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!

One Year Anniversary

Today is officially our one year anniversary!

After my mother died, (as I'm sure you all know), I was besieged by so much grief, it was hard to even breathe on some days. And then came the calm. The melancholy. The quiet days of just being. Learning to breathe again. Noticing the sun outside and the squirmy little puppy that was mine, and the elegant sleek racing dog that was always there. -These were my new family. This was the new pack, sadly, without my mother.

This was where I was, when love found me. Who in the world would have thought it possible? The state that I was in was pretty much as unattractive as I could imagine myself. -But I guess that's how you know when it's real; love that is.

In this year, there have been so many things to be grateful for. I have completely fallen apart. And I found someone who loves me, even in that state. It all started with friendship and a crush, many years ago. When we reunited, I think we both liked each other almost immediately. By the end of the first day together, we both felt something good. Was it love? -Not yet. Whatever it was, it felt nice.

Early on, I had to have a tooth extracted that was growing up into my sinus cavity. I remember being so surprised when The Cute Boy showed up at my door unannounced, with a basket of flowers and a card (one of the few that he's given me -'cause he's not that into cards). It said "I hope you feel better". It was a day *before* my surgery, and he was already wishing me well. I remember standing there at my front door, perfectly healthy and smiling at him. It was one of the sweetest things that a guy had ever done for me. -a preemptive get well wish. He offered to take me the Doctors and take care of me afterward, but I declined. I had already made plans for another friend to drive me. In the end though, The Cute Boy did help out when I needed my prescription but still couldn't drive because of the sedative. He went and got it. It was funny, because although I had gotten my mother's prescriptions many times, I had never actually had a friend go pick up mine for me. I was worried that they wouldn't fill it for him or that there would be a problem and I would have to go down to do it myself. (Ye of little faith!). He didn't have any problems. That shifting, from being the caretaker, to being the cared for, was a strange one for me. I didn't trust it at first. But there would be many more opportunities for The Cute Boy to prove to me his trustworthiness. His tenderness. And most of all, that I was safe. Isn't that funny? Safe!? Why on earth would I *not* feel safe??? But looking back on it, it all makes sense. I had spent so many years, taking care of my mother, always being the one to protect and shelter her. To love her. To care for her when she was sick. To handle everything and try to hold it together while my whole world fell apart. I can't tell you how hard it is to watch someone that you dearly love deteriorate. To witness their body betray them and rapidly wither and change in sickness. The most painful memories I have are of this, and of being completely helpless to stop it. During this all, I was the guardian. I stood watch over her, protecting her. But who was there to protect me? I hadn't even realized that there was anything missing there, or that I had such a deep need, until I got sick around Christmas this year, and The Cute Boy took me over to his house and set me up on the couch. I could see the beautiful twinkling lights from our Christmas tree. And he gave me full command of the television. It was a little overwhelming to be perfectly honest. The last time I watched TV, we had basic cable, and pretty much just got 12 channels. The rest were all Home Shopping Network or rotating public announcements or broadcasts of city council meetings made at our local community cable station. Not only was his television enormous, but there were over a thousand channels. A thousand channels! I didn't even know how people could watch so much TV. Where did they find the time? And how did they navigate it all? I stuck mainly to the special cable stations, like HBO or Showtime. But even then, there were all of these extra versions. The only channel that he didn't have, that I wanted to watch was MTV Arabia. -I was curious. Anyhoo...Set up on his couch, nestled under a comforter, it felt nice to be there with The Cute Boy and his roommates. They were actually really surprised at how I could seemingly sleep through anything. Their raucous laughter and chiding. What he didn't know, was that this felt good to me. To be sick, to be weak, and to be able to close my eyes and rest, knowing that there was a house full of people who loved me and would never let any harm come to me. It reminded me of home and family. Of being a child, and feeling safe and protected. Of being tenderly loved.

There are so many things to be grateful for, and these are only a few of them. 

Oozing Snot But Still Having a Good Time...So this is what it feels like to be a garden snail?

When I was a teenager, one of my closest friends had a belief (passed down from her mother) that "Whatever you are doing on New Year's Eve, is what you will be doing for the rest of the year." -For me, these words were like a curse. They would propel me into a frenzy of activity and worries, trying to make those few precious hours really count, and somehow be "the best hours of my life" up until that point. Consequently, many NYE's were filled with so much pressure, that it detracted from the fun that I could have been having, had I not felt *obligated* to be having such a good time. Just to be clear, my NYE's weren't that radically different from anyone else's. I would get dressed up, go out, have fun with my friends. We would find fun things to do, sometimes going to parties, sometimes going to big public gatherings of people, or dancing. It was fun. But I still felt the pressure of the curse. I would compare my relatively ordinary life to those of characters in the movies and feel let down. How come, at the stroke of midnight, I wasn't passionately being kissed by the dashing man of my dreams? Where was my Harry (like from "When Harry Met Sally") making his way to wherever I was, crossing the room, just to profess in the most touching way possible his deepest and most ardent affection for me? Compared to that, my life was a let down. I was a 13 year old girl with a lions mane of crimped hair, and slouch socks, eating pizza and staying up late with my girlfriends. When I got older, not much changed, except for the hair and slouch socks. Oh sure the parties changed. Things got a little more grown up. But those cycling feelings of pressure and disappointment followed me into adulthood. 

Sometime around my early twenties is when things finally began to change a little bit. I think it was actually my first laid back NYE since the casting of the curse. I was visiting some friends for Christmas in the Seattle area, and stayed for New Year's. Some time during the visit, a group of us had gone down to the Franklin Covey store to pick up new planners and paper refills for them. I chose the "Seven Habits" planner, modeled after the book. It actually felt luxurious getting that planner. The cover was a nice textured brown leather, something that would wear nicely over time. Somewhere in the paperwork for setting up your planner, was the idea of a mission statement. A personal mission statement to kind of focus and guide your life. Eva and I took our planners down to a local coffee house and sat there, listening to warm, coffeehouse jazz and merrily philosophizing about what we wanted our lives to be like. Who we wanted to be. What we wanted to contribute to the world and how we wanted to connect with others. Then, once our mission statements were done, and our Covey planners were all set up for the upcoming year, we would write out our Buddhist determinations for the upcoming year. -Goals that we were willing to commit to for the next year. For many years after, even when Eva and I were in different states, we would do this tradition. This year, I haven't gotten on it *yet*. But I will. 

This year, I was horribly sick on NYE. And not only was *I* sick...but my fabulous boyfriend had it too! Together, we were a coughing, hacking, fever-ridden, wheezing mess. Snot oozed out of us. Whole boxes of tissues were used up and discarded. I barely ate for a week. We stayed in this year and cuddled and watched movies. The little girl in me, who is still somewhat daunted by the words of my childhood friend, thought "Oh great...so what does this mean? I suppose I'm going to be sick a lot this year. And spend a lot of time at home doing nothing, while every one else is out having fun." But then the adult woman in me told that little girl to calm down because I was actually happy. Even being home sick, I was having a good time with The Cute Boy. It felt like we were doing something delicious, even though we were only hanging out, talking, and laughing, and cuddling. It felt good to just be myself, even a really sick and slightly gross version of myself with bedhead because even in that state, I was having a blast with an awesome guy who loved me and was tender with me. He does things. Little things that my family used to do for me. Like rubbing my back and cooing "sana, sana, sana culita rana" to me. And he got me a washcloth and rinsed it under cold water, rung it out, and brought it to me when my fever was so bad that even my eyeballs felt hot. It may not sound like much, but believe me, it is. And we both feel it -the gratitude of finding and loving someone, who loves us in return, and takes good care of us. We learn and we grow. And I'm trying to outgrow my childhood insecurities and enjoy my life more. It's a process, but it's coming along. More and more, I'm realizing that being successful in life isn't about being perfect. It's about being myself and loving myself with all of my imperfections. It's also about enjoying life, even through the challenges.