In My Pantry


So I am standing in the pantry, reaching into the Costco-sized box of Fruit by the Foot, hoping the little metallic-wrapped baby my hand has landed on is the coveted berry flavor. I am completely ignoring my vow to spend these last twelve days before Christmas eating only what nourishes my mood and leans out my body. Why am I so weak?

Seriously, after yoga I meditated, imagining the less full feeling, trying to learn to be okay with the achy hunger. “I kind of like it,” my friend Emmy says. “This will feel different,” I tell myself. I know it takes some time to naturally avoid these dense, sweet manufactured foods, because not only are these part of our culture and a major contributor our thriving economy (along with the medicine to saves us from ourselves), but our bodies are made for survival, being wickedly good “calorie detectors” because way back when (say even a couple of hundred years ago) we might have been running for our lives from some beastie or foraging for starchy roots and sweet berries or possibly even hunting, if we didn’t live in a temperate area where plant-based foods were plentiful. So in these modern times those fruit rollups, mochas and whole grain whatevers end up stored on our bodies. Instead of happily, gorgeously leaping around, we’re heading straight for the walk-in closet after a shower, avoiding our reflections in the bathroom mirrors and hurriedly pulling on the leggings and the trendy long tunics, sucking it in telling ourselves today will be different.

Standing at the box of Fruit by the Foot there’s hardly a moment between the fleeting desire and the moment the tart berry taste and sticky texture hits my tongue, about three times or six…Honestly, I’m no different than the three teenaged girls I share this little yellow Cape Cod with, along their dad. : – ) I will say that earlier in the day I drank my green water (water, greens and stevia leaf) and ate only low-fat, whole foods vegan. I was the awesomely cool badass healthy hedonist I aspire to be—up until about 5;00 p.m. that is. I swear that late afternoon is my own personal “witching hour” It’s the time when I fall into the craving and stuff my face. It’s ridiculous. It’s a healthy vegan life, with a side of crap. Eh…

What’s the answer to living in this world and staying to be lean and healthy? One possibility is putting all the fruity, nutty, crackery, bready things in Lance’s truck and our girls can just run out when he gets home and feed at his tailgate. We could pretend we’re at a Beavers-Ducks civil war game!

So, if I were in an AA meeting the folks there might suggest: Pray. Find a way to be of service. Find something else to do during my “witching hour.” Ask for help. Ask: Where’s my bottom? Surrender self-will? Surrender to what is reality for me, what is truth, what might be required to actually for change? Powered by powerlessness? Can I really just make this change by muscling through? I’ll explore these ideas and let you know.

Love and lettuce,

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