Day Four of the Juice Fast

I made it through day four. The temptations and cravings are still everywhere. But I'm playing with it now a little bit more than before. I'm noticing how I can get a craving for say...a toasted onion bagel with cream cheese, or a bagel dog with mustard. and I can think about it, feel the pang inside my body, and then just divert my attention CONSCIOUSLY to something else; thereby, letting the craving and pang inside my body go. It's like my body has been in control of me, my cravings for fatty, salty, creamy junk food were running full speed, with no real control. And I'm learning control. It's not easy yet, but I feel myself growing here and am very proud of the last few days.

I watched the documentary that kind of kick started this "Fat, Sick and Nearly Dead" again today. It helped me recommit to doing this juice fast, and also let me know that it does get easier. Apparently, I'm still in the "detox" phase...well...according to the timeline that truck driver gave his overweight brother. He was trying to get him to try juice fasting for his health...and he said that he should try it for at least a week because the first week you are not feeling your best. Meh. Who knows? I am feeling better. Still off of the stomach acid suppressants and I haven't had to take the anti-nausea pills, or the muscle relaxer for my intestines. So I'd say, this thing is still going as planned, and I look forward to seeing what changes may come. :)

Things I learned today:

1. I can refocus my attention at will, including times when I am having a physical response to hunger cravings in my body. I can actually do something else, and my craving will go away within 20 minutes. 
2. That taking control of one aspect of your life, no matter how small, leads to other positive changes too. 
3. The Cute Boy must really think my skin is looking better because he mentioned it again today.  
4. Good nutrition actually does give you pep!

The Juice Fast Days 1 and 2

The first 24 hours were the hardest so far. But I made it. I stuck to the juice fast. But today (day two), The Cute Boy's sister came to pick-up her pooch from our house, and as a thank you for watching Winnie, her basset hound, she brought us two chocolate cup cakes from a local bakery. ZOMIGOD! At first, Cute Boy told her he was sorry, but we had already started a juice fast. But when he turned to me and asked if I wanted to break the fast for these cupcakes, I eagerly said YES! I thanked her and then as soon as she left, The Cute Boy and I ate them. They were good, but I didn't fully enjoy it because of the guilt I had from throwing myself off of the wagon for a cupcake. And once that floodgate was opened, I had to have the chicken hotdog that I had been jonesing for during the first day. My boyfriend and roommates tried to keep me on my fast, but I refused. At this point, my hunger welled up inside of me like a lion, and I had to eat a CHILI DOG! I nuked the hotdogs, and ate one plain and made myself another one with chili, cheddar, and onions. My tummy ached as I ate. But I managed to keep down my food.

Afterwards, I cleaned up and got back on my fast. I refuse to feel too bad about eating these things today. It's true, I let myself down, but that's to be expected sometimes. Creating new habits and paths in life includes the times that we try and fail, or just don't do it perfectly. So what! Even with this little misstep, I'm still very proud of what The Cute Boy and I have been doing. During the last two days, we've juiced more fruits and vegetables than most people will eat in a week. -EASILY. I am proud of getting through the first 24 and for NOT diving into a big bowl of pasta or a cheese pizza like I was tempted to do countless times that day. I'm developing self-restraint and discipline with my food choices. This stuff all relates to deep karma for me, so it's pretty hard stuff to change. But I'm going for it!

I have learned a few things so far:

1. Stick to your goals. Don't make exceptions because it just opens the door to other *exceptions*. If you don't stick with the juice fast perfectly, don't waste any time feeling bad about it, just get back on the juice fast.

2. The first 24 hours are by far the hardest. It's like your body can't believe that you've actually begun this crazy thing. But don't worry...it gets easier. And the hunger pangs and random wild cravings do diminish. Eventually your brain will stop brainstorming about all of the nummy food that you can no longer eat and get with the program.

3. It feels good to be tempted and to have the strength to *not* react to that impulse of momentary temptation.

4. Juicing tastes great! The mixes that we've been making are approx. half veggies and half fruit, and it tastes so fresh and really good.

5. Drinking lots of water helps to feel full and stay hydrated.

6. It really does feel better. I say this while also admitting that I have been in a lot of pain the last few days from my GI tract issues, but the longer I stick with it, the better my body feels and seems to be reacting to this.

7. I think eating fruits and veggies will be much easier after this. 

Moving In With Men: Gird Your Loins

"You're worried about the silverware?" He blurted it out like an accusation. I was being petty. It's true. I can't deny it. You see, we're in the process of moving in together. And I've never done this -live with a guy before. OK. That's not exactly true. I've "lived with guys" before...as in my roommates. And I never had any problems with that. Probably because Ron, (one of my previous housemates) had come up with the genius idea of having a maid come in every other week and clean the deep stuff. She'd wash the floors, and vacuum the whole house, including our rooms if we left the door open and the floor was clear of stuff. She'd even clean our windows and window sills so they never accumulated that gross schmutz that most people seem to have. And when the house was sparkly and clean, she'd go into the garden and cut some fresh flowers, leaving them in cute little bouquets all over the house...in the bathroom, on the dining room table, in the kitchen, even in my bedroom. I loved it! The main reason that we had a maid though was to avoid arguments. The kind that would arise when one roommate felt that they were doing more of the gross work than the others. I think this was particularly helpful in the bathroom area. With the maid, none of us ever had to scrub the tile, or for that matter...scrub the toilet. This can get particularly gross living with men, as they seem to sometimes *miss* and hit the floor next to the toilet. And my fears of how to *diplomatically* handle these situations sans maid service are starting to come up. I'm afraid of disrupting "The Dude Palace". I've got to get over this.

I honestly like living with guys. Apart from the occasional gross surprise that men seem to bring. Like cutting one on your foot while he sits down on the couch and you *naively* play footsie, teasingly nestling it underneath his oh-so-cute tushie, and then brrrrpppp. Insta-foot-massage of the *unwanted* kind (to which he vehemently denies ever happened.) But my foot knows the truth! And there's also the dude clutter, of video games, and movies, and dirty plates and glasses everywhere, which somehow seems worse than when *I* leave the same things around. Maybe because my stuff is interesting to me and theirs for the most part, is not. I have no interest at present in learning a new coding language or on perusing a Chemistry text book. But I like having these things somewhere in the living room. Just as to where is the question at hand? We've already established that the Cute Boy's family kitchen table will be the one we are using. And I like it. It's cute. It's oak. And it has a lot of good memories associated with it. It's one of the few family pieces of furniture he has actually. I like the idea of sitting down to dinner at it with him and the 'mates, and having house dinners.

You see...what I really want, more than anything, is that feeling of home. But I'd like *this* home to be a further evolution of my past ones. I want this one to be clean and inviting. Comfy and warm. Someplace that people really enjoy being. It's got the potential that's sure. And we'll get there. It's already an awesome house. And they've got most everything that a person could want by way of entertainment. I love being there and evening's spent in the living room are enjoyable. Scott and I take our dogs for walks or over to the nearby park to play fetch. I know I'm going to like being here. It's just lacking a woman's touch. I just get so hung up on the details. It actually IS important to me how my fork feels in my mouth. To the Cute Boy, this predilection that I have with nice silverware is weird. The oddly bent tines of his thin and tinny silverware seems fine to him and every one else in the house (all dudes for the record). But to me, it detracts from the sensuous feeling of pasta and cream sauce gliding over the tongue. I like to *experience* my food. It's like breathing or laughing to me. It's a part of every day life that I relish and enjoy. A while ago, I made a minor investment in what I like to think of as "nice silverware". I was at the downtown Crate and Barrel, near Union Square with a friend of mine and I just decided that if I was going to do it...I better just do it now. I had been eyeing the same set of silverware for oh...the last 7 or 8 years. And it seemed silly to *not* buy it. Every so often I would compare my red plastic picnic ware from Target, to the set I secretly desired, and I'd imagine how much better the food would feel if it was on the sturdy and chic set from CB. For the record, it did feel better. So now, naturally, I want to bring over my set and use it. Which isn't a problem, I'm sure. The problem is me again. I think about the janky bent tines and bent spoon handles they have...or how they will sometimes use butter knives as ad hoc tools to open things with, and I cringe.

Will they do this to my flatware? -Probably.

Won't they see the obvious superiority of these instruments and treat them accordingly? With respect? -Don't set your heart on it.

The silverware is just a small thing. This fear of living with men goes all over the place. And honestly, I need to just get over it. I need to love the things I love and use them, and not worry about weather or not they will break -because they will. Eventually, everything breaks or wears out. Entropic decline is the way of all things. And I've just got to make peace with that fact and get on with the business of living and enjoying. The *people* are what's important...not preventing wear and tear on my things. ...But it would be nice if my forks  could survive this move.

Even Neighborhoods Die and Are Reborn

        The smell of the Mimosa Tree filled the air. On hot dry days walking home, I would come around the last bend, and step onto my block. Even in the dark, I knew this spot. But on hot dry days, this spot was an oasis. The shade from the tree's thick canopy was like a welcoming gesture. As if the tree it's self was saying "Now you get on home little Missy. Your mama will be worryin' about you." Like the tree was greeting me, embracing me with it's cool shade and thick heady scent, and then swiftly sending me on my way home to Victor Drive. I will miss this tree. I will miss walking under it.

Like I miss the little girls who used to live behind my house in the old farmhouse on Elliott which was torn down by the JC to make room for a vacant lot for their building supplies and forklifts. I don't remember those girls names. But I do remember how they would set up a little card table there on the corner, catching the traffic of students coming and going to class. Selling them ice cold glasses of sweet pink lemonade. I will miss those girls, that house, this tree, and this corner. But most of all, I will miss home.

It's time to move on though. The neighborhood's changing. Even if I could stay, I'm not sure I'd want to at this point. Millie's gone and now all that's left across the street is her creepy son who stares at me from behind her lacy old lady curtains. I'm glad he's stopped trying to talk with me.

Hugh next door passed away. And it's hard to get used to these changes. I'm used to seeing him outside, casting his fly fishing lines. Practicing in the street. Or even feeding those damn pigeons! We had so many pigeons in our neighborhood. He lured them in by feeding them. But it made him happy, and that made me happy to see; so in that way, it made this world -and more specifically, my neighborhood a better place to be. He's gone now.

When I look out my back window, across the deck and into the garden, I see the roses that we planted together. But the tall ancient mission olive tree is gone. It's feathery silver branches would dance in the wind and hypnotize me at night. The glow from the moon light suited it. And the big old fig tree, with the canopy as big as any I'd ever seen, was gone too.

The Kawase's on the corner were the last ones to have a cedar shingled roof. We were the 2nd to last. On mornings after a big storm, people wouldn't know weather to return the shingle tiles to them or to us because nobody knew who's roof it had fallen off of. But people cared. They cared enough to at least *try* to return the wayward shingle to it's rightful owner.

I would say Hugh's widow Dora, and her daughter and grandchildren...and the Kawase's on the corner, and the Saneholtz's across the way that bought old Mrs. Rheinie's house are all that's left of this old dying neighborhood. Well...them and me. But I'm leaving soon. And when I go, this neighborhood will die just a little bit more.

It's changing. I'm not sure what it's turning into. But it's not the same place. There's no friendly Irish pub within walking distance, where you can go for Shepard's Pie and a berry Trifle desert. No more ice-cold rootbeer floats from the old A&W or the hot and slimy chili cheese fries that we would munch on. I don't see people as much. There's no more connection between the neighbors. More and more, we're distant, and fundamentally strangers to one another; and that's not the way it used to be. No.

Taking it's place is the ever growing noise. The noise pollution from the freeway that seems to actually grow every year, as more and more people move to this area, or drive instead of walk or ride their bikes. The obnoxious "Beep Beep Beep" of the trucks and forklifts that come into the empty lot behind my house, flashing their orange rotating lights like a cop car's into my bedroom window and waking me up, not with the sounds of nature, not with the mockingbird's song, or even the crow's harsh call, but with the sounds of construction and moving and banging and dropping and of course that beeping that says "Hey...I'm backing this little piece of shit forklift up, I thought you'd want to know that, since it's 5 O'clock in the morning and all..." Yeah. I won't miss that.

I also won't miss the jerk with the convertible BMW roadster who bought his house cheap a couple of years ago, just in time to be here for the end of my mom's life, but not in time enough to really get a feel for who she was, or what kind of people *we* are. We are not bad people. And honestly, our roots here go deep. So it surprised me when this relative newcomer to our neighborhood gave my mom these cold alien looks. Tight jawed. Unfriendly. Unwelcoming. As if to say "You are not wanted here." My mom as sweet as she was, was oblivious to him -and for that, I am grateful. She would always wave and smile at him and greet him like a friend. It perplexed her why he never said anything back. "He must not have heard me." she would say. "Yes, he must not have heard you." I'd repeat, all the while feeling tightness in my chest. This pain, that I couldn't possibly let out. She and I would go for slow shuffling walks around the block. We took our time. She was constantly learning to walk again in those days. So we went, one slow step at a time around our small block. In front of his house, we would make our slow progression, taking 5 or 10 minutes just to go across his tiny front yard. I don't know what he thought of us? It was obvious that my mom wasn't well. And from her crazy unkempt hair, and MY crazy unkempt hair, that we probably didn't see the world in quite the same way that he did. I think he may have even thought we were a slow moving parade of vagrants who wandered out from the homeless shelter around the corner at the Armory. He regarded us like that. But our house was not always the dingy shell that it is today. Years of slaving and struggling and trying desperately to make happy the one true treasure and joy in my life...trying to keep her just a little bit longer...and trying to keep everything going all at the same time was hard. So I stopped watering the flowers in the front yard. I didn't care if my trash can was out on Thursday, even though garbage night came and went on Monday. I was tired, and just trying to hold on. But these people didn't know me. Didn't know my mom. Never saw the house in it's glory years when my grandparents called it home. Never knew what a tight ship they ran. Or how friendly and nice we all are. No. To them, I was the scourge. Something to get rid of. When was I finally going to be gone so someone "nice" could move in? And by nice, they meant really more like them. Someone who would fix the place up and landscape it like it was out of a Sunset magazine. I wanted to. I tried when my mom was alive.

We used to have rows of lavender lining our front walkway. And rosemary planted by the curb. The sweet scent of mockorange greeted you at our front door. I dug out the rosemary and lavender after they had grown dry and straggly from several seasons of fending for themselves. I let the two large pine trees that I planted with my Grandpa be all the landscaping we needed in the front. The pine needles carpeted the ground below, and after the rains, thick rings of mushrooms would poke up from under them. "Fairy rings". -That's what my mom called them. And I think that some part of her, may have actually believed in fairies. May have actually thought of this place, our home, as being a special and sacred place for fairies to come and go. To enter into the world of the everyday. My mother was always a small person. Some friends even called her Vivalina. Like Thumbalina. She even had litte elvish points in her ears. I used to kid her and joke, that I knew the truth about her. But that I would keep her secrets safe and protect the magical entrance to her kingdom.

No...these people didn't know who we were. So when they left a big shopping cart filled with clods of dirt and old sod that they had pulled up from their old landscaping (to be replaced with the beautiful wooden walkway and the wabi-sabi landscape) well...when they left that in front of my house kind of like a passive-aggressive "fuck you" how could I get mad at them? They didn't know who I was. Didn't know that inside of my house was a sick woman, who lay dying, and that when they finally left that cart, she had just died. They didn't know that even though to them getting rid of that heavy shopping cart full of dirt would be just a minor nuisance, to me...it became the chore that never got done because I had better things to do. More important things to do than to deal with their crap, or even attempt to try to talk to them after that. They didn't know. I'm sure they're nice people. Under better circumstances, we might have actually been friendly. Maybe not "friends". ...most of my friends don't do things like that, even to people that they think are assholes who deserve it. Well...I tell you...I won't miss them. Not one bit.

This neighborhood has a life force. And whatever it was from my childhood is dying all around me. And the weeds that are popping up are people like the Sunset garden home two doors down. So it's time to let the wind blow through me, and clear this whole place out. Most of the things that I will miss about this place, are already gone.

The Last Sunday Brunch In Winter

I went out to the last Sunday brunch that I will be having for a while. And it waaaaas good! The Cute Boy and I ventured out in the rain, this wet Sunday morning, to one of my favorite spots in Graton: The Willowood Market Cafe. Upon being seated in the back, in one of their cozy little tables for two, our waitress brought us two cups of coffee and asked us "What'll it be?" We looked at her and smiled. I think my smile was more like an elated child's Cheshire grin. My eyes seemed to say "You're in for a laugh, here we go..." And then, I hit her with it. I told her I was going to be ordering three breakfasts. I placed my order swiftly and decisively. I knew what I wanted before I even got there. "I'll have the Eggs Benedict, the Monte Cristo, and the Huevos Rancheros." I handed her the menus and smiled up at her sweetly.

"OK" she said with a laugh. "And what would you like?" she said looking down at The Cute Boy. ...Now I feel it's important to stress here...The Cute Boy is one beefy hunk'O man. He looks like the kind of corn-fed, good, solid stock that he is. Kinda like he played football in his High School glory days and will forever more carry that solid broad-shouldered manly physique with him. He didn't actually play High School football, but he looks like it. So when he looked up at her with his sweet baby blues and ordered *just* the Eggs Benedict, I think it threw our waitress a little. She had to repeat the order to us and even come back one more time to make sure she got it straight. I imagined her saying "The little lady at table 4 would like three breakfast's and her beefcake boyfriend will be having one. OK. Check. Got it. ???"

I'm not pregnant. But there is a very good reason that I am eating like it is going out of style. ....Oh...and one more thing...before we left, I ordered a crème brûlée too! Some part of me felt horrible just doing it. I thought about people who had little or no food, and about saving money. But ultimately, I went ahead with my plan anyway. It's not like I do this every day. And honestly, this is one of the cool parts about being an adult and paying for everything yourself: you can get, whatever you want. You can order two or more different things if you want to. Obviously, I didn't eat it all. I just munched away at the parts that I wanted and liked, split my Eggs Benedict with my boyfriend, and then went home with two large containers full of food. (I'll be eating breakfast food for dinner tonight...as well as breakfast tomorrow!)

The reason that I was indulging in all of these delicious salty, savory, and fatty foods, was because on Tuesday, my juicer arrives. Yes...you read that correctly...my *juicer*!

Some time last year, my friends Laurelin and David watched this documentary called "Fat, Sick & Nearly Dead". (If you want you can click on that title and watch it for free on Hulu.) It's about this guy from Australia who went on a juice fast in order to regain his health. This not only improved his life tremendously, but inspired him to then try to get out the word to the average person as to what the potential health benefits are to eating (drinking really) a diet that is rich in phytonutrients.

For the past couple of years, I've been having some pretty bad gastrointestinal issues, primarily due to stress. I'll say it, I'm a stress puker. When things get stressful for me, I toss my cookies. Or...even worse...I get horrible diarrhea. -Sometimes BOTH! :p It got so bad that my stomach was going into overdrive with the acid production, and I even got an ulcer. I've tried the traditional Western medicine approach -and I'll continue to do that as well. But I'm now more open to trying this whole juice fasting thing. I'm hoping that it will reset my G.I. tract to a healthy normal state, help me feel better in general, lose weight, and have more energy. We'll see. But I'm willing to give it a go. A serious go.

My friends who have tried it, said that they could really feel the difference in their bodies from the days that they didn't juice. Laurelin said that it just felt good. Like she felt cleaner from the inside. Healthier. More energy. And I have to say, all of that sounded very nice to me. I want to feel "clean from the inside". My trainer really wanted me to focus on eating more fresh raw fruits and vegetables. And when my Aunt, who is recovering from cancer, and also happens to be a good level headed health professional said that she was going to be juicing as well, and made the whole family sit down and watch the "Fat, Sick & Nearly Dead" documentary over Christmas, I knew it was something that I wanted to try.

So I ordered my juicer from Amazon. And when it arrives on Tuesday, I'm going to be doing it. Vegetables, fruits, nuts, and beans. I remember when I was a McDougall vegetarian, I never really had to limit my portions. It was literally impossible for me to eat so much fresh fruits, vegetables, brown rice, and beans that I got fat. And believe me...I tried! ...Well...I didn't really *try*. But I guess what I'm saying is that I chowed down. I ate as much as I wanted, and I exercised, and I remember just feeling good. I had energy. I felt clean from the inside.

SO I'm resetting my body. This seems like the perfect time to do it too. I'm just now, recovering from a mild case of Walking Pneumonia. I've been sick since Christmas. And my lungs are not back to normal yet. It's way better though. But I realized that this is a perfect time to try this juice fast. My reasoning is, that I've actually eaten a lot less this last month because of my cold. There were a good two weeks where I barely ate. So I think it will be a nice segue into juice. Last night, The Cute Boy and I ate a pizza dinner at his sister's house. It was so good! But we didn't even make it out of her neighborhood, before I had to pull the car over and puke. -I threw up six times last night. Violently. In all likelihood, I will probably get sick from what I ate earlier today. But I'm really hoping that this new diet will help relieve this. I have nothing to lose, and a whole lot to gain. Wish me luck!

Dry Earth

My life feels like hard earth right now. Earth, that has not grown a seed in a very long time. Dry. Ungiving. Parched and thirsty. Dense and difficult to change. Difficult to break into and move. But even so...I will work to water this dry earth. Giving it the love and water that it needs. Softening it with my belief and encouragement. Loving it when it is dry. And knowing that in time, it will soften. That I can enrich it with my life's experience. Fertilize it. Deepen the softness. Pull up the soft earth. Bringing air and life into it once again. Be patient. Real happiness is coming.