His Lessons Live On

Dr. Wayne Dyer

Despite my two decades or so of working in the biz and knowing that renovations always take twice as long as you expect, I still find my own pace of progress surprising and frustrating. Mainly it comes down to that old expression; "Many hands make light work." That's the rub. From Monday to Friday I only have my own two hands and on the weekend I double that number to four. I need a team, not a doubles partner. 

All of this will no doubt contribute to my growth and acceptance of Rome not being built in a day. Back in the day, I used to tackle these home improvement projects with an obsessive mania. I would drop everything and spend every available minute on the task at hand to the exclusion of the rest of my life. My family and health would take a backseat to the cause. I wanted the job done quickly, so life would get back to normal as soon as possible. One difference between then and now is my available energy and my priorities. I still want to eat healthy, exercise and have a life outside my renovation. Without outside help, things are going to take longer. 

And this is where the passing of one of my spiritual gurus enters the picture. I was saddened to learn that Dr. Wayne Dyer passed away on Saturday in Maui at the age of 75. He has been an amazing source of inspiration on my journey through this life. A few years ago one of his books actually saved me from the depths of despair. I was on my way to London for a March break holiday with my daughter and I had been under tremendous stress at work. I picked up a copy of Excuses Begone at the airport. I was in the midst of separating from my husband, I was in a conflict with my employer and I needed to focus on the special time with my daughter. My anxiety level was through the roof. 

I started reading it on the flight over the pond and continued reading it at night while my sweet girl slumbered in the bed next to mine at our hotel. I was so stressed out, I could not sleep. With each chapter of enlightenment, I felt myself becoming  more calm. I finished the book with a renewed solution to all the stresses that were confronting me. The main message I took from that book was this. Every time you are doubting or worried or full of fear, ask yourself this one simple question. IS IT TRUE? 

Will the world end if I leave my husband? Will I end up destitute on the street if I get fired from my job? If I quit my job? Will my family disown me for making choices they disagree with? Am I too old to start over again? Am I strong enough to endure these changes? The questions were endless. However, when you take these and other questions about your life and then ask IS IT TRUE? Nine times out of ten, it is not. The world will not end, you will not become a homeless person, your family will get over it, you're never too old and yes, Deb, you do have the strength.

Since that time, I have used this reasoning frequently. It is positively amazing how often it works. So, in terms of this renovation, when I get frustrated or anxious about how long it is taking, I have stopped and asked myself IS IT TRUE? a few times now.

ME:  I cannot live with all this mess and disorder around me.
ME: IS IT TRUE?
ME:  No, I can, so just relax.

ME:  I need to get this house done before I can relax.
ME:  IS IT TRUE?
ME:  No, I can still relax, just like I did before we actually bought this house. I will just have to get used to being surrounded by renovation clutter...paint cans in the hallway, ladders leaning on the walls, splotches of test paint on the walls, drywall dust, etc., etc.

ME: I should have had at least one before and after shot ready for my blog by now. 
ME: IS IT TRUE?
ME: Only in your own mind Deb. Stop putting so much pressure on yourself to perform to some kind of unrealistic schedule for completion. The world will not end if you're not ready.

This is how this simple question works for me. It seems almost ridiculously simple really. However, until I read Excuses Begone, I would just get so ramped up with anxiety putting pressure on myself and those around me, it was unhealthy. I would forget about my own self-care and caring for others and I now know that those things are far more important than finishing a project in record time. 

Thank you Dr. Dyer for this gift. You gave so much to the world before you passed and it is the kind of gift that keeps on giving. He was a wise and spiritually evolved human being that will be missed. If you have never read any of his many books, I highly recommend them. 

I do hope a wonderful new journey has just begun for him. 

Namaste.

Botox for the Home

I am using my blog this morning to avoid painting my ceiling. There is only one thing worse than sanding my architraves and that is painting the ceilings. It's messy and by the end of the job my neck will be crying uncle louder than the voice that gleefully announced - "No worries, I can paint the whole house by myself!"

I have also spent the last few days testing various shades of grey on the walls of the living room (lounge room in Australian). I now have a dozen splotches painted in various locations of three shades that graduate from too light to too dark and am leaning toward the one in the middle that in classic Goldilock fashion seems "just right". However, before I commit, the sun needs to come out to confirm my choice and just when I needed "sunny Queensland" to live up to its name, clouds fill the morning sky here and are not giving me a reading on the possible "right" grey. Had I got my confirmation, I would be off to Earle's Paint Place to order up a few cans of "Athens" grey. Instead, these clouds are forcing me to get my painting cap on (literally) and hold my head tilted backward for the next few hours as my face enjoys a spray mist of latex just to add insult to injury to my sprained neck muscles. 

Once I get into the painting, I am OK. It is rather meditative actually. It is akin to mowing the lawn; each swipe of the brush or roller improving the look of the wall, covering the old ugly colour and other blemishes, like photo shop for drywall. A miracle really. It just took my laundry room from 1982 to 2015. Talk about transformation! It was like a wrinkle cream that actually worked. Hmmm, could I be on to something? Maybe a bit of ceiling paint on my forehead will iron out that furrow between my brows that seems more and more prominent with each passing day. 

If it works, I'll let you know. I will text you as I am boarding my private jet to Mustique as hundreds of women line up at Earle's for a gallon of  Decomama's Flat Ceiling White Miracle in a Can. 

A girl can dream. ;-)

New Jewelry for Decomama Downunder

Another weekend of renovating has come and gone dear readers and I regret to inform you that there will not be a reveal shot again today. That is not to say that things are not progressing along quite nicely here at Deb and Steve's Tropical Oasis (my new name for our humble abode). No, on the contrary, we got quite a bit done this weekend. Some of it major (new laundry tub and upper cabinet installed) and some of it leaning more to the tedious but necessary (replacing 3 small floor tiles that had cracked over time and caulking the throne in place and the final sanding and painting of the linen closet doors). 

One day in the hopefully not too distant future there will come a time when all prior oil based painted trims and doors will become a "remember when?" and we will be able to just slap a fresh coat of latex paint over everything without having to sand and prime. Most older houses are unfortunately slathered with that stuff from the past. It requires so much more prepping and time to complete what should be a quick wash and two coats of paint. However, the finished product is so great that the painstaking journey to get there is soon forgotten, not unlike the labour of giving birth. 

The jewelry in the laundry room is next. The washing machine taps are on and I am thrilled with the design we chose. They remind me of Paloma Picasso X's, without the swirled tips. Now one would argue as to why the design mattered for these, but when your laundry room is also the mud room and back entrance and pantry and linen storage and entry to the toilet, you can imagine how many times per day I walk past these taps. The old ones were ugly utilitarian plastic relics from the 70's that screamed "Look how cheap I am!" Ugh! They have now gone to join that ghastly toilet roll holder in the land fill, or the next garage sale. I removed the hinges from the closet doors as they were covered in at least three coats of paint. Apparently they are brass and there might be someone who will want to buy them at that same sale. One man's junk is another man's treasure I suppose. I might have been tempted in the 80's to polish them up and re-use them, but brass is not going to work in the current plan,  unless it is some sort of fabulous modern light fixture just to mix the metals up a bit. We'll see.

About a week ago, I decided that I wanted to hang some large white letters that spelled some word related to laundry. Two days later I was out for coffee with the tennis gals and there was a gift and decorating shop attached to the cafe and as I walked in the door...BAM!, there they were. Exactly what I was looking for! How's that for manifesting? They will go up last. The finishing touches are always the most fun. 

I may not have mentioned it thus far, but this renovation is not supported by an unlimited budget. In fact, we are trying to save where we can and splurge where we think we will get the most bang for our buck. For instance, as I mentioned earlier in this blog, we replaced three cracked floor tiles. The original tiles were no longer available. The cracked tiles were right at the entry to the room and the entry to the toilet. We searched around in vain for replacements and then it occurred to me we could cut three tiles out of the floor under the laundry tub where they would not be missed! This simple solution saved us hundreds of dollars on new flooring that was otherwise not bad at all. It is simple off white 2 inch squares that actually quite suit the space. With the cracked ones gone, the floor is now restored to it's original former glory. Sure, new flooring would have been nice, but the colour was fine and it works with the  new palette. This will free up more money for more important flooring changes elsewhere in the house.

The palette of greys we have used are offset by white which is always a fresh clean look, especially in laundry and bathrooms. The stainless steel laundry sink and backsplash
 ( splashback in Australian-yet to be installed) work well with the greys as well. Now we are going to add some warmth with some open shelving in wood...Kwila to be exact. It is a wood used often here in Oz and I really love it. It is used for fencing and decking and various other outdoor applications, but I like it for indoor shelving as well. It is also a part of the new wall design we are mounting in the toilet so the two rooms will tie together nicely when they are finished. 

Further down this renovation road we will be using Kwila on the exterior changes too, so knowing this, we are blending the outside with the inside so the end result with give us a nice smooth flow and feeling as you transition from outside to inside and room to room. It works well with mid-century modern furniture and as I mentioned, adds some warmth to greys and stainless steel which will also be a big feature in the kitchen as we plan to do a more restaurant/industrial style look in there.

That's it for today. Decomama Downunder has to get back to work. These peach walls ain't gonna paint themselves!

Ascending the Throne

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Unlike those home design  make-over shows you see on TV, real home renovations never get completed in 48 hours or two weeks or whatever deadline they claim to have to meet to add drama to their shows. For instance, it has taken me all week to finish the new paint job in the WC. The trim needed sanding and priming and two coats of paint. The walls and ceiling needed some repair and two coats. In between, we have lives.  Most renovations take waaaaay longer and shows like that set unrealistic expectations. I already knew this going in, but even with all my years of experience in this business, even I imagine it will happen faster than it does. 

The water closet (toilet) is not complete yet, so there will not be a big reveal shot here today, however, I am happy with the progress.  It was one step forward, two steps back this weekend here for Decomama Downunder. The throne that we chose (OK, that "I" chose) was all about the design. I wanted a clean lined, modern commode that would give an instant sense of current to the crap cave. The original toilet was curvy and much to my surprise, the cistern was not even made of vitreous china. It was plastic.. PLASTIC?! Wow, that was new to me. I did not even know they made toilets that were half and half. The pan (bowl) was solid, so I just assumed it was all made of the same material. That is what I discovered when shopping for the new one as well. They still make some that way. I liken that to fake flowers. I abhor fake flowers and turns out I feel the same way about plastic toilet cisterns. Ain't happenin. Not now, not ever.

We sprung from our bed with the kookaburras on Saturday morning fresh-faced and ready to tackle the installation of the new dunny (yup, that's Australian for toilet). There was an immediate problem with the position of the hole to hell and the position of the exit pipe on the underside of the new latrine. It would make short work of whatever needed to pass through it, but maybe too short. However, after much measuring and re-measuring and hopeful expectation, Tim the Tool Man here said he reckoned we could make it work. Whew! Then I heard a bit of cursing as he emerged from the WC, measuring tape in hand, and announced that the water pipe was in the wrong position too. This design was just not working and creating far too much grief. Ready to admit defeat, I said, pack it back in the box. Clearly we needed to choose another style. Both a bit deflated, we headed out to look at other options. Nothing we saw compared or excited Decomama. The day was a bust. The only thing to do now was go home and drown in our sorrows. It was beer o'clock. 

Weekend days are prime renovating days when my handyman is available. We were down to one day. Sunday dawned and once again the kookaburras laughed as we tried to sleep. One thing about my handyman is he is determined and he likes to solve problems. He arose refreshed and as I was making coffee, he was out on the patio unpacking the doomed design of a toilet. He was wielding his measuring tape again. He looked hopeful. I could see this installation was on. He had an idea. We took one last pee before the water was turned off and filled some buckets with water...just in case.   We would either have to install a new piece of pipe outside and drill a new hole in the wall to move it over a couple inches, or see if we could just cut a hole in the internal wall and coax the pipe to the right a bit. 


Of course, that required a trip to Bunnings (the Home Depot of Oz) to purchase a less bulky tap, adding another hour of "toilet out of service" to the day. By now I had decided to curb my water consumption and began to think about setting up a temporary pee pot in the garage. Our small house only has one toilet. It is only a disadvantage at times like this. It is also the reason that the toilet has a room of it's own. I can luxuriate in my bath and not have to worry about being evicted for poop emergencies. 

So, those issues behind us now, we got to a point where we could actually put the bowl in place. We read the directions, and read them again and again. If you think Ikea assembly is confusing, have a look at dunny assembly instructions from China. One missed step sends you backwards and we took at least two steps backward with each step forward. By now my anxiety level was escalating. As I was really just like Vanna the calm and lovely assistant - pass me that spanner, pass me that screwdriver, pass me a hammer...I kept my fear of toilet installation failure at bay by cooking. Afterall, I figured that a well-fed plumber was better than a cranky hungry one. So, as the smell of nutty cinnamon granola and banana bread wafted through the house, slowly but surely we got closer to the moment when we could christen the new crapper. 

The moment arrived (6 hrs later) to try the first flush and we stood, holding our breath and peering into the bowl. We watched the water disappear and then reappear and then waited to see if anything was leaking around the bottom on the floor. I exhaled, relieved there were no signs of moisture anywhere but inside the bowl. Do it again. Still good. One more time - this time with the full flush, not the half. Woo Hoo! Success! And it only took two days!

Tim looked at me and asked if I wanted to try it out first. Naw, you go, I said - you're faster. I took my turn next and wiggled and adjusted my bottom noticing how it felt so much different from the old seat, a bit harder perhaps and less contoured. We had not tested it with paper yet, so I stood and turned and watched to see if it was going to perform well with this addition. It has less water force than the old model but I am happy to report still does the job. 

Three bums up!

Gone, before she was Gone

The Victor Ave House in Riverdale (centre)

There are people who come and go in our lives. The ones that go often become nothing more than a faint memory. But sometimes,  memories of the ones that go hover incessantly; their personalities perhaps larger than life or the impact they had on you sticks with you and despite their absence, you drift back to the times you had with them. 

I knew a woman in my mid-late twenties who was one that has hovered for the last 30 years. She was a friend and  my landlady, even though she was only a couple years older than I was at the time. She was a chef in training back then and was working at the very exclusive and well known Scaramouche Restaurant in Toronto. Her father bought the house for her and working was really sort of lark to her because whenever she was between jobs, her father, Stewie, (sweetest man in the world) supported her.  She was tall (statuesque really) and blonde and confident in the way a woman who has never known scarcity and attended all the right schools and summer camps would be expected to be. Her friends were many and they all had nicknames that were like secret handshakes between them. She wore designer clothing and was always adorned in expensive jewelry. She was an only child of only child parents.She loved periwinkles. She had a bull terrier named Boris.  I envied her.

She rented the third floor of her old Victorian house to me in my last 2 years of university. She had a live-in lover she called Thomo, a gorgeous blue-eyed Brit who was a decade older and I spent many late nights after we all got home from our evening shifts working in restaurants (he was a chef at the old Inn on the Park (Four Seasons) and we would all need to wind down after our busy nights with a few drinks before I headed up to my garret to crash. She would sit and hold court on her king-sized bed that was encased in a sea of white bedding and down-filled pillows, chugging Henkell Trocken straight from the bottle. She laughed a lot. Her life seemed carefree and looking back now I recognize she had an air of entitlement.

I remember her lackadaisical attitude toward responsibility. It was unfamiliar territory for me. I would be enjoying a warm summer afternoon in the small courtyard behind the house and lament the fact that I had to get to work at my part-time job by 5 pm. She would turn to me and say things like, "don't go to work, stay here and have some cocktails with me." The thought of skipping out of a shift of work never occurred to me. I needed the money. I did not have a daddy paying my way in life. Or, she would go as far as to say, "you should quit that job". Then she would laugh and chide me until I reminded her that I needed that job to pay my rent to her every month. I was never certain if she was serious or just projecting her own attitude about work toward me. She was famous for her lavish dinner parties and she did indeed enjoy howling at the moon. On many occasions, I howled with her. 

She drove a VW Cabriolet and one night when I got home from work around 2 am, she said let's drive up to Thornbury! She had ended her romance with the Brit and was now involved with a man who lived up on Georgian Bay. She was spontaneous that way. I recall thinking - "really, Now?" She was already three sheets to the wind and I had likely had a couple myself, so we piled in her funky rag top and headed north, sharing a bottle of plonk along the way. After she downed the last of it, she flung the bottle up over her head and out behind the car, the glass smashing on the empty road, cackling maniacally like a witch as she did so. It's a miracle we survived that drive and the next morning I wished I had woken up in my own bed in my cosy garret when she announced she was not driving back  until the next day and I had to work that night in the city. This was a typical scenario whenever she was around. 

It became clearer and clearer as time passed that she liked the drink a little more than most. She had been married once in her early twenties and it did not last long. But she came away with all the accoutrements of a big wedding like Waterford Crystal, fine china and a down filled sofa and expensive dining furniture that most of her friends had not yet acquired in life. Most of us were still students or just starting out. It made her stand out and seem accomplished. She approached everyone, even people she hardly new with a bold brashness that declared her status and oozed privilege. The truth was, I had never met anyone like her and I was never really sure if I loved her or hated her. I also knew we were not cut from the same cloth. 

Those two years that I spent swirling in her social circle were times I have never forgotten. Life was one big party, blaring music, fabulous food, a never-ending supply of booze and weekends on Georgian Bay. I met my first husband the last summer I lived in her house and the space was too small for two, so the time had come for me to move out. Another single woman (an old camp buddy of hers) would gladly take over the space. It was much coveted. It will always be my most memorable apartment in Toronto. It was in Riverdale which at the time, was just becoming popular. Not long after I left, she and I had a conversation that did not sit well with me. She sidled up to me and told me that she thought I should know that my fiance had been flirting with her and had propositioned her on more than one occasion. It came as a complete surprise to me as I trusted him wholeheartedly. I decided she was just trying to stir the pot and wrote it off as her own self-delusion. I never did find out if it was true, but it created a wedge between us and I moved on in my life without much contact with her after that.

I would hear things about her from time to time, but my circles changed and eventually I did not really know what had become of her until I heard she had left Toronto and moved to Manhattan...the Big Apple..NYC. She had apparently declared herself an artist now and was painting large abstract oil paintings that she was selling for big bucks. Supposedly in the range of 35-40K a piece. Then I heard she had married Scott Weiland of The Stone Temple Pilots fame and now her last name was his. Another friend of mine that I met through her would get 3 am phone calls from time to time and would have to endure her drunken ramblings. At one stage she got a call from some godforsaken southern state bar that really worried her to the point that she called the local police there to let them know that this woman was in need of help. That was the last time she was heard from.

Until yesterday. 

My dear friend Cindy, aka Halifax Broad had decided a few months ago to try to find her and had come across some information on line that led her to an obituary. It was from  August of 2013. The name was Weiland but she was not certain if it was really our mutual friend. She left her contact info and that was all she could do. A couple months later she got a phone call from a woman I will call Nita, who said she knew Deirdre. She had been the executor of Stewie's will and had been doling out an allowance all these years.  She was indeed dead and she died a homeless person on the streets of Toronto. When she died, there was not a single person alive to call and report her death. Not a friend, a relative, nobody. She died without a will, so cremation was not allowed. She had her buried in a pauper's grave with no fanfare, no funeral, no headstone. Nothing. 

How did this happen to this once vibrant, larger than life human being? Well, it turns out she was eventually diagnosed with schizophrenia. It was likely exacerbated with alcoholism. Nita never knew the Deirdre we knew back in the 80's. She knew her as a schizophrenic woman who would call in the middle of the night demanding more money each month as her allowance would run out. She had no idea that her life had been scads of crazy (no pun intended) fun for years before her descent into mental illness. 

I could rattle off at least a dozen names from those days of people who knew her well and partied with her and spent lots of time with her that would surely want to know that she died. In the end, she had nothing more that a few pieces of filthy clothing and her binders. Many, many binders filled with her ramblings. She apparently took them everywhere, all that was left to prove she was alive and had something to say. 

It saddens me greatly to think that her life ended this way. Despite her disdain for work and an ordinary life, she was generous. She did not place much value on her things and would gladly share them with you. I recall borrowing some of her clothing a few times and she was always quick to offer food and drink, although maybe she just wanted someone to drink with. This is a clear case of someone who fell between the cracks. She must have eventually become so unattractive as a person that she put off everyone and ended up completely and utterly alone. The cause of death was reported as the result of tongue and throat cancer (she did smoke). The story about being married to Scott Weiland was fictitious, yet she did change her name to give credibility to her lie. 

I know there are some of my readers who will remember her and be shocked to hear this accounting of her life. Had any of us known of her illness, we might have been able to intervene years ago, but it is too late for that now. Not only did she die alone, she died 2 years ago and her old friends are just learning about it this week.  

I do hope she has found peace at last. If I could, I would tell her that she will always live on in my memory, that she was an unforgettable character, she was fun and talented and she was right about my first husband. I should have listened to her.

R.I.P. Deirdre Lynn Weiland (Shannon) 

Died August 20, 2013

Decomama Downunder...Renovating - Week One.

Well, well. well. My oh my, how things can change. That should come as no surprise to me since over the last few years I have been the queen of change, but this one is a complete turnaround since my last blog.

If you read it, you will know that we were faced with being evicted from the house we have been renting. The owners had apparently come into some difficult financial times and needed to move back in, do a few improvements and sell the house to cover some debts. We had talked many times over our 18 month test drive of this humble home of the changes we would make if it were ours. The house itself is very ordinary, but the quiet and nature that surrounds it has been a joy - especially to me, since I am here all day while my S.O. is off winning the bread.

It was almost painful for me to leave well enough alone. There were very strict rules around the rental that really prevented me from doing anything. I could not even replace the door handles on the cabinets or paint or replace light fixtures (OK, I admit, I did change two light fixtures). After all, it's what I do. Living with dated lighting and a host of other things that were well past their best before dates was a challenge for me. Well, I no longer have to hold back. Long story short...we bought the house. 

We avoid moving and I get to have at er! It has been just shy of a week since our offer was accepted and I have been like a whirling dervish ever since. I can hardly focus on one thing at a time. I feel like a greyhound just out of the gate, but instead of one rabbit to chase, there are about a dozen. We both agreed one of the first things to go would be the hideous toilet roll holder that we have had to look at several times a day for 18 months now. The only reason it was still there at all was because we knew if we took it off the wall, it would leave a big mess on the drywall. It had been there for a very long time, probably original to this 70's house. It was actually two ugly holders in one. (cue the Certs Commercial) The original holder had broken some time over the years and instead of replacing it, they just glued another ugly holder over top of the base of the first one. Both were white at one time but now they were that ghastly yellow that occurs with cheap plastic over time, not unlike the stained fingers of a grizzled old smoker. 

That decided, it would be the first room to tackle. The water closet. As we suspected, the holder was reluctant to leave it's home of 40 odd years. I kind of get it, as I did not want to leave after 18 months, so maybe this old holder was on to something. I tried prying it away from the wall but years of paint held it tight. I abandoned my screw driver and got a sharp edged chisel and hammer and still it resisted. Seriously? Knowing there was no hope at this point of avoiding a sizable hole in the drywall, I took a couple of good swings directly at it with a hammer. Whack! Whack! She hung on. Whack again. The front piece flew off, leaving the old base still intact. Now I was getting pissed. I summoned my inner wild woman and smashed the bloody thing to smithereens with a few more swings. Bits of plastic flew violently about until it finally came away and landed on the floor, leaving a couple of wall anchors clinging to the edges of the holes in the drywall and exposing the gory underbelly of 40 years of mildew and old blue paint that lived beneath. Eeewwww. 

Surely this will be just the beginning of many "eeewwwws" to come. The water closet renovation is underway. A new toilet was selected and purchased and the room has been painted. We are still hemming and hawing over the details of the space. Believe it or not, the roll holder is still undecided. With little else going on in that room to really make it unique or interesting, the roll holder really needs to be the main attraction. It is the first thing you see when you stand at the doorway and it was pretty much decided until we chose a light fixture that forced a rethink. So there we were in the middle of the night Friday, wide awake brainstorming what we now refer to as Toilet Roll Holder as Art. We are almost at a conclusion as to what it will look like. Suffice to say, it will not be a quick trip to the shops to grab something simple. Because, let's face it, that would just be too damn easy. 

I have taken before photos and once this space is complete, you will see the after here. The logical next space will be the laundry room as it is adjacent to the water closet and I plan to carry the paint colours out there. 

Decomama has a job. It feels good to be working again. 

What's Down the Road?

It's happening again. It is still sinking in as I glance over at my newly installed stainless steel shelves that we bought a couple of weeks ago, a desperate attempt at adding much needed storage space in the kitchen. Note that I said "the" kitchen. Not "my" kitchen. Anything we have added to this house is really ours and anything that was here already is really theirs. The reality of renting. After many years of being a homeowner, it is difficult to hold back from making too many improvements. When you own your house, each improvement is justified with the notion you are adding value to your home. When you rent, it only adds temporary satisfaction and more nail holes to fill when you leave.

At the time you try not to think of that day. The day you will leave seems like some distant moment in time. It has been 18 months in this house now and we were looking forward to the next 6 month lease renewal when the curve ball hit two days ago. "Mrs. MacFarlane? VIP realty here, I have some bad news." Initially I thought maybe the rent was going up. I braced for the number. "The homeowner's circumstances have changed and they need to move back into the house." I felt my heart sink and my thoughts were swirling. No, I thought, not this. "You have two months notice." I stood at the window and looked at my paw paw plants that were growing nicely and the Clivia I planted a few months ago that would surely start to show me an emerging bud any day now, my herb garden that seemed to be flourishing since the last feeding and felt the simple joys of these things slipping away. The hope and anticipation draining from my body and landing on the floor beneath my feet. A puddle of sadness. 

Two months. Where will we live? Will there be a garden? Will there be a pool? Will we have wonderful neighbours? Will kangaroos graze by my back fence? Will the kitchen be worse or better? How will I find the energy and enthusiasm to do this all over again? The 6th time since 2011. Whaaaaaaa! I need chocolate...and wine.

Now that it has sunk in, it has occurred to me that I have done it again. I have grown attached. Attached to this house, this neighbourhood, the birds, the sound of the kookaburras each morning in the bush across the road, the grey and white cat that hunts in my back yard, even the dated ugly kitchen (ok, so maybe not that). How do we avoid it? It is a well-known basic tenet of Buddhism. Attachment causes suffering. And what would it look like now if I was not attached to any of these things? Would I not feel defeated and sad or filled with sentimentality? Would I just accept this news without any pain or emotion and take the necessary steps to gather up my belongings (which have grown along with my attachment) and find a new place to live? That is what will happen. But before I go turning lemons into lemonade, I will linger a bit longer here in my puddle of sadness.

 OK, that's done.

So, time to pull up my big girl panties and do what needs to be done. Search. View. Negotiate. Purge. Pack. Sprain my back. Sweat. Move. Rearrange. Spend. Resettle. 

I must remember to leave my change of address for my birds. 

And hope they find me.   

Creating Health

Zoodles with garlic and kale

So the vegan journey continues. I am well past the two month mark now and there are some interesting observations. For starters, my overall health has improved. Not surprising. Just about every morsel of food that passes my lips is made from scratch. Yeah, I spend a lot of time in the kitchen. For some this may sound like drudgery, but for me it is a little slice of heaven. I find it creative and peaceful and at the end of every session I spend chopping, slicing, mixing and whirring in there, I have a tangible result and I feel productive. Some are more successful than others. 

There was a bitter pot of soup that was a flop and went in the bin and a vegan feta cheese made out of tofu that joined the soup. May they rest in foul tasting peace together. However for the most part the food has been very good, with some dishes deserving of  "seriously awesome". Last night for instance - the recipe was for Vegan Chikin Pot Pie. I did not use the faux chicken that the recipe called for and instead added more veggies and it was a real winner.  I am not a fan of all those fake vegan meats and cheeses that you can buy in the grocery stores. I find they can be as full of weird shit and preservatives as other meat-filled processed stuff that is available, so I make my own vegan burgers and cheeses so I know exactly what is in them and can add things that make them healthier and/or tastier. You could say I have become semi-obsessed with knowing what the hell I am putting in my body, and you would be right. 

I feel the same way now about cosmetics and anything that I slather on my skin. Eating is the not the only entry point for toxins. My household cleansers are all environmentally friendly and I practice organic gardening. One result of all these changes in my daily life is that it has taken away the guilt I used to feel about using toxic products that end up back in our soil and water table. As for the guilt I used to feel about killing animals, well that is a thing of the past now too.

Perhaps the most glaring thing I have noticed is how I feel after I eat my meals. Even when I eat too much at a meal, I never feel heavy or bloated. I like the new feeling. Another thing I like is never having to worry about cross-contamination in the kitchen when I am cooking. With no raw animal products being cleaned or cut up there is no need to worry about that. I have never enjoyed handling raw meat and chicken and I don't miss that at all, especially reaching inside the Thanksgiving turkey carcass to dig out that limp bloody wet bag of organs before stuffing that bird. 

So, those are some of the benefits. The most difficult aspect I have encountered is the challenge of eating out in restaurants as so few of them offer vegan choices and I don't consider french fries a healthy vegan choice. Nor does a pathetic tossed green salad with bottled dressing and a slice of barely ripe tomato excite me. I would rather stay home than eat like that. If I lived in a metropolitan city, I would have more choices, but such is my present situation. There is one restaurant in Bundaberg that can and will cater to vegan diets with creativity and flare, but driving over an hour to go out for a meal is not the most practical choice. 

The other challenge that I have managed to politely deflect so far is having to defend my choices. The big question everyone always asks is how do you get your protein. From now on I am going to just tell people to google it. All the information you need about getting adequate protein on a vegan diet is out there and it is easy and a no-brainer so stop asking. Most people consume way too much protein anyway - you can google that too.  And yes, I do take a Vitamin B12 supplement and I use fortified nutritional yeast in many recipes, so I am not going to shrivel up and die anytime soon for lack of it. 

The best question of all though is ..."What do you eat if  you don't eat meat and dairy?" HUH? I eat every and all types of vegetables, fruits, grains, nut milks, coconut yogurt, nuts and seeds and I experiment constantly with various combinations and seasonings. My meals are inventive and delicious and satisfying. In fact, my cooking is so much more creative now than it has ever been. Now that vegetables are the starring role on my plate, I am finally whipping them into the culinary main event they deserve to be versus the boring sideshow they have been relegated to for way too long.

I have also discovered a whole new tribe. There is a big bad vegan world out there. We may be separated by miles but we are connected in the cyber world any time of day or night with a click. We follow each other on Facebook and Instagram and Pinterest and it will be a miracle if I ever live long enough to try all the tempting and tantalizing recipes I am accumulating daily. I have new vegan heroes like Angela Liddon, author of Oh She Glows and talented raw chef Doug McNish and Rich Roll,  and blogs like The One Ingredient Chef , The Minimalist Baker, The Sprouted Kitchen, Fork and Beans, Gluten-Free-Vegan Girl, Pickles and Honey, Vegan Richa, Hell yeah it's Vegan and on and on. 

The truth is, going vegan has been like a big new adventure in living for me.

One that hopefully keep me living long enough for many more adventures.

Eating Crow and Humble Pie

What's more annoying than a reformed smoker?

A reformed carnivore.

This morning I am neither smoking or ordering up bacon and eggs. No, I am eating crow, aka, a shit sandwich.  I have been preaching and the funny thing is, I hate preachers. I recall when my daughter first became vegetarian about 7 years ago, she would sit across from me in a restaurant and ask me how I was enjoying my baby lamb or little calf or my plate of flesh and I would reel her in and tell her that vegetarianism was "her" personal decision and that it was not right to judge or try to force her opinions on others and after a while she backed off and we all lived in harmony with our food choices.

This morning, one of my dearest friends told me I sounded preachy lately and she was absolutely right. Just because I have changed, it is no business of mine to try and change the world along with me. I think I have gotten a little carried away with my postings on Facebook and even though I had an inkling I was being annoying at the time, I still felt passionate enough about the relationship between food and health, that I went ahead and hammered my point a little too forcefully. The truth is, I don't know for sure if eating meat or dairy is the cause of illness, or if not eating them is the cure. Nobody really knows for sure. There is research to support both ends of the spectrum. 

There is a good chance I did the same thing to smokers when I quit smoking in my twenties. The difference back then was that if I did preach, it was not splayed all over the internet. So, to any and all of you reading this blog, I vow from this day forward to try not to preach. The last thing I want to do is annoy or offend the people I love and care about. I certainly see that there is no one right answer and to illustrate exactly how true that is, take a look at the following two stories. The first one is the story of Annette Larkins, a 70-something woman from Florida who claims her raw vegan lifestyle for the past 27 years has been her answer to the proverbial quest for the fountain of youth. The second story is that of the Guinness Book of Records world's oldest female body builder, Ernestine Shepherd,  who eats 10 egg whites and a handful of walnuts for breakfast everyday. Both of these women seem to be healthy and full of 
vitality.

Vegan, Annette Larkins

Body Builder, Ernestine Shepherd

Maybe we all just need to do what feels right for us. The goal is not to live a long life, but a long and healthy life and how you get there is a very personal journey.

Good Enough

We do it to ourselves really, don't we? Just when  you think you have achieved or perfected something and are happy with the method used or the result, you take the bait. You see the headline or the tag line and instead of just continuing to scroll you click on it. 

The dreaded click. 

After all, why wouldn't you want to strike a better yoga pose, or bake a better cake or take a better photograph, or have a more mind-blowing orgasm, or be a better parent, or get more from your meditation practice, or have the most organized closet...or, or, or.

These are the continuous subliminal messages that flog us daily. Clearly the way you are doing it is not good enough. It's not fast enough or slow enough, or intense enough or tasty enough. It applies to our work, our relationships, our hobbies, our cooking, our possessions, our homes, our travel destinations, our skill at just about anything. Let's face it, none of us are good enough at anything. There is always a better way.

As much as I can see through these admonishments intellectually, there is still a latent curiosity to have a quick peak to see if maybe, just maybe I could change things up a bit to improve upon what I already thought was pretty good. It is almost as though you need to see if the difference between how you do it already and how someone else does it is just a matter of a quick and easy tweak that will elevate whatever it is to some sort of Nirvana. Not content with a simple bowl of hot oatmeal with cream and brown sugar like your mom always made you, no worries, make it like this and turn your morning bowl of gruel into a foodgasm.  

It diminishes your reality. That's what it does. Just when you think you have found the perfect little black dress, the September issue of Vogue poo poo's your choice. Think you have a wonderful loving and harmonious relationship? Look there - Sting and Trudie Styler practice Tantric sex and have the perfect house to boot! It's enough to make you stop the madness and just unplug altogether. Turn off the devices and put an end to the constant reminders that you can and should be and do better. 

The truth is, we can always improve because none of us are perfect. But do we really need to bother? And what is it that drives us to try? Why is perfection a goal at all, because even those who seem to achieve it in some area of their life often find it does not make them happy. The list of celebrities that we have at one time or another viewed as having achieved the perfect lives and then blew it all up in some way is endless. Think Robin Williams for instance, whose tragic departure from our world almost a year ago still saddens and perplexes us. So talented. So loved. So fortunate. So dead.

I had my own interesting discovery last week. My first boyfriend and first love who I had, until last week, thought had it all - or so it seemed.  I knew he had married the girl who came into his life after me, they had financial success, three children who were privileged to attend the best schools, a nice home and a summer cottage. I was happy for him. It seemed he had the happily ever after we all want. As I scrolled my Facebook feed I noticed a woman with a hyphenated name - hers and his. Hmmm, that was odd. I dug a little further and sure enough it turned out his perfect marriage ended some time around 2007. Sigh. One more fairy tale life bites the dust. It does seem that they have both gone on to re-marry and give it another go - maybe this time they will find that elusive perfect relationship. Maybe not.

The key for them and for all of us really may be to not expect perfection. Just wake up each morning and be grateful for how it is, and how they are and be thankful to be alive and perfectly imperfect. As much as I have come to find Dr. Phil annoying, he did have a couple of great ideas when it came to relationships. One thing he used to say that I have never forgotten had something to do with asking yourself "What can I do to make my partner's life easier today?".  The other thing he used to say was "How much fun are you to live with?" I think those two simple ideas are really effective. It prompts giving and introspection. And those two activities alone could be enough to achieve happily ever after as long as both partners participate. 

And on that note, I am going to the kitchen to make a pot of soup. Not the most mind-blowing, foodgasmic, gourmet's dream crock of hot nectar of the gods. Just a simple, nutritious, tasty pot of goodness, the way I have made it many times before. A "clean out the crisper" soup that will be less than perfect, but more than adequate.  

A "good enough" soup. Good enough for me.

Everybody Poops

A fitted sheet flaps in the breeze

The foxtail palm fronds sway gently

Dappled winter light dances on the lawn

Ripples on the pool surface cast moving shadows

on the steel shed next door.

Lorikeets chatter incessantly

while kookaburras gather and laugh

high upon a gum tree branch.

All is well with the world outside my window.

That is when I notice

what's so funny. 

A cheeky butcher bird has left his calling card

Streaky, slimy and seedy

dripping down the freshly laundered sheet. 

Bird humour,

I guess.

We are not amused.

It may not be killing you...Yet!

There seems to be this old school thinking that if what you eat has not "killed you", then it is safe to eat. I had this conversation one day with my aging parents. They are adamant about using their artificial sweeteners. Apparently one of their many doctors told them it was safe to use them, so that was all they needed to hear. Despite my encouragements to try Stevia or honey or maple syrup or agave, they insist on using them. They even said to me - "it hasn't hurt us". Well, that is where I beg to differ. No, I said, you are certainly still alive, but do you honestly think you are in good health? There was a slight pause as I put that thought out there for them. But, it was not enough to get them to change their ways. 

My father has had several illnesses over the past decade or more. He has had a quadruple bypass surgery. He is diabetic. He is currently battling lymphoma and just endured 7 weeks of chemo. He chalks all this up to the luck of the draw. Some people just get sick he reckons.  He has never even considered that what he eats might have an impact on his health. I don't get it. I also don't get anyone else who thinks this way. He does not consider for a moment that a lifetime of artificial sweeteners, sugar, alcohol, meat and dairy consumption and massive quantities of prescription drugs have had anything to do with his countless health issues. His health issues have been frequent and many since his early 50's. He has seen dozens of doctors and endured many surgeries. Not once has he put two and two together.

What is even more tragic in all of this is that not ONE of those doctors over the last 20 years has ever given him any nutritional advice. NOT ONE! This is more than tragic. It is criminal. It is criminal that our doctors do not study nutrition. It is criminal that they do not consider it in their diagnosis of patients. It is criminal that they are undereducated in the field of nutrition. They see thousands of patients and by the time they see them, it is all about treating the symptoms and trying to stop the disease that has already set in due to lack of proper nutrition. There are countless research studies available that have linked cancer and meat consumption. There are as many linking inflammatory diseases like arthritis to dairy consumption. There is even a new study that has linked diabetes to meat consumption, not sugar as many believe. The information available to everyone including doctors is overwhelming, and yet they still do not advise their patients to try changing their diets. 

My own personal experience very recently is what finally pushed me to change to a plant-based diet. I went to see a doctor about some serious digestive issues. I was astounded that this doctor did not ask me one single question about what I was eating. NOT ONE! He was quick to write a prescription for tablets and testing as though what I was eating mattered not. That is when the light bulb finally went on for me. I always knew deep down inside me that it was the key, but now I was ready to really make the necessary changes to test my theory. I stopped eating meat and dairy and have been eating a plant-based diet for over two months now. I have had the odd glass of wine or beer, but did find that it did not always agree with me. I quit coffee and tea and added more fermented foods. I eat very little sugar.  I stopped taking the meds he prescribed after 3 days. They were making me feel worse.

I have been sleeping better. I have more energy. All of my Achilles and ankle swelling is gone. My arthritic hands are 80% better. I do not take any medications whatsoever. I try to eat organic as much as possible. I have to wonder how my father's health may have been had he adopted some of these strategies in his 50's. 

So, the next time you say that the food you eat is fine; that it is not affecting your health and it does not matter, then turn to me, and tell me about this ailment and that ailment, I urge you to make some changes and just see what happens. It makes more sense to me to give your diet an overhaul rather than run to the pharmacy and scarf down pills to ease  your symptoms. Your symptoms are trying to tell you something. Masking them does not get rid of the root causes. 

None of this is new. Hippocrates had it figured out a long time ago. 

"Let food be thy medicine and medicine be thy food."

"Walking is a man's best medicine."

"If we could give every individual the right amount of nourishment and exercise, not too little and not too much, we would have found the safest way to health."

-Hippocrates

I'm Dreaming of a White... Kitchen?!

For any of you who may have been wondering where I have been, allow me to explain. In my last blog post, I announced that I had decided to go the vegan route. In the last few weeks, I have spent more time in my kitchen than I have most of my life. Not that I haven't always been one to devote a lot of time to food prep, it's just that now, I am like a permanent fixture in my small u-shaped temple of nutrition. This is not a complaint. It is just a simple fact. Keeping my fridge full of delicious healthy dips and sauces and quick plant-based snacks is a full time job. I do believe that I am now in a bit of a groove with it and have gotten a few basic recipes down pat that will keep me less chained to the chopping block.

Almond Pesto. Blackened Tomato Cashew Sauce. Walnut Pate. Lemon Guaccamole. Cashew Cheese. These are my five basic vegan staples. They have replaced things like traditional pesto, mayo, cream cheese, cheddar, brie, parmesan and even goat cheese in my diet. With just these five items, I can transport myself to a foodgasm in an instant.  Ridding my diet of dairy has been the biggest challenge. It has also had the most dramatic impact. For almost a year I had been suffering with some strange pain in my achilles and ankles. Whenever I sat for more than a few minutes, upon rising, I would be in enough pain that I had to delicately step around until the stiffness and pain subsided. It was annoying and nothing I did seemed to help. I saw a future of worsening arthritic joints and I was not amused. Well, guess what? It is gone. I would say it is nothing short of a miracle. 

I also used to have to ease into moving my finger joints each day. Upon awakening in the morning, my hands were stiff and I had moderate pain for a few minutes until I got my joints moving. This had been going on much longer than the ankle pain and it is now about 90% gone. I had read time and time again that dairy was inflammatory, but never paid much heed. It took getting to the the stage I was at, to really give dairy the heave ho and I would recommend to any of you out there who have any inflammatory issues to give it a try. What have you got to lose but your pain? 

So that is my health update. There have been challenges. Trips to Melbourne and Brisbane and Bundaberg and restaurant meals that were difficult to navigate. I allowed some fish and the occasional egg dish into my repertoire without any repercussions. I plan to continue this as part of my regimen as it is so, so difficult to find vegan choices in many eateries. Living a plant-based life 90% of the time allows some flexibility in my travels and social life that I consider a necessary compromise. 

But, back to my kitchen. I have seen some of the most spectacular kitchens over the course of my lifetime. Working in design and seeing hundreds of them has been a feast for the eyes. You name it, I have seen it. Every shade of granite and marble, sinks and faucets that cost more than my car, chiseled, hand carved cabinets and imported tiles and custom lighting and appliance garages and walk-in refrigerators with separate wine storage....and yet, I myself have never had a great kitchen. Every house or condo or apartment I have ever had over the course of my lifetime has needed renovating, but I always sold or moved before it ever happened. 

What really irks me about this (first world) problem of mine is that I have known many people with spectacular kitchens that don't cook. In one case, a client had double ovens, an enormous restaurant style gas cooktop and a sub-zero fridge that only ever held wine and leftover take-out from Pusateri's. She did not once use her equipment for cooking. I, on the other hand, cook. I cook a lot. I cook more than the average person. I cook for pleasure and health and necessity. There ain't no Pusateri's here in small town Queensland. If I want great food, there is only one place to get it. Right here in my sad little 80's kitchen. 

It was almost a dealbreaker for me when we were looking for a little house to rent. I mentioned this in a past blog. The house had a lot of other great features like a newly renovated bathroom and a nice little swimming pool, but the kitchen was ghastly. No dishwasher, an apartment sized electric stove, and the most godawful buff coloured cabinets and chipped countertops. The single sink had the original faucet that literally detached while I was running water the first week we lived here and a fountain of water started to spray all over the kitchen. The owners were quick to replace the ancient spout and handles...that's right...HANDLES...hot and cold separate handles. In my quest to find something nice about the space, I noted that the sink faced the garden and I could see the birds and look out while standing at the sink. This is something I have always liked - a window over the sink. I bought my own new fridge and microwave and replaced the fluorescent overhead light fixture with track lighting so I could direct light to the work areas. 

As we don't plan to be here indefinitely, there is not much else I could do. I manage with the stove. I even manage without a dishwasher. But the cabinets and hardware are simply the ugliest colour you could imagine. There was only one solution. Distract with colour. Ignore the colour. Treat it as a neutral. So, I added some shelves, and a valance and objects on top of the cabinets, all in an effort to move one's eye up instead of down at the peachy, buff, band-aid shade of pukey, terra-cotta cupboards - circa 1981 - you have ever seen.

Eighteen months later I have gotten used to this culinary cave of a kitchen. I manage to produce great food despite it's limitations. And isn't that what it is all about anyway? I turn on some music, glance out at the birds from time to time, chop and slice and dice and bake and saute and grill and mix and blend with love and intention and feed myself and loved ones. It really matters not if the cabinets are ugly as long as the food that is produced is beautiful. 

And if karma has anything to do with it, maybe one day I will get what I deserve...a kitchen worthy of my efforts.

Vegan Confession

Hello, my name is Debra and I am a vegan. 

That's right. Vegan. It is really no surprise to some of you I am sure. I have been slowly heading toward this lifestyle for a few years now. It is not even a big deal really, other than it is something I plan to write about here from time to time and share recipes and state of health updates when they are warranted.

In fact, a recent mini-health crisis is exactly what finally pushed me over the fence and into the land of plant power. I was having some digestive issues and found it necessary to see a western doctor as I did not know a good naturopath here in Maryborough. So, off I went and after a brief interview, I departed with the usual prescriptions for meds to "cure" my ails. I reluctantly spent the next few days downing the pills according to instructions and instead of feeling better, I began to feel worse. So, back to the doctor I go, and he takes me off those meds and gives me some different drugs. Stonger meds. Meds he usually only gives to patients for their nausea following chemotherapy. 

Things got worse. My nausea was gone, but now I was constipated. Badly constipated. OH MY GOD CONSTIPATED! Should I go to the hospital constipated?! As I lay in bed suffering and whimpering, I came across a book review for Rich Roll's new book, his follow up to Finding Ultra, titled The Plant Power Way. This is a man who was 40, fat and depressed a few years ago and is now a successful athlete, author, speaker and overall GOD of good health. His wife, Julie Piatt is his amazing counterpart and GODDESS of the green garden herself, and, the book's co-author. She is the chef in the family. I had been following this duo for some time, watching their story unfold and longing to be like them; to have that kind of dedication to my own health. Instead of skimming past the glowing review as I might have done in the past, this time I dove in. This was it. This was my turning point.

After downloading a few of their recipes, I ordered the book, and that day I became vegan. Just like that. Initially I thought maybe I would clean out the meats and cheeses from my fridge, but it really didn't matter. I did not even want them anymore. And besides, I am not the only one living in this house. Right now, I have one carnivore and one vegetarian in this house, so I was going to have to get used to the idea that I would be surrounded by foods I was no longer going to be eating, rather than use it as an excuse to stop me from eating the way I wanted to eat.

I was also inspired over the last couple of years by a restaurant called Raw Aura in Port Credit outside of Toronto. It is a raw, vegan eatery that I had enjoyed many times before I moved down under. I LOVED the food there. I never ate a bad meal there. Everything was fresh and full of flavour and beautifully presented and I always left feeling energized and well nourished. I never felt full and bloated. I never had a sugar crash two hours later. I once said, if I ever won a lottery, I would eat there three times a day. So why not eat there three times a day? In essence, it is entirely possible to eat there three times a day...only I would be making it myself at home. So, I started incorporating some of their recipes into my repertoire of daily meals. 

Google is a wonderful tool for this. I would look in my fridge and see what veggies were available on any given day and google things like "butternut squash, broccoli and cauliflower vegan recipes" and then just scroll through until I found one that sounded good and try it. I made some awesome dishes - Cauli-alfredo (no cream, no cheese, you'd never know, with quinoa pasta), Garlicky roasted Butternut Squash, Curried Coconut Soup, Creamy Cherry Tomato Sauce (cashews replacing the cream), Chick Pea Blondies, Chocolate Chia Pudding (avocadoes instead of milk) etc. I fed it to everyone in the house. They came back for seconds. No one complained, in fact, they raved. And that, I have decided is the trick. I think we all have this dread about how we will survive without cheese or meat, but the truth is, we can. Not only can we, but it can be beyond delicious. 

So, I stopped taking the meds. I am going to heal myself with food. If nothing improves in a month, I will reconsider. I had an ultrasound to rule out any sort of sinister tumour or whatever and it came back clear, as well as some blood work and other tests. I am also going to try to eliminate gluten wherever possible in case that has been a trigger for me. I am six days into my new regime and already feeling better. 

There was another inspiration leading me here as well. It could be the most important one. My brother is vegan. He chose to change his approach to food a few years ago when he was diagnosed with lymphoma. He was a typical meat-eater leading up to this. After undergoing surgeries and chemotherapy, his doctors were delighted with his success in fighting off his cancer. He told them he had gone vegan and their response was - "keep it up, it's working." He allowed fish in his diet; the only animal protein he eats now. So, although this does not adhere to strict veganism, it is still a 99% vegan diet. I have decided to follow suit and allow fish from time to time as it will make life easier when dining out.

I will leave you with a link here to 5 recipes from The Plantpower Way. I made the Easy Tomato Sauce last night...left me wanting to lick the bowl! Super easy too! Go to the link and look for the pin with 5 easy recipes. Enjoy!

www.pinterest.com/richroll/nutrition-resources/

Thoughts on Friendship

FRIENDSHIP is a mirror to presence and a testament to forgiveness. Friendship not only helps us see ourselves through another's eyes, but can be sustained over the years only with someone who has repeatedly forgiven us for our trespasses as we must find it in ourselves to forgive them in turn. A friend knows our difficulties and shadows and remains in sight, a companion to our vulnerabilities more than our triumphs, when we are under the strange illusion we do not need them. An undercurrent of real friendship is a blessing exactly because its elemental form is rediscovered again and again through understanding and mercy. All friendships of any length are based on a continued, mutual forgiveness. Without tolerance and mercy all friendships die.

I read this quote yesterday. It is an excerpt from a book called Consolations, The Solace, Nourishment and Underlying Meaning of Everyday Words, by David Whyte. I immediately added this book to my wish list. As a woman without sisters, my girlfriends have been and always will be my "go to gals" for just about any and every step in my journey through this life, whether it be a bump in the road, a pinnacle reached or just the simple meanderings along the way that require some feedback or witnessing. 

Leaving them all behind to move to the other side of the world was only made possible by technology. Without the ability to Skype or text or email, it would have made my choice so much more difficult than it already was. What really struck me about the excerpt by David Whyte was that last sentence. 

Without tolerance and mercy all friendships die.

I started to think about friendships of mine that had died over the years, versus ones that took a pause or dwindled due to distance or life changes. The friendships that pause are inevitably part of life but always remain hovering in the background. You know that all it would take is a phone call or an email to reconnect and you would catch up and despite whatever reason stands in the way of an ongoing connection, you are always there for each other. You have "tolerated" the reasons and understood why you drifted apart, yet never question the friendship.

The friendships that actually had to literally die really were due to intolerance. We have surely all experienced this. The friend who has not evolved. The friend you realized one day was racist. The friend who took advantage of you. The friend that lied to you...more than once. The day came when you could no longer tolerate their actions and it either died a slow death, or ended with a fatal blow; words that could not be taken back. Their actions were such that you were unable to show mercy. 

Put in such a way, it has given me a new perspective on two friendships that I ended over the years. I have always known that it was necessary, however it still left me with dangling threads. Threads of shared history. Threads of doubt. Was I too harsh? Was there any hope for the relationships? Could I have been more tolerant? Could I have been merciful? Or, as it stands, did I close the seam between us for the good of all concerned?

Friendships, like marriages take effort on both sides as we all know. I value my friends. I think they know I do. Just as I valued the friendships I ended for many years prior to their demise. I was witness to large chunks of their lives, as they were to  mine. The friends whose lives I witness now and who witness mine remain steady and sure with mutual give and take and ebb and flow and I guess I just want to say to all of them - thank you. 

Thank you all for your tolerance, your mercy and for everything you give me. 

Witnesses...each and everyone of us. 

Poem for a Sunny Day

Heliocentric Contemplation

Relentless sunshine

Leave me alone

Your incessant demands for action

activity

joyous leaping.

Can't you see?

My mood requires rain.

Damp, dreary, grey

cool droplets

You shroud me in guilt

How dare I hover indoors?

Fuck you Mr. Sunshine

you and your heliolithic minions

Like an overly cheery morning person

Insistent. 

Annoying.

Take me to Seattle or Vancouver

Dress me in galoshes and hand me an umbrella

Today, anyway.