this summer. Their lives were long and rich, but my world dimmed with their passing. I didn't cry when I heard the news of their individual deaths. People were around, and I felt awkward. Awkward because I hadn't seen Mrs. Esther for a few years and Mrs. Mary Lou for a few months, and though they were dear ladies it wasn't like I was best friends with either of them. Truth is I was just too worried people, family would think I was weird for breaking down over the deaths of two women I only saw on the occassional Thursday lunch gathering.

For several years now, a group of silver haired, firecracker women meet for lunch every Thursday. They call themselves the OMDs which stands for "oscillate my derriere" which simplified means "kiss my ass". I attended my first OMD lunch over five yeras ago at the invitation of my grandmother, one of the group's founders. I saw it as a good opportunity to spend time with her so I agreed to go even though the thought of being at lunch with a group of people I didn't know flamed my social anxiety. I left that meal spellbound and in love with the laughter, the gossip, and the perfectly laquered lips that were repainted after eating. I returned almost every Thursday until I got married and moved to North Georgia. As the lunches and weeks passed these women transitioned from being friends of my grandmother's to dear friends of my own, and I transitioned from Alice's granddaughter to bonafide OMD member.

I want to continue to tell you about these ladies. I want to tell you about Mrs. Mary Lou and how she would lean in to tell you something and then pull back with eyebrows lifted. I want to tell you about Mrs. Esther and how she came to believe I was writing a book about my grandfather, for whom she worked back in the day, and how even though she was in the advanced stages of alzheimer's she still asked about me and how the book was coming along. I want to tell you these things and more, but the words are tangled in my head, much like the feelings that wouldn't let me cry when they died.

But I'm crying now. Crying because I loved them and miss them. Crying because I can't get sentences on the page that will do them justice....and for now this is all I have. Maybe tomorrow will be better.

Finally! A new post!

Hello dear ones! At this point I am obliged to say that it has been awhile (indeed it has!) and offer up some excuse for my absence (work, teaching, and packing all at once is overwhelming; traveling to and from Statesboro has gobbled up my weekends; certain posts caused concern which in turn made it impossible to write without inserting numerous asides defending and validating my thoughts). Since my last post, my Yoga practice has become almost non-existent; I've abandoned any kind of nutrition habits that could be considered healthy; and I haven't written a single word- not even a line or two in my journal. I've gained weight and feel bloated and itchy every day. (The itchiness really throws me for a loop.) My face is mapped with red, sore mountain chains. I sleep through the night but never feel rested and yearn for the hours to pass until I can crawl back into bed.

My life is caught in a salad spinner and instead of flowing and finding balance in the midst of the craziness, I've overdosed on stress. I beat myself up for awhile about all the unhealthy ways I've coped, including several nights camped on the couch with a carton of ice cream, but then I decided I was just giving in to human nature. It's easier to gorge on sweets than it is to spend an hour in a yoga class and the gratification is quicker. Those happy hormones surge to your brain as soon as the sugar hits your tongue, where as you have to get in your car, drive to the studio, find your breath and build a sweat before your feel good receptors will light up from exercise. (Or in the case of working out at home, you have to get off your butt, turn off the tv, change your clothes, unroll your mat, and motivate yourself to move.)

Health, balance, and sanity take a bit of effort, and in the midst of stressful circumstances, the last thing I want to put forth is effort. Some call it laziness, and yes, there are times when I wallow, but I think the propensity toward the easy path is just the way we're wired. (I've been reveling in this excuse fact for the last month.)

Anyway, just about all of you know that the hubs and I are moving back to Statesboro. Yay! Tomorrow, we load the U-haul and say our goodbyes to North GA/Chattanooga. To be honest, I'm a bit conflicted. I've waited for this moment since the day we moved up here. I've missed my family and home town, and I'm truly happy to be going back. But I will miss Chattanooga. I will miss walking the Walnut Street Bridge on the first warm, sunny day of spring, surrounded by runners, and bikers, and mothers with jogging strollers. I will miss the weekly festivals in the parks and the overflow of artists selling their passion. I will miss random lunch and dinner dates with my Yoga girls and the laughter of beginner yogis in Ringgold as they flip their dog for the first time. I will miss the lunches with my River Valley ladies in that awful 70's timewarp of a building and Mr. Jim, who never failed to say hello every day....Ok, I've got to stop before I cry.

It is my hope that with the move, or shortly after the move, life will start to settle (as much as life can, of course). A new phase is beginning, and I'm ready to take off with it. On May 6, I'll begin teaching classes at Your Power Yoga, the newest yoga studio in Statesboro. Susanne Jackson, the owner, is working hard to develop a yoga community in the 'Boro, and I'm excited to help out. Check out the schedule below and make time to find out what Yoga is all about. Note: the 3 weeks unlimited yoga for $30 is a REALLY good deal. Don't pass it up!

 

Introducing

Promotion – 3 weeks Unlimited Yoga for $30 Dollars

Classes begin May 6^th

Monday – 10:30 – 11:30 am   - Yin- WITH CHRISTAN!

                     4:30 – 5:30 pm - Power I

                       6:00 – 7:00 pm - Power II

Tuesday –   8:30 – 9:30 am – Intermediate Vinyasa

                       4:30 – 6:00 pm – Power III

                       6:30 – 7:30 pm – Power I

Wednesday – 8:30 – 9:30 am – Advanced Vinyasa

                           4:30 – 5:30 pm – Yin- WITH CHRISTAN!

                           6:00 – 7:00 pm – Beginner Vinyasa- WITH CHRISTAN!

 Thursday – 10:30 – 11:30 am – Intermediate Vinyasa- WITH CHRISTAN!

                        4:30 – 5:30 pm – Power I

                        6:00 – 7:00 pm – Power II

Friday – 3:00 – 4:00 pm – Beginner Vinyasa 

                 4:30 – 5:30 pm – Yin

                 6:00 – 7:00 pm – Community Yoga

Saturday – 8:30 – 10:00 am – Power III 

                    10:30 – 11:30 am -  Power II

Sunday – 8:30 – 10:00 am – Power III

                 10:30 – 11:30 am – Community Yoga

Ignite the body while quieting the mind!

 

 721 S Main Street, Suite 2   Statesboro, GA  30458 - 912-536-0896

Register online after April 29^th at  yourpoweryoga@weebly.com, email yourpoweryoga@gmail.com or call Susanne        

Aren't you excited about this?!? Yoga is about to take off in Statesboro and you know you want to be a part of it. I'll be able to post much more in the coming weeks and will five you info on the different types of Yoga that are being offered at Your Power Yoga. That way you'll be able to choose what class you think will be the best fit for you. I can't wait to see you there!

I'll let you get back to your Friday now. Oh, and since it's Friday......

 

 Get up and dance! Love to you all...

Prince - Kiss by cdipre

Whip it. Whip it Good.

We live in a chemical laden world, my dears. Whether you're eating a steak, a frozen dinner, or a strawberry, chances are you are you're also ingesting an injected growth hormone, preservative, or pesticide. Gak! I think I'm being virutous when I clean my apartment every Saturday, but as I scrub and wipe, I'm inhaling plenty of harsh, harmful checmicals into my lungs. And as if eating and breathing them weren't enough, we also slather them onto our skin in the form of soaps, moisturizers, makeup, hair products, perfumes, etc.

A quick search on Google will provide you with store bought alternatives to regular chemical packed fair. You can buy organic or farmer's market produce. You can pay a pretty penny for "green" cleaning supplies and eco-friendly toiletries. A cheaper and more self-satisfying option is to make some of these products yourself. I've yet to venture into the realm of homemade cleaning products. The vinegar concoction I remember my mom making just doesn't appeal to me. Maybe it's the smell (which could be masked with essential oils), or maybe it's marketing advertisers incredible ability to condition me to believe that vinegar will never do as good a job as all purpose Windex. Probably the latter.

I have, however, started toying with all natural beauty products. Cinnamon as bronzer, anyone? And tonight I made whipped coconut oil body butter. I've tried using coconut oil as a moisturizer before, but it tends to leave me as greasy as a Waffle House griddle. Often I've had to wipe myself down with a towel before getting dressed. But today I happened upon this recipie for whipped coconut oil body butter on somebody's Pinterest board.

Never have I been so excited to make something, and the best part is it only took one ingredient and one step to make a jar full of fluffy whipped goodness. Are you ready for this?

Spoon a bunch of solid coconut oil into a Kitchen Aid mixer, attach the whisk, and beat on high for 6 to 7 minutes. That's it. Add a few drops of essential oils if you want the added benefit of aroma therapy. The body butter goes on light, rubs in easily, and doesn't leave me nearly as greasy. Added bonus- it's cheap! And 100% natural so there's nothing in it to screw with your hormones (which have been giving me a fit lately).

Frothy clouds of frosting for your skin.

So give it a try. Then give it as gifts for others to try (because who doesn't like getting something in a mason jar?).

I promise, for your sakes, I will not experiment with homemade deodorant!
Love to you all!

Spring, Glorious Spring.

Yesterday was glorious. The sky was hazy, but the sun still shone. The wind danced and flirted with the trees, and the blue jays and robins sang to each other from sunrise to sun set. Spring is by far my favorite season. As nature comes alive so does my soul. It shakes the doldrums from its shoulders and stretches its arms wide opening my heart to the new season of growth.

Spring's official start is still 10 days away, but here in Georgia, it has already arrived. To celebrate I woke early and baked morning glory muffins (a flour/added sugar free, paleo version of course). I found a peaceful rhythym chopping walnuts and grating carrots. My mind drifted back to the couple of months I spent on a ranch in Arizona, and the uh-maz-ing mornining glory muffins they served. I lost in thoughts of cacti   and a stubborn horse named Quincey until I decided to grate the side of my pinky finger off. The result was pretty grusome. I don't do well at the initial sight of blood so I had to cover it in paper towels and squeeze until the blood clotted and my adrenaline ran its course. Now, I will have another lovely scar to remind me why I usually avoid the kitchen. The muffins, by the way were delicious.

Later in the morning, my pup and I took advantage of the weather and explored the Chickamauga Battlefield. When I first moved up here, the battlefield was my favorite place to go. The expansive terrain is dotted with several cannons and monuments, tributes to all those who fought there in the Civil War. There are dozens upon dozens of walking trails at the Battlefield; enough that you could walk a different route every day and not repeat one for at least 6 months. Though it is frequented by numerous visitors every day, it is large enough that you are still enveloped in the solitary peace of nature no matter where you walk.

After lunch I flung open the doors and windows and settled in for a nap while the breeze cleansed the apartment. I never, ever take naps. If I do, I feel guilty for "wasting time", but yesterday, a nap felt to me like fluffy, white whipped icing covering the top of a sweet Easter cake, a perfect treat. The rest of the day was uneventful. Blake went to work, and I browsed through World Market and TJ Maxx. I wish I could decorate my home with all the furniture in World Market. Its all classic and rustic yet modern and beautiful all at the same time.

On my way home I was stalked by a young man in a Cadillac, who drove beside me for miles motioning for me to give him my number and mouthing that I was beautiful. I was creeped out but slightly flattered as I had nothing but mascara on. Well, I did get my hair done yesterday, and though it's a little too dark for my taste, it must be working for me.

If yesterday had a theme it would have been peace. Every event minute of the day was cloaked in a calmness and freshness that soothed my body and mind and allowed me to rest for the first time in ages. Even my constantly spinning mind quieted for the day. It happens every time Spring comes around, and I'm so greatful for it. I hope your weekend was equally lovely. Here's the recipe for the muffins:

Morning Glory Muffins from Oxygen Magazine- April 2013 issue

Ingredients:

• 1/2 cup coconut flour
• 1/4 tsp baking soda
• 1 tbsp pumpkin spice (I used all spice)
• 1 tsp cinnamon
• 6 eggs
• 1/2 cup coconut oil
• 2 tbsp honey (I did not use this)
• 1 tsp vanilla extract
• 1/4 cup pumkin puree (I used 1/2 cup)
• 1 apple, cored, peeled, and grated
• 1 1/2 cups carrot, peeled and grated
• 1/2 cup chopped walknuts
• 1/2 cup pitted dates, chopped (or raisins if you prefer)
• 1/4 cup sunflower seeds
• dash of salt

Directions:

• Preheat over to 350 degrees. Line or coat a muffins tin with cooking spray.
• Mix the first 4 ingredients and the salt in a large bowl. Stir in apples, carrots, walnuts, dates/raisins, and sunflower seeds until well combined.
• Beat wet ingredients together in a separate bowl. Add flour mixture to wet ingredients and mix until combined.
• Fill muffin cups and bake 25 minutes or until a toothpick inserted in center comes out clean.

Notes: I didn't have honey, dates, or raisins so I used an extra apple. They weren't very sweet, but I still thought they were delicious. Next time I'll try it with just dates or raisins and see if that makes it sweet enough before adding in the honey. I added extra pumpkin puree to make sure they'd be moist. You could also add applesauce (or only use applesauce if you're not a fan of pumpkin).
P.S. Make sure you have some ghee on hand to enjoy with these. I am out and that made my muffins sad.

Love to you all!

Pancakes!

Last night's sleep was heavy with nightmares. Twice I woke up wailing. My husband is now so accustomed to these occurances that he just tells me to calm down and rolls over. I don't blame him, but this dream kept me awake and on edge for most of the rest of the night. It's time to shake it off; plus it's Friday, and we haven't danced in ahwile. Can't remember if we've done this one before, but whatever. If you're gonna shake, it needs to be to Hey Ya.
And if you're just going to skip out on the party remember this:

 

Ok, now shake.

 

 

Now that you're feeling good and you're energes are revved, what do you say to some pancakes? Some mornings just require pancakes. Soft, fluffy stacks of steaming flapjacks, slightly soggy in the center from melted butter...those kind of pancakes. It's a bit hard to replicate the perfect buttermilk pancake with "healthier" ingredients. I've seen one recipe floating around all the Pinterest "Eat Heathy" boards that only requires one ripe banana and  2 eggs mashed and cooked in a skillet. My sister raves over this, but I'm not fond of banana flavored anything, unless of course it's homemade banana pudding. I prefer this from Megan at Detoxinista.com. When baked, they leave the oven steaming and fluffy. I haven't tried them with syrup yet, but a bit of honey tastes good. Or sandwich coconut butter between two and let it get a little melty. That's the best way to enjoy these. Happy Friday, loves!

 



Almond Butter Pancakes (Grain-Free)

Author: Detoxinista.com

Prep time: 5 mins

Cook time: 10 mins

Total time: 15 mins

Serves: 2

 

Ingredients

• ½ cup almond butter
• ½ cup unsweetened applesauce
• 2 whole eggs
• ½ teaspoon baking soda
• ½ teaspoon cinnamon
• ½ teaspoon vanilla extract

Instructions

1. Preheat your oven to 350F and line a baking sheet with parchment paper, if you plan on baking these. (My preferred method.)
2. In a medium bowl, combine all of the ingredients and mix until a smooth, uniform batter is created.
3. Scoop the batter using a ¼ cup onto the lined baking sheet, to form 7-8 pancakes. You will probably need two lined baking sheets, if you’d like to bake these all at once.
4. Bake for 10-12 minutes, until the pancakes are fluffy and golden. This is my preferred method, since you don’t need to use any extra oil for frying, and you can cook all the pancakes at once without even flipping them!
5. Alternatively, you can pan-fry these pancakes in a greased skillet over medium-high heat. Flip when the edges are firm and golden, about 4-5 minutes on each side.
6. Serve piping hot, with fresh fruit and/or pure maple syrup, if you like.

Notes

Parchment paper is key for baking these. Even a Silpat doesn’t yield the same results as using parchment paper.

CK's note: Use 1/2c pumpkin puree instead of applesauce and add a tbsp or two of honey to the mix for a savory fall flavor.

 



Minesweeper Meditation

I woke up this morning to my usual routine, but intsead of immediately jumping on the computer and blogging, I took a comfortable seat on the floor and meditated using a chakra meditation script. I feel calm and empowered, ready for the day, and the crown of my head is abuzz--my energies and emotions are ready to go!

Meditation has a host of benefits. It helps reduce anxiety attacks as it lowers the levels of blood lactate; builds self confidence; increases serotonin which influences moods and behaviour (low levels of serotonin are associated with depression, headaches and insomnia); enhances energy, strength and vigour; helps keep blood pressure normal; reduces stress and tension; creates a state of deep relaxation and general feeling of wellbeing; increases concentration and strengthens the mind; helps reduce heart disease and helps with weight loss. That's just a small sampling of what meditation can do, but one of this things I love most about meditation are the revelations, big or small, that arise. For example, a line from this morning's script said "for today release attitudes and patterns that no longer serve you", and of course I thought of my emotional eating (because that's always my go to thought my prompts like these). Then somehow, affirming that I will release the emotional eating patterns for today led me to the realization that I have a fear of my creativity and a fear of my spirituality. Big leap, no?

You see boredom is a big binge trigger for me. There are several things that I could occupy my time with. Things that I want to do, like writing stories, reading, yoga, painting, decorating the apartment, etc. All of these things would be a great alternative to bingeing, but I stand there staring into the cabinets knowing nothing in my physical or emotional being wants to eat, and I eat anyway because I am too scared of what will arise out of the creativity or spirituality that those activities will foster. Am I afraid my stories will reveal all of my dark and twisty insides? Am I worried I'll be criticized for my belief in a connection to the divine through yoga and meditation? Will it turn some people on their heads that I might actually think there is a little bit of the divine in all of us (and therefore that connects us)? Probably all that and more. But I tell ya, those questions reek of seeking the approval of others don't they? Maybe that's what I'm truly afraid of-- that others won't approve of me, my ideas, beliefs, creations; therefore I stifle the creative and spiritual yearnings with binges.

Wow, see, that's the power of meditation. It removes the blockage from the pathway and lights up the road ahead. Kind of like Minesweeper when you click just the right box and it uncovers a slew of others. I always got so excited when I clicked that box (I still do!).

On the one hand it made the job easier by taking away a lot of the unnecessary boxes. On the other hand it forced you to start paying attention to the details in order to decide which box surround by 2's and 3's would be the one in the clear. Meditation helps you click the right box and clear out the extras.

Well, I'm off. Love to you all, and I leave you with this:

“To be creative means to be in love with life. You can be creative only if you love life enough that you want to enhance its beauty, you want to bring a little more music to it, a little more poetry to it, a little more dance to it.” ~Osho

I ramble. A lot.

Gross alert! I am so tired of waking every morning soaked in sweat. It doesn't matter what I wear or don't wear or if only half of my body is under the covers. I wake up shivering, body drenched, hair damp, and sheets soaked. Were I still following the Whole30, I would chalk it up to my body being in fat burning mode, but I'm not (I know I said I was doing a second round a few weeks back, but I...I...well, I just haven't). I thought maybe the comforter was too heavy so I've tried light blankets instead to no avail. When the simple answers don't seem to fit I start to worry that the cause is bigger things, like my hormones being out of whack. Does that normally happen to 28 year olds?
All I know is 6 nights out of 7 I looked like I've sleepwalked into the back yard and played with the hose, and it's getting pretty old.

On to other things that you probably don't care about.

For the past couple of weeks I've been experimenting with my daily schedule, trying to fit in all the things I want and need to do to keep my balanced. One thing that's been missing from my life is exercise. I do plenty of teaching, but I don't do anything for me. My weeknights are just about to busy to add anything else to the mix so I thought, "Hey, I'll workout in the morning at 5:00!" Well, friends, my body hates working out at 5:00a.m. Ok, not my body, but I definitely do. Taking 15 minutes to go from sleepy head to gym rat with pulse pumping and muscles popping (or so they try) just doesn't work for me. My body and mind are a bit to stiff that early in the morning to give a workout all the effort it deserves. I prefer to hit the snooze once, then fix my pup her breakfast as I rub the dreams from my eyes, then pour a tall glass of water and settle in to the computer chair to write. It gives my body and mind time to stretch and yawn and slowly perk themselves up.

Still, I'm faced with the problem of when to exercise on my own. I'm thinking I might have to be a weekend warrior, completing the most intense workouts Friday nights, Saturdays, and Sundays. Mondays and Wednesdays I'll try to fit in a short 15 minute burst of something. That's not too much to commit to. I did go and buy a set of 10 pound weights to keep at my desk at work and use throughout the day. Yeah, I think I've lifted them once in two weeks.Best of intentions, right?

Anyway, I have been on this baby fever kick ever since my niece Millee was born in December. There are lots of new born baby pics floating around Facebook right now, but it's a fact that there are none cuter than this

Please ignore my brother's hairy legs

I couldn't figure out how to rotate the photo, but tilt your head to the side. That chick's loaded with sass already!

So someone posted about an old wives' tale ring test that would tell you how many babies you'll have and whether each will be a boy or a girl. I love superstitious stuff like that so I slipped my wedding ring onto a necklace and followed the steps. I held it in my left hand for a second, then grabbed it with my right hand and let it dangle. I made a circle with my left thumb and pointer finger and threaded the neckalce back forth through the circle three times. Then I held it as still as possible over my left palm. The says that the ring will either move straight back and forth (for a boy) or around in a circle (for a girl), and it will stop in between children. When my ring began to move over my palm for a FOURTH time, I threw it on the bed and ran out of the room convinced I was toying with voodoo and would be struck down. So there you go folks. I'm predicted to have four kids (maybe more since I cut the test short). A boy, then girl, then another boy, and finally another girl. I might get to name a son Maitland Burkhalter after all! (Burke for short.)

 

But watch out! Knowing the daddy, they will all be hellions ;)

 

Love to you all!

Crossing the Ocean

"To Christan, May your writing get you across the ocean. Yann Martel"
My aunt and I wanted the personal inscription to say, "To Christan, the future greatest writer ever. Love, Yann" He totally thought it was meant for a young namesake so it was a bit mortifying when I told him it was for me. Nonetheless, I like this one. Time to write and be transported.

Despite freezing temps and snow flurries that would make even Southern grownups shriek with delight, my Aunt Debbie and I trekked up to Nashville to see Yann Martel at the Nashville Public Library this past Saturday. Most of our day was spent driving or waiting in line to get a ticket, but it was completely worth it.

The auditorium was smaller than we expected, but it made for a much more intimate setting. We sat only three rows back from the stage. After being introduced by the Mayor, Martel took the podium in an understated, but scholarly blue sweater and glasses; his hair cropped short to his head. It wasn’t the picture I had of him in my mind. The photo in the back of Life of Pi, depicts a man with free and wild hair, a slight furrow in his brow, and inquisitive eyes that weren’t covered by lenses. Instead he looked decidedly normal, like your average English teacher at the local high school. I instantly loved him more.

He talked of how Life of Pi came about, how initially it was to be an elephant in the life boat and then a rhinoceros. He explained that when writing he was most concerned with the mechanics of the story, not the symbolism. He is often asked what Richard Parker, the tiger, was intended to symbolize, and his response is that he didn’t have a specific symbolic meaning in mind—that is mostly left up to the reader’s interpretation—he just focused on constructing the story and making sure the foundation was firm. He talked of his writing process, how he researched everything from religion to zoology to currents of the Pacific Ocean for two years, producing over 300 pages of notes. Then he cut up the notes and placed them into themed envelopes. Then he took one envelope at a time and began to form his story. Brilliant—I’m always eager to learn the secret writing processes of great authors.

He spoke of religion, how he used to hate it and preferred to be a rationalist, until one day he realized that the logical, everything can be explained by science life style was stifling his happiness and his creativity. He was tired of living life on a straight path so he flew to India in search of inspiration and a place to flex his author’s craft. There the seed was planted for the book that has quickly become a modern day classic.

Though his main purpose was to discuss the book, he words stirred my soul and sparked long and honest conversations about religion and even politics between Aunt Debbie and me. That's the power of an author's words, whether spoken or written. They inspire me, move me, and motivate me to write more and create more and touch people through words.

I did take copious notes during the talk, but unfortuantely I don't have them in front of me. Otherwise I'd shower you with much more wisdom and insight from Mr. Martel. Just know that it was a wonderful trip, and if you ever get the chance to hear Mr. Martel speak, then jump at it. Take your own aunt and spend the day making memories and growing closer. And if you happen to be in Nashville, eat the tomato bisque at the Province Cafe in side the library. It was divine.



The crustless quiche was gorgeous but definitely needed some seasoning.



Disruption and the Quell

Last night I experienced my first encounter with a disruptive student while teaching yoga. As the class settled into easy pose with eyes closed and turned their awareness inward and toward their breath, the door swung open and a carbon copy of John Coffee from The Green Mile poked his head in.

“This yoga?” he boomed.

“Yes, sir.”

“Can I do it?”

“Of course you may.”

He thanked me and disappeared back into the weight room. I turned back to the class, and fourteen pairs of wide eyes and furrowed brows met my gaze. I don’t know why the sudden presence of the man flustered us so, but I knew I’d just lost the opportunity to help the room center. So I made a joke about everyone now being wide awake and swung everyone around into child’s pose. A few minutes later the man returned and took a place in the back of the room. Bless his heart, he was dedicated and pushed himself through every sequence, and the whole room knew it. His grunts and huffs were consistent enough to provide a play list for the class, and he’d accent his breathy melody with a “shit” or “damn” whenever his arms tired from holding Warrior Two for an extra few breaths.

I didn’t bother me too much, and at times I found it humorous, but then again I wasn’t practicing and trying to find my center. Had I been a student, I’d have been just as irritated as the rest of my budding yogis looked. It was probably a golden opportunity to wax poetic about how there is no judgment in yoga and what is it about your own ego that makes you find fault or become irritated with others, but I’m not slick enough to pull that off without being totally obvious. There was an elephant in the room, and I would have been pointing right at it.

So I did the only other thing I could think of. I had them hold poses for several long breaths and cued them to cultivate stillness and quiet. And you know what? For a few brief moments it worked, and the energy of the stillness of fourteen unique bodies astonished me. Just from my simple words and the keen ears and dedication of the students we created overwhelming power cloaked in stillness and quiet. When it came time for Savasana, the final resting pose, the man continued his concert, squirming and flinging droplets of sweat onto neighboring bodies. I went over and firmly pressed his massive shoulders and anchored them into the mat. Within a matter of seconds his breath slowed and deepened, his muscles relaxed, and his clenched jaw released. His rhino grunts transformed to a kitten purr. Again I was astonished. I have magic hands! Ok, ok. I am not that self-centered! But I was amazed at the power a simple touch possessed.

This is what yoga continuously teaches me: that the simplest of things—breath, touch, plain words—have the ability to radically transform a person, from the way they hold their bodies, to the thoughts they think, to the emotions they feel. These things harness a greater energy than I’ve ever before experienced.

It’s always the little things in life, isn’t it?   

Namaste, loves.

Give up the Shoulds. Give up the Guilt.

A couple of days ago I was talking to my mom, who had had a particularly rotten day. “I ate fries and a frosty. I told myself no, but I did it anyway. Then we had birthday cake for a co-worker,” she said. The following day a dear friend lamented that she felt guilty for not blogging with consistency. “I don’t ever read like I should,” I commiserated. My very first thoughts this morning as my brain fluttered to consciousness and my hand slipped over my belly were I should not have eaten that whole plate of nachos last night. Way to keep a fat belly, CK. It was followed with regret for staying in bed until 6:00 instead of rising at 5:00 and for opting to watch TV instead of working out last night.

Then I got angry.

I don’t want to beat myself up anymore for what I ate, or the books I haven’t read, or the meditation and yoga I haven’t been practicing. And I don’t want my mother or my friends to be down on themselves because of frosties and an inconsistent blogging habit. Their worth is measured by far more than that. I don’t think any less of my mom for eating French fries for lunch on a stressful day. To me it will not register any difference in the way she looks; she will still be the most beautiful woman I know. I don’t think she is weak, fat, or pathetic. All it means to me is that an awesome woman ate a side of potatoes cooked in oil for lunch and nothing more. I don’t think my friend lacks discipline or is a failure because she doesn’t blog consistently. She’s still one of the smartest, witty people I know. I marvel at the fact that she attempts to blog at all while caring for two children, settling into a new home, working a full time job, and chairing at least two community clubs. Inconsistent blogging does not diminish her super woman status.

Why is it that we beat ourselves up over these things? Clearly, those things that we feel guilty over are the ones that hold great importance to us. My mother and I think it’s important to avoid fast food and eat whole foods for optimal health. My friend and I were born with a talent for and need to write, therefore blogging (or any outlet of creative writing) is important to us. The guilt for slipping up on a diet or not honing your talent is understandable, but is it necessary?

Think about how much energy we waste feeling guilty and beating ourselves up for choices we make and things we do or don’t do. Think about all the things you could accomplish if you refocused that energy into positive thoughts and actions. What if when you have a bad day and you find yourself at Wendy’s for lunch you say, “I want fries and a frosty. I want them because it’s a stressful day and because they will taste delicious.” And what if you just ate them and said, “Damn, that was good,” and let that be the end of it. What if when you start to despair because you haven’t written anything in a while you acknowledge your life is crazy and then write one single sentence, the most beautifully creative sentence you can craft, and post it (and be proud of it!). What if we realized that we are human. We are fallible. We aren’t going to eat perfectly all the time. In fact there will be periods of time where we may eat junk consistently. We aren’t going to meet every standard we set for ourselves. There will be times when we simply can’t keep the house clean, don’t have time to make a home cooked meal, avoid exercise or our yoga practice. There will be times when we watch too much TV, don’t call stay in touch with our grandmothers regularly, and feed the dog half of our bowl of chili because we are too lazy to get up and mix the canned and dry dog food together.

And guess what? IT’S OK. We are imperfect beings, but that does not make a single one of us any less extraordinary, nor does it devalue our worth.

Here’s my suggestion, and it’s advice that I need to practice and keep close to my own heart. Evaluate those things for which you feel guilty and beat yourself up. Decide if they are truly important to you or if they are just “shoulds” placed in your life by society, your family, your friends, etc. Then make conscious and deliberate choices to pursue those important things. So…it’s really important to me that I write consistently—I have a talent for it. I got my degree in it. I want to have a career in it—therefore I need to be adamant in my writing. Or take yoga for example. As a yoga teacher it is very important that I have my own yoga practice, and I feel really guilty that I don’t practice on my own very often. If I want to grow and improve as a teacher I’ve got to practice yoga. I decide it’s important so I make the commitment to do it. Then there’s something like reading. I feel like I should be devouring books. Indeed, to be a good writer, you need to be an avid reader. But my days are jam packed from 5:15am when I wake up to 7:30pm when I get home, and, frankly, I enjoy flopping on the couch and vegging to Desperate Housewives. Sure, I’d benefit more from picking up a book, but most nights I just need to switch to autopilot and crash. So I’m not gonna feel guilty anymore for not reading a lot.

 It’s far easier said than done, but it boils down to this. Be mindful in your choices and actions, and then cut yourself some slack. Focus your energies on the positives in life and your small achievements. So you ate fries at lunch? Who cares? You came home and walked on the treadmill for 30 minutes. Find pride in that. You didn’t blog today? So what. You snuggled up to your kiddos and read them a story. You’re their hero. Didn’t read a chapter in that book? It’s ok; you spent the last hour laughing with your husband while watching the antics on Wisteria Lane. Those are good things. They are the little moments that make life grand. Sets your sights on them. Cultivate more of them and let go of the rest. Your life is far too precious to be spent laden with guilt over the “shoulds” and “should nots”. Remember that.

Love to you all.

Chocolate Caramel Coffee Bars- Unprocessed and Paleo Approved! (Well the dark chocolate part is debatable...)

My hubby has long entertained the idea of working for the Feds. The very first time he mentioned his interest, I made a promise to myself that if he ever was accepted to the FBI Academy, I'd spend the duration of his training in Paris, Now, I don't know how long Federal agent training lasts, but his State training took eight months. Since he was still in Georgia we were able to see each other roughly every two weeks, but with the FBI training head quarters being in Virginia, our visits would be fewer and farther in between. I'd be so lonely at home all by myself for that extended period of time, but the cost of traveling to see him would be considerable. I think another good use of that money would be an extended trip to Paris. It would be the perfect distraction for my love sick heart. Writing in front of an open window, crips white curtains fluttering in the breeze. Strolling through the city in the afternoons, nibbling bon bons and sipping fine wine. I'd be saturated in inspiration for my creative craft.

I'm not counting any chickens before they hatch or fretting over the future. Heck no! I'm just indulging in some heady wishful thinking. Those decisions are somewhere far down the road and will come in due time, but I do enjoy dreaming of the possibilities.

Speaking of bon bons, sometimes all a girl needs is some chocolate. In fact, I think you should savor a bit of chocolate every day if it suits you and helps you foster a bit of happiness or balance. Is that investing too much emotion into a food? Probably, but let's face it, chocolate will always be tied to emotion, so we might as well enjoy it. But make sure you enjoy the good stuff. M&Ms may be good in a pinch, but they pale in comparison to a rich homemade chocolate dessert, like these:

Chocolate Caramel Coffee Bars from Paleomg.com.

How decadent do those look? The best part is that aside from a little dark chocolate these are made with 100% whole, unprocessed ingredients. No preservatives and sweetened with dates and a tiny bit of honey (ok and the chocolate), these babies are a perfect alternative to typical sweet treat fare. I made them last night, and they were amazing! They're extremely rich so a small square should satisfy even your most vicious cravings. I used 70% dark chocolate, and that paired with the dates (I love dates, even if they look like cockroaches) was just a touch too tangy for me. Next time I'll try 55% dark chocolate or maybe milk chocolate and see if that makes a difference. Regardless, these will be a party in your mouth. (And they aren't troublesome to make at all.) Enjoy!

Chocolate Coffee Caramel Bars

Prep time: 15 mins

Total time: 15 mins

 

Serves: 3-4 (these are way too rich to just serve 3-4! Cut them into small squares and savor.)

 

Ingredients

For the crust

• 12 dried figs (or dates, if you prefer), stems removed
• ½ cup almond butter
• ¼ cup Unsweetended Shredded Coconut
• 2 tablespoons Raw Honey
• 3 tablespoons unsweetened cocoa powder
• 1 teaspoon cinnamon
• pinch of salt

For the caramel

• 12-14 medjool dates, pitted and soaked in water for an hour
• 5-6 tablespoons canned coconut milk (I only used 5 tbsps and could have used slightly less still- or use less of the water below)
• 3 tablespoons water
• 1 teaspoon vanilla extract
• pinch of salt

For the topping

• 1 cup Enjoy Life Chocolate Chips or dark chocolate, melted
• ¼ cup canned coconut milk
• 2 teaspoons ground coffee
• coarse sea salt, to top

Instructions

1. First make your crust. Add all of your crust ingredients into a food processor and mix until well combined. Add the crust mixture to a bread pan and push down until the mixture is flat. Like a crust. Duh.
2. Now add your dates and pulse until dates have broken down (less than a minute) then add your coconut milk tablespoon by tablespoon to the dates while the food processor is still running. Then add your water as well.
3. And add your vanilla extract and pinch of salt.
4. Process until you get a caramel. BOOM. May take 3-5 minutes, tops.
5. Pour caramel over your crust and spread evenly.
6. Now you will want to melt your chocolate. You could do this in a double boiler or just the microwave. I chose the latter.
7. Melt chocolate and coconut milk together in the microwave. Heating for 30 seconds then mixing well and reheating when necessary.
8. Once your chocolate is completely melted, add your ground coffee and mix well.
9. Pour melted chocolate over your caramel and spread evenly.
10. Add coarse sea salt on top of the chocolate.
11. Put in freezer to let chocolate harden. Around 10+ minutes.
12. Eat!!

A Reluctant Affair

I confess; I live a half-life. Much of my time I spend wondering and worrying about what my life will look like in the next 6 months. Will my husband be promoted or transferred? Where will we live? Will we still be North Georgia? Should I look for another job? Or do I stick it out where I am? Does my husband even want to move? Will there be resentment if we leave North Georgia? We’ve lived in Ringgold now for two and a half years, and it has taken me exactly that amount of time to form a bond with the area. I’ve finally admitted to my crush on Chattanooga, and it wants to blossom into a full on love affair. Yet, I keep myself at arms’ length. I can’t get too attached, not if we’ll be leaving by the time the year is through (if being the operative word).

I spend at least 6 days of my week in Chattanooga. My resistance to her charms was futile. The breeze off the river whispered secrets in my ear every time I walked across the Market Street Bridge. The windowed angles of the Aquarium glistened like diamonds. Chattanooga invited me to stroll her sidewalks lined with the shops of hardworking yet laid back owners. She coerced me to play barefoot in the waterfall stairs of the River Walk and slide down her broad grassy banks. We grew close over weekends in the North Shore practicing yoga and lunching at Greenlife.
 

Centennial Park, The Delta Queen, Walnut St. Bridge,
and the Aquarium in the background

I’ve imagined our future together. I pretend I am one of the more recognizable names around town when it comes to writing and fitness. I see myself volunteering my time and executing large fund raisers for mental and physical health awareness. I see myself teaching large yoga classes in Centennial Park and writing columns for Get Out and Chattanooga Magazine. I see the smiles of the people I'd help and my network of colleagues and peers. They are active, easy-going, resourceful, and mindful. The crave balance like I do and create it for themselves. They inspire me.  Like a teenager with her first love, I have Chattanooga's and my whole life planned out.
 

But like in most relationships, I’ve built my walls, and I’m not keen on dismantling them. To become anymore attached to Chattanooga while the details of my home life are up in the air would be inviting pain. I will already miss the city whenever we leave. I don’t want to miss it any more than is necessary. Here again, we come to the problem of living the half-life. I choose not to fully integrate myself in order to not hurt in the future, but that leaves the present lackluster and wanting. My days are extraordinarily busy, but they are packed with the mundane “have to do” responsibilities of life, not the things that set me on fire. I’ve already taken a few steps to make the time outside of my 9 to 5 the life I live for, but I am the point in my life where I need more change. I need to actively pursue those things I love with all my energies. I know it’s possible to achieve what I desire, but I stall. What’s the point in finding a job more suited to my talents and integrating myself into something (even if I’ll love it) if we are only going to uproot within the next few months or year?

Were I talking to a friend, I’d tell them that the point of pursuing those things now is to make the most of your life in this present moment because (warning: cliché coming) the present is all we have. This very moment- that’s it. And if you’re miserable, but refuse to change things because there’s a possibility you might not be in this place in the next few months, then you’re only cheating yourself, honey. What’s the worst that could happen? You find your dream job and then move 3 months later? Yes, that would suck, but wouldn’t it suck worse to slog out those 3 months in a place (warning: drama queen mode kicking in) that makes you feel dead inside?

I can’t decide if that sounds too idealistic- “follow your heart and dreams now”- and if I need to counter it with a spoonful of practicality- “it is responsible to stay where you are now, until you know what you’re plans are. Don’t give up a good paying job for uncertainty”. My idealist and rationalist are always at war (but that taps into a whole other post about dual nature I’ve got simmering). I guess the best advice I can give myself is to not worry so much about the future and things that are not yet decided. Yes, I’ve waited a long time for concrete direction and will have to wait a bit longer, but the answers are coming. When they do I can spring into action. Until then, I must shed the worry and live as mindfully as possible in this present moment, being content with my circumstances as they are but still pursuing those things that light me up so I can spill that light onto others. God has everything in control. All I have to do is let Him drive.

Dust free= avoidance

My house is spotless. I dusted every slat of every blind, behind the fridge, and under the washing machine and dryer. I vacuumed under every piece of furniture, inside the window sills full of decaying bugs. I even scrubbed the baseboards and door fronts in the livingroom and hall. God bless the creator of the Magic Eraser for making that task infinitely easier.

I always prefer a clean house, and with the aroma of sping riding on the breeze it seems like a good time to brighten everything up. Honestly, though, I clean to avoid. There's always something dirty or cluttered around the house which always offers me the perfect excuse to avoid, say, writing my blog, or finding new music for cycling class, or prepping my meals for the week, or working out even. During the week I have no down time to make excuses to procrastinate. From 5:00 am when I wake up to 8:00pm when I usually get home I am on the go. For the breif hour before I pass our at 9:00, I'm usually already crashed on the couch, trying and failing to reduce a little stress, or I'm making a last ditch attempt to get myself ahead of the game for tomottow. The weekend is wide open. I successfully schedule my mornings to keep me occupied and our of danger of a food fest, but the afternoons are more difficult. I want to do something fun, like explore Chattanooga, so I put off the writing and the class prepping, and the next week food prepping. Or I want to nap, or I don't want to live my entire life scheduled out to the minute. I may need to do that because it helps keeps me on the many tracks I needs to be on, but my defiant inner child doesn't like it. I wanna do, what I wanna do, when I wanna, do it, and I don't want to do THAT.

Sparkling base boards are definitely a reward for hard work, and I know I did not waste my time, but I did avoid my responsibilities and the other things I needed to do to keep me in balance this week. Why do we humans do that? Why do we avoid the things that we know are good for us, the things that will bring us health, balance, and even extra time on our hands? I need to know your secrets because right now I'm at a loss. How do you shut up your bratty inner child and do the things that will benefit you? Like I've said the key for me is structure. It's what gets me throught the week with my head above water and would get me through my weekend with out fear of bingeing, but take effort, commitment, and planning- things I loike to go light on during the weekend.

Anyway, that's all I've got this morning. Share with me your motivation to keep it going when your inner kid is kicking and screaming. Hope you all had a lovely weekend and a super week ahead! Love to you all!

The most awesome Valentine gift

Look at the new toy my super sweet weekend valentine bought me!

Cue happy dance.
 

For its inaugural use, I whipped up a double batch of homemade mayo. No longer will I waste precious minutes and tire my forearm while slowly drizzling olive oil into a blender! This baby gets the job done in 60 seconds flat. I just tossed all the ingredients in a bowl, pressed power, and the emulsion blossomed before my eyes.

Momma and I decided last weekend that we are doing another Whole30 (starting yesterday). Neither of us followed the reintroduction process as outlined. I've been going hog wild with sugar consumption in all its obvious and hidden forms, which is probably why every part of my body that had slimmed down in January has plumped up again. Yep, it's true. Those jeans from Christmas 2011 are once again in the back of the closet because they won't slide over my hips. Am I going to beat myself up over it? Ha, I already have. Nope, I'm just going to jump back into the Whole30, cleanse my body with whole foods, and learn from the stumbles I've experienced in the last couple of weeks.

More importantly, we have booked our summer vacation. June 22 will arrive in a hurry so mom and I want to get a jump start on our smokin' bikini bods. Plus, my daddy, who did the Whole30 with us in January lost a disgusting unbelievable 20 pounds! Genuinely giddy, he glowed as he announced on Monday that he is back to his high school weight. Ugh, men....

So back to the Whole30 it is. However, I'm doing it more for the structure and the peace that structure brings to my life than for shedding body fat for summer. As I reread posts from just a few short weeks ago, the happiness and balance I experienced leaps from the page and smacks me in the face. I've felt like my life tailspinned into a mess once the Whole30 was over. So why not go back to it and reclaim that happiness and balance? It only makes sense. (And please note that my situation is a bit unique. If you're in the middle of a Whole30 or thinking about doing one, don't think that you are doomed to rebound or yoyo back to your old habits or old body. You have the control, and you can make it successful. So can I; I just have to quash Ed.)

I won't blog about this second go 'round, unless I experience some huge revelation. But I will make an effort to continue posting something everyday (whether you like it or not, muhahaha). I think Thursday posts will be yoga focused and Fridays will be a bit more creative in nature. Maybe Tuesdays or Wednesdays will feature a recipe; not of my own creation though, unless you crave something burned and inedible. But I do see lots of creamy soups and purees in my future now that I have my new toy. I want to make an effort to be more positive on Mondays and start the week off on an uplifting note. My brother Morgan suggested "MoMo Mondays", which (since coming from his mind) would be a hilarious rapid fire of insanity. Hmmm...we'll see.

Homemade mayo (in case you never clicked any of the links to this recipe I posted before):
From Theclothesmakethegirl.com

Ingredients:
1 egg @ room temp
2 tablespoons lemon juice @ room temp
1/2 teaspoon dry mustard
1/2 teaspoon salt
1/4 cup plus 1 cup olive oil (light, not extra virgin) @ room temp

Directions:
1. Place the egg and lemon juice in a blender or food processor. Let them come to room temperature together, about 30-60 minutes. Add the dry mustard, salt, and 1/4 cup of the oil. Whirl until well mixed – about 20 to 30 seconds.
THIS IS THE IMPORTANT PART!
2. The only remaining job is to incorporate the remaining 1 cup oil into the mixture. To do this, you must pour very slowly… the skinniest drizzle you can manage and still have movement in the oil. This takes about three minutes or so. Breathe. Relax. Drizzle slowly.
If you’re using a blender, you’ll hear the pitch change as the liquid starts to form the emulsion. Eventually, the substance inside the blender will start to look like regular mayonnaise, only far more beautiful. Do not lose your nerve and consider dumping! Continue to drizzle.
If your ingredients were all at room temperature and you were patient, you will be rewarded!

OR...dump everything into a bowl, take your precious immersion blender, and go to town. Woohoo!

Tybee Time

Vacations, especially those to the beach, never last long enough. The last four days back home in Statesboro and at Tybee passed as quickly as a mere couple of hours. But it was a wonderful weekend. Mom and I celebrated our successful completion of the Whole30 with a trip to Tybee Island. I anticipated wearing light jackets and lounging on a blanket on the beach, soaking up Vitamin D while catching up on reading. However, it was so cold and windy that we only stepped foot onto the sand one time. Though bundled in layers, gloves, and scarves, our bones still froze.

So what’s the alternative when it’s too cold to enjoy the beach? Shopping, of course! Our first stop was the Southern Women’s Show at the Savannah Convention Center. The auditorium overflowed with Southern belles and vendors desperate to make a sale. It only took .5 seconds for momma and me to become overwhelmed, but we methodically made our way up and down the aisles of booths, politely declining invitations to try magic mops and pheromone sprays. Just when I thought we’d make it through without having to adamantly refuse a vendor’s advances, a man with long, whispy gray hair and clothed in mud splotched duds grabbed momma’s arm.

He slathered her hand in moist volcanic ash, touting its detoxifying effects. Mom tried to recoil, but the man caked on more mud and commented on the gorgeous light radiating from her eyes. I giggled, and he noticed me for the first time. “Oh, are you with her? I guess yours do too if you’re with her.” He grabbed a warm wash cloth and wiped the mud off mom’s hands. I won’t lie; the difference in her two hands was pretty astonishing. The ash cleansed hand was bright and glowing. Her fingers were slim, natural puffiness gone, and the line and wrinkles of her palm had evaporated.

“You see. You don’t have to believe what I say. You can see it for yourself. It works. You can use it all over your body. Face. Belly. Legs. Butt,” he said and started quoting prices. Mom was ready to walk away, but I was hooked (sucker that I am). “Here, I’ll do yours,” he said grabbing my hand, “since you’re with her.”

We walked away from the booth with a jar of volcanic ash each.

We made another great find of flavored olive oils and balsamic vinegars at another booth. We sampled blood orange olive oil with chocolate balsamic vinegar, garlic mushroom olive oil with pecan praline balsamic vinegar, and basil olive oil with strawberry balsamic vinegar. We both could have died happy right then and there. I have never tasted anything so delicious in my life as those oil and vinegar combos. We insisted to every passerby that they try a sample too. Those who refused, we tackled and forced it down their throats (not really, but I thought about it). We left that booth with a bottle of all six flavors.

Though we were celebrating the Whole30, we definitely did not eat according to the Whole30 while on vacation. We enjoyed creamy shrimp and corn cakes, balsamic glazed sweet potato fries, crab cake sandwiches, rich steak “Oscar”, and crème brule. And for breakfast each morning we had chocolate.


Breakfast of champions

 On our last night momma and I decided to try the North Beach Grill near the lighthouse. I could’ve sworn I’d eaten there before, and that it was a nice place with a charming, breezy atmosphere perfect for tourists. Instead it was a run down dive frequented by locals (and we think several lesbians, too, as one woman told mom- with a much too mischievous grin- that she was so hot she was about to take her shirt off). The shack was dimly lit and loud, and a server rushed by saying he’d be right with us and that we’d “better get a drink”. Blue paint flaked off the table tops, and our uneven chairs were undoubtedly salvaged from the dump. Christmas lights and neon beer signs decorated the knotty wood walls. Steps away from the screened porch door the waves rippled up the sand. With every sip of my Reisling, I became more and more chatty, spilling to my momma all the inside jokes and mundane memories that make me smile most.

I adored every minute of that dinner in that lopsided beach shanty.  The food was delicious and the company, my favorite. I’ve always had a silly longing to eat at a rundown coastal dive favored only by local hodads. It seemed like an essential part of beach life, and I couldn’t call myself a true beach bum until I’d experienced it. And finally, with my momma, there on Tybee Island, I did. Laugh if you will, but it was everything I’d hoped it’d be.

Time spent with my momma and sister (who dropped by on Sunday) keeps me young at heart, but unfortunately I realized this weekend that I have crossed the threshold into “old” territory. I submit as evidence:

1.      Getting in the bed at 8:00 and falling asleep by 8:30, despite being on vacation.

2.      Achieving a hangover after consuming only two 5oz glasses of wine.

3.      Waking, showering, packing, and being ready to head out the door 4 hours before checkout (without being prompted!).

There’s no room for dispute; I’m an old fart at 28.

Yeah, vacations aren’t ever long enough. Neither are trips home. I always return to North Georgia homesick and yearning for flat cotton fields, gnat kisses, early morning TV with mom in her bed, an afternoon hour spent on Mamaw’s couch, a Cracker Barrel breakfast with my sister-in-law, my daddy’s infectious smile, and conversations with my often inappropriate siblings. But I’m thankful for the time I do get to spend down there and for opportunities like this weekend that bring me closer to my mom and remind me of what an extraordinary lady she is. She’s my idol, and I love her.

I hope you all had a lovely weekend too. See you back in the grind!  



It's Tybee time, Dah'ling.





Insert smart ass caption here. (Anything I say will make Gracie mad, hehe).





Channeling Dwayne Wayne.

 


These pants looked amazing on Mom. She refused to buy them!



Mom loves a rotating door almost as much as a round about. We had to limit her to only three loops around at a time.



It looks deceivingly warm, doesn't it?