I have never been good at meeting deadlines, completing assignments, following through. Admittedly, I am a bit of a slacker. Definitely a hard worker when given a specific task. But the follow-through tends to thin out and my attention runs rampant. The expectations for this here blog were a bit higher than they needed to be. What with 14 plus readers, do I need perfection, do I need Pulitzer prize material? Or do I need to meet the goal I set out to meet? Write. And write some more. Maybe post a pic or two. And when all else fails, write again.
I am eating every day. So I have plenty of material. Do you want to hear about what I just had for a lunch or about a lazy day messy recipe of throwing together what looks edible in my pantry? It seems so very exciting when being made, the satisfaction of eating my creation or someone else's work, but after the hunger drifts away, I forget about all the foreplay, all the details that made the experience worth writing about in the first place.
Too much comparison, too high of expectations. This is just a scrapbook. A virtual journal. An experiment. An experiment that is not reaching its potential considering I spend the majority of my income and waking hours ingesting or pondering food.
Maybe it scares me how my taste buds wane and wax, how my budget does not allow all that I want to experience, and that my body is less tolerant of my cocky brave appetite.
I'll tell you a story. A couple weeks ago my lower back seized and the majority of my vertebrae went every which way. I couldn't stand up straight for over a week, my right hip visibly 3 inches higher than my left. My emotions were a roller coaster of anger, helplessness, deep dull pain and occasional bouts of hysterics. So I laid on my back and began laughing and called a friend who tends to calm and soothe. He mentioned Mint Juleps; he was working on a project and was also thinking about making and drinking them. I don't know about you but on that hot day while I laid on the carpet immobile that sounded like true medicine. With the impetus of cold whiskey in my future I managed to rise up and pluck a few handfuls of mint from the garden and get a simple syrup started on the stove. My tall and lovely friend arrived not long after, a bottle of Makers Mark in his hand. He crushed some ice in the vita mix and put a straw in my lovely cocktail. The straw was curly and plastic and bright green and let me sip without bending over my glass.
Well, this started a 4 day trend. Since I rarely take aspirin I get to justify healing with booze. I know, I know. But the sweet mint syrup could not go to waste, or the bottle left behind. And my friends rallied and visited and tended to my thirst and mild hunger and crazy moods.
A four day binge can only end badly. Especially when your spine is not aligned. So a few days later, my liver knocking on my ribs, my emotions spent, I tried a new sort of medicine. A few beets were hanging out in the cooler, organic and golden. The thought of a raw beet salad made my body cheer.
So I grated those beets down, joyous yellow shocking my dulled out senses. Adding squeezes of lemon and orange juice, a few grinds of Hawaiian sea salt, a dash of olive oil. Chopped parsley to further aid in kidney repair and man, do I love parsley.
If you are a loather of beets, which I think 65 percent of you are, you might love this salad. That bitter beet grimy taste is nowhere to be found. It was crisp and citrusy. I felt my blood come back to life, color filling in my cheeks.
8 days later my spine found its way back to straight, the pain and burning allevaited, and I came out of it grateful, motivated, ready to dance.
I still think whiskey is medicinal, but I am happy to add beets to my repertoire.
