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Found Time

October 31st, 2010

What is it about this blog that prompts me to confess to my silliness, I don’t know, but here’s a story that cracks me up, even though I am the one telling it. OK, so yesterday, I was teaching Dehydrating 101 for the first time. I structured it to be a half-day class, with a total of six recipes and an intro, so it was an ambitious schedule. I also booked the class in a venue that I have never taught in before, a half hour drive from my house. All these things made me decide to get up extra early to have time to get my things in order and arrive in a peaceful state. I set my alarm clock for 4:30 a.m.

Saturday morning, I opened my eyes, glanced at the clock, and to my horror saw that it said 6:00. I bolted out of bed and began rushing around. I made my tea, jumped in the shower, started packing things up to take to the car, etc. In the midst of this, I looked at my phone to be sure I didn’t have any texts or messages from attendees or my assistants.

That’s when I realized: it wasn’t 6:00 when I had looked at the clock. It was 12:30. (My bedside clock isn’t digital: it has hands. The BIG hand was on the 6, not the little one. Eeeeek!) So now I was at a crossroads: It was approaching 2:00 a.m. and I was already showered, half packed and mentally fully engaged. Do I go back to bed, or do I stay up? I decided I would stay up.

By the time I did get to class, I had gotten all my weekend chores accomplished and then some. I planted five flats of wheatgrass, got the laundry done, answered emails, paid bills and even flipped my mattress!

Of course, by the time I fell into bed Saturday night I was quite the zombie, but I have to admit I loved the “found time” that my dyslexic moment caused.

Next weekend here in the USA we “fall back” and gain an hour because we change our clocks. What will you do with your “found time?”

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Cause and Effect

October 24th, 2010

We drank to my health so many times, I nearly ruined it!

My birthday was this month: Sunday, October 10. Yep, 10-10-10. Pretty cool. To celebrate, my dear friend Robin kidnapped me and we went to Oklahoma City to have dinner at 105degrees, the vegan raw food restaurant I wrote about in Purely Delicious magazine last spring. It was a divine weekend of shopping, great raw food and 16 hours of “just us” time in the car.

When I got back, I was sick as a dog and only now am I feeling like I am back to normal. There’s a reason why.

In addition to the fabulous raw food, I also ate some things that have not been on my personal menu for a long, long time. I’m not sure why I did it. I can’t blame Robin—she’s a healthy eater herself—but we both succumbed to scarfing down (I am embarrassed to even write this but here goes) gas station food, among other things. Yes, gas station food. I had Bugles, Funyons, potato chips, popcorn and even some bad coffee (with sugar, just to make it passable). In Oklahoma City I had chips and salsa and a (gigantic) margarita. We drank wine at every meal except breakfast. I even had a latte on Sunday morning to top it off. At the time everything seemed OK, but on Monday morning—in addition to being rather “stopped up”—I had a horrific sore throat which evolved into a cold with a lot of mucous and a raging headache. I felt like I was going to die: it was probably the worst—heck, maybe the only—cold I have had in five years.

And now for the unexpected part: I am really sort of glad it happened. Not that I liked being sick (I hated it), but it reminded me of some things I had begun to take for granted. Like, how good it feels to feel good. And the connection between cause and effect, especially when it comes to what you eat. And that Bugles don’t taste nearly as good as the memory I have of them.

My crappy food choices were undoubtedly rooted in emotional eating patterns. My sojourn with Robin felt very much like the “road trips” my friends and I used to take in college. Fueled on junk food and coffee, we’d drive 12 hours at the drop of a hat to go hear a band or visit a friend in another state. The car would be filled with nonstop chatter, and the trip would only be interrupted by stops for more food or our frequent pee breaks. Climbing into the car with Robin Friday morning felt like those days again, and I fell into the pattern of eating junk food at a rate nearing the speed limit on the interstate. Forget the fact that my college days were three decades ago: I hadn’t lost the touch.

Anyway, I am back in the saddle again, after two weeks of buckling down to lots of green juices and a colon hydrotherapy session.

I think next year we need to fly somewhere instead of drive.

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