Tuesday, January 20, 2015

"I Don't Have a Problem!": A Digestive Post

And I can quit dairy and gluten anytime I want to ... she said as she flushed the milk out of her system with a giant bottle of water.

In the middle of the night/a dairy binge, I posted this photo to Facebook:

Yeah, we have an M.O.
It was all well and good a few posts ago when I said to lay the wheat and butter on me all year long. I'd been doing well with both for a while now. Then came last night, when I ended up needing (and this is so TMI) an anti-diarrheal, an anti-spasmodic, and two anti-nausea tablets ... and this morning, I topped it off by needing a Lactaid, but I couldn't find one. How is it that I convince myself time and time again that I can eat how normal humans eat when I was having a colonoscopy this time last year (and meeting my deductible in the first month of 2014! woohoo!) at age 30 and that I have a GI doctor that I'll need to see once a year from now on?! What makes me think butter is okay when it's a known trigger for me? What makes me think the same about wheat? What makes me think ANY FOOD IS SAFE?!?

My dairy-evacuating bottle looks upon newer versions of itself. Love Klean Kanteen
Whenever I read fat activism books or blogs, I desperately want to be that fat person who doesn't give two shits what you think of what I'm eating. But I'm so sad right now, and sadness has never accompanied my dietary flip-flops before (sadness has definitely accompanied my gastrointestinal flip-flops, but that's why I have a prescription for Bentyl). Now I have to figure out how to care and not care at the same time. Pinterest, here I come!

Thursday, January 15, 2015

Learning a Lesson

Hey, didja hear about the homeless guy who was arrested for "theft of utilities"? SMH

I keep my phone's weather option on several locations: here (currently 46), my hometown (39), favorite vacation spots (Camden, ME, 27), and pipe dreams (Bogotá, Colombia ... 68?! let's all learn Spanish and move to Colombia!). I scroll through all these places when I'm getting ready for bed and I'm bored out of my gourd, and I've seen some terrifyingly cold temperatures. Not here in Texas, of course, but all over the planet. Poor Camden: Being a coastal town is of no benefit when it drops to -9 degrees. Most of you would laugh at the pathetic Texas weather, but 30 degrees is still no day at the beach (unless that beach is Lincolnville Beach just north of Camden, ME).

Enter my Anglican rosary.
On days when Chris gets home from the nightshift and has no interests but sleep, it's my job to let the doggies out at 11:00AM. (It used to be noon, but Hammy keeps pushing it back. He still isn't allowed out at 10:00AM though.) I sit on the couch in the garage (yes, we have a couch in our garage), pray my little rosary, and bring Bors back in because Hammy's an idiot and wants to stay outside for hours. One particularly cold day, I got a fourth of the way through my rosary, and Bors and I ran inside. Later, another cold day, I determined to say the whole thing. I was in jim-jams and a light hoody, and it was cold. And it began to occur to me: Sure, I was freezing in the ten minutes it took to say prayers to Mary, but there were people who were in the cold who had little covering and no warm house to run into when their business outside. The homeless get kicked out of their shelters, should they have stayed in one, in the morning ... then what? If it's below freezing, the Presbyterian Church will open its doors early (that's also where the soup kitchen is). But to be below freezing here is a feat indeed, and hypothermia can set in at 50 degrees. Bleh. 

So I use my time with my rosary to meditate on the homeless. If I were really awesome, I'd come up with prayers just for the homeless and poor to say on the beads, but I've only been Episcopalian for two months after about 8 years off, so I'm out of practice. 

In spite of the catalogs showing up at my door with their spring lines already out, we're just in the middle of winter. Last year's batches of hats are off in Idaho, but I still have an extra coat I can donate, and the need for socks and underwear and gloves is ever-present. There's prayers to say and things to do and stuff to give. So just because Christmas goodwill is over, and it's Epiphany season, and Lent is fast-approaching--don't let those things stop you from helping those who need it most. 

(By the way, rosary by Rachel Rode.)

Monday, January 5, 2015

I Resolve to Eat Better

This does not mean what you think it does.

Sure, it's January 5th (Twelfth Night!) and making resolutions should be long over (in fact, they should already be forgotten by now, shouldn't they?), but I decided to make one last night while pouring over the King Arthur Flour catalog. Now, King Arthur Flour has been plaguing me since I went gluten-free: Sure, they have gluten-free foods, but that's not what I'm looking at. But since the revelation that I don't have celiac disease came through, I've been eating some pretty crappy wheat products. But the time for crap is over!

"Ho, boy!" I cried. "Bring me Mark Bittman this instant!"

At this, Chris rolled his eyes and fetched How to Cook Everything: The Basics. That poor cookbook: It's covered in espresso and flour and kitcheny things I can't even imagine. It's not perfect, but it's damn close. No cookbook in our collection gets more mileage than that one. Anyway, I turned to the bread section and selected the no-knead bread recipe for my return to delicious, delicious wheat flour.

"I figure I can do this one of two ways," I said to my husband, "I can either eat whole wheat flour, or I can eat less white flour." (Sadly, I still must consider that my insulin is scary-high and Chris takes metformin.)

"I like the latter," he replied, pointing to the end of his nose.

So we're going to cook more, and we're not going to cook crap. If it calls for a whole stick of butter, throw that baby in--better that than Smart Balance. Soy milk, out; real milk, in. Recipes for kale that might involve me starting a kitchen fire? Done. We'll keep the extinguisher handy.

So yeah, eating better means eating tastier, Mark Bittman-ier foods. It does not mean lettuce ... unless that lettuce is covered in high-quality olive oil and the maple vinegar I found on Etsy.

This has an unintended consequence that my food allergy friends will love:


I'll let everyone know when I've gathered together my gluten-free-or-whatever foods, and you can come to my house and take what you need/want. One lucky winner will get the 5 lbs bag of almond flour. So stay tuned.

Anyway, it's 4:00AM ... back to drinking coffee and looking at Midcentury Modern diagrams of squids. Ta ta!