Thursday, October 8, 2015

We Lie about Food

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From the current Vanity Fair magazine Proust Questionnaire with George Takei (Star Trek alumnus):

VF: What is your idea of perfect happiness?

GT: I don't know about perfect, but a creamy scoop of green-tea ice cream comes close.

 

Really? What about Häagen Dazs Peanubutter Chocolate. Rocky Road. Ben and Jerry's Cherry Garcia.

 

Give me a break. green-tea anything tastes like pee. Even with tons of sweetner.

 

And, kale is fantastic! Really? Kale is barely digestible. Even shredded into teensy bits. Why don't we just refuse to drink anything green and puréed.

 

Wake up your taste buds! Buy beautiful produce; farm fresh, if possible. Make your own fresh soup, salads out of real ingredients in their original fresh condition. A salad should not come out of a bag. Fruit is not best pre-sliced.

 

We are such Lemmings. Chose to prepare and eat beautiful food. Eat only in restaurants that use fresh ingredients, prepared in-house.

 

Thursday, September 10, 2015

Privacy

What are they doing on national television, airing their silly problems for everyone to witness? What happened to the desire for privacy, the very idea of it? Surely it is one thing to try to see ourselves as others see us and something else entirely to see ourselves only as others see us. What have we become that we achieve validation and credibility only through the eyes of others?
Someone is Watching

Pg. 92

Joy Fielding


This one stopped me in my tracks! So well-thought out; phrased. A pearl of wisdom regarding our culture of notoriety. Our insatiable need for attention; spotlight. I tweet, therefore I am. A camera follows my most mundane and trivial actions and interactions, so now I'm a celebrity. Wasn't notorious once a derogatory term?


no·to·ri·ous

nōˈtôrēəs/

adjective

  1. famous or well known, typically for some bad quality or deed.
    "Los Angeles is notorious for its smog"
    synonyms:infamous, scandalous; More

Thursday, April 16, 2015

Meryl's Truths and Mine

 

 

Well said.

I might add:

I have no time for those who cannot extend grace to others; who judge without true insight. I value truth, honesty, and kindness above all in my relationships. Generosity of spirit, as well as resources.

I refuse to pretend that the wrong words and hurtful actions of others have no lasting impact on my spirit. I seek to do no harm, by God's grace and with his guidance, and to endeavor to live in this truth and grace. When I fall short, I will confess and mend my ways; seeking his forgiveness and yours.

Those who make no attempt to humbly right their wrongs and to accept imperfection in themselves and others exhaust me. Gossip and slander are devastating. Pretending otherwise is ingenuous and intolerable. We can be forgiven our trespasses, but still are expected to acknowledge our own as well as to forgive those who trespass against us.

 

 

 

 

 

Saturday, February 7, 2015

Writing: Getting to the Best Me



I get crabby if I don't write. Really nasty inside my head, but outside it manifests as short-tempered, impatient, quiet.

Writing is more than cathartic, it's oxygen to my addled brain. Daily, my intellectual world fills up too quickly. Too many visuals, too many words; excessive stimuli. I'm one of those hyper-aware, hunter-gatherers. Indiscriminate; greedy. My overfull brain quickly turns toxic, requiring time, solitude, and rest to flush and sift; store and discard. Writing is my brain organizing, collating, prioritizing.  

You don't want to encounter me when my brain is full; my energy drained. The toxicity is ugly. My words are few, my smile never reaches my eyes. My countenance is strained. And, aging has diminished my capacity for tolerance of small talk; small minds. Stand clear. 

I'm almost fully self-aware; married to a cautious man. I'm extremely verbal. He never has to guess risk factors. I express myself clearly; tell him. He listens. He steps away and respects my temporary boundaries. A wise and gracious man.  

Believe me. When I'm done; I'm done. I can be oh-so polite, but my spring is over-wound. Don't push; don't infer expectations or inflict guilt or attempt shame. 

Step away. I need time, solitude, silence. Rest. The best me is the writer. She's the centered, soul-filled person you want to meet, converse with, and befriend. She's the creative, the artist, the wit.