Last night, I promised my yoga friends that I’d wake up and take the 8am with them today. I am sooooooo not a morning person, and I HATE practicing in the morning. One of the teachers who usually stays at the other studio was scheduled for both classes today, and I REALLY wanted to take her class. I genuinely like every single teacher at this studio, and before every class, you can guarantee I’m telling someone “oh! We are going to have a great night because this person or that person is teaching! He or she is definitely my favorite!”
I set a bunch of alarms. Got up. Got dressed. Took care of the dogs.
Gabriel, the Great White Dork, decided to have a melt down. He hates weekends. I got him all sorted out and ran out the door just in time. I live wayyyy out in the sticks and have to drive through the swamp to get to the studio. Naturally, I got stuck behind someone unfamiliar with swamp trekking and probably could have covered the distance faster on a PoGo stick. I pulled up at 8:03, and the door was already locked.
I was scheduled to baby-sit for the 10am and waited. If there were no kids, I’d still get to take that teacher’s class. No kids came, but she talked JC into teaching so she could practice. I was upset, sore, the room was cold, my body and brain forgot how to communicate with each other. There were first timers in the room, and he still managed to say my name no less than 700 times. Seriously, I’m not even exaggerating, one of the girls even asked me about it in the locker room after class. She was like “we were all there, struggling through triangle and he decides to pause and correct your pinky fingers! What up with that!?” I’m sure my practice looked like half-ass crap, but that’s honestly just where I was today. It happens. I stayed in the room and didn’t die.
Lunch was traumatic. For no apparent reason, it was all stuff I packed, have no issues eating and I was alone in my car. It should have been an EASY meal! I managed to cry through the whole thing and for a good hour after I’d finished.
I’ve been having a really hard time with this lately- my body is freed from the disorder that continues to rule my mind.
While I cried, I drove wayyyyyyy out to my boss’s church where I’d committed to volunteering at her “community outreach event” for the afternoon… Well, apparently, “community outreach events” involve providing showers, clothes, medical services, massage, chiropractic, foot bath, hair cuts, lunch and a variety of other services to the community’s homeless and anyone else in need.
I signed in as a VOLUNTEER, was clearly tagged as a VOLUNTEER and was promptly directed towards the dining room for my first task- figures I’d get sent to the food. Even though I was there to work, every single event organizer and many of the volunteers I passed all day tried to feed me. They weren’t like that with everyone else. Only me.
Extremely confusing for the girl who had just spent an hour crying about looking normal.
When it came time to breakdown, after the event, no one would let me carry the tables. They were lightweight plastic folding tables, that I am plenty strong enough to manage. But every time I picked one up, someone would say “look at the little girl carrying the table all by herself!” Then the men would come RUNNING to me to take the table.
So, I gave up and left.
I cried some more in my car. Today I met people, including little kids, who were starving, but not by choice. When I walked into the dining area, I was overcome with terror, surrounded by so much food and broken RULES. When I watched the community members walk into the same dining area, they too were overcome… With gratitude, relief, surrounded by so much food and security.
It made me feel like a selfish brat and that if people are going to starve to death, it should be the ones with anorexia and not the little children or those who so appreciate the opportunity for a meal.
It’s Saturday. Which means figure out what to eat for the week and go shopping. I held the lessons from the community close, as I braved the grocery store. And vowed to keep the freaking out to a minimum.
It took F O R E V E R, but wasn’t nearly as hard as last week.
I got all of my 11am citrus and my waking up almonds for Gebi’s solar eating plan, Macadamia nuts to butterize, supplies for more/different-ish soup, and decided to make myself a clearly defined challenge, Leigh style.
Every week I am going to
– Pick 1 food to try touching, cutting, peeling, etc.
– Pick 1 random vegetable that I’ve never experienced, then google something to do with it.
– Pick 1 random fruit that I’ve never experienced to try.
Today I picked
– Cauliflower for touching
– Rutabaga for Googling
– Cactus Pear for trying
I thought cauliflower would be a good food to practice touching. It’s still pretty new for me, I tried it for the first time about a year and a half ago. It’s something I can tolerate, but don’t exactly love. I know it plays a major role in Sneaky Chef type cooking, roasted, can be fixed like mashed potatoes or rice… It just seemed like a good, versatile, starting point.
Plus, I would need it in order to try this
Now, The Girl in the Orange, seems to be a teen who whipped these up for breakfast the morning of Pi Day, before hittin’ the books hard core at nerd school.
So, I figure, *I* too am the product of a nerd school, AND I am a grown-up, AND I do yoga, all of which makes me highly qualified to simply bust these babies out for dinner.
Um. Well. Here’s how it went down…
First, we learn that Teenie really freaking hates the feel of cauliflower. Here you can see me shaking my hand out in disgust, screaming, crying, gagging, jumping up and down and hyperventilating also accompanied the hand shaking. I managed to convince myself that if I barfed in the kitchen right then, I’d still have to at least clean up the cauliflower, as well as any additional mess that I made. So I plowed through, kept the innards inside, and got the job done.
I made pancakes.
Just kidding! I couldn’t figure out how to flip them over… Don’t laugh, this is all verrrrrrrry new for me. I’m trying!
But, then I decided that NO ONE eats scrambled pancakes, and I had probably just broken some cardinal pancake rule, and would spend the rest of eternity banned from pancake making. This made me sad.
It didn’t really work.