Today I went skinny-dipping. That's right, you read me. Instead of a bathing suit I simply used my God-given birthday suit.
A good friend invited me and another friend for a dip in a creek that runs near the farm she stays at for the summer. After a jungle-like trek through stinging nettles and climbing down the bank, we set our stuff down and shed our clothes. I eased into the water and the idea of being naked with two friends. It was like going public in a garment I've never really shown anyone before. The wonderful part was it didn't matter. We were happy to be out in nature together, liberating ourselves from society and its norms.
I've always felt somewhat self-conscious of my body, and seeing my two nymph-figured friends slightly added to that. But I knew they didn't care; we were all beautiful in our way and right. Our curves, though literally our shapes, shaped us into people as well: that's part of who and what we are, where we came from.
We sat on a log to soak the sun. I felt like part of that Pink Floyd poster with the naked ladies with painted backs. We ducked a couple times behind the log to avoid passerbys on the trail atop the bluff. Our sun-basking happiness came to an end when we saw a man looking our direction. He was on a cell phone so for the sake of this story we assumed he was calling the cops. We splashed towards the bank when he wasn't looking and scrambled to clothe ourselves.
We braved the nettles again but it was worth it. I was sun-kissed and free.
Monday, May 31, 2010
Saturday, May 29, 2010
String Free
At the moment, I wish I wasn't prone to attachment.
The detachment process can be rather painful. Sometimes it's only as bad as a tooth being pulled; other times I feel someone tearing out the sutures on my chest.
I don't want another proverbial heart surgery.
The detachment process can be rather painful. Sometimes it's only as bad as a tooth being pulled; other times I feel someone tearing out the sutures on my chest.
I don't want another proverbial heart surgery.
Saturday, May 22, 2010
Not Our Mamas' Kitchen
Yesterday three friends (Joni, Becky and Becca) and I made fettuccini and ricotta and spinach-stuffed ravioli from scratch. The four of us went to a pasta making demonstration at a local co-op grocer and decided to try our newly learned skills. We rounded off our meal with garlic bread knots, alfredo and two marinera sauces, and mango and jamaica juices. The alfredo and the drinks were the only things not made from scratch.
Growing up I never took much of an interest in cooking. I didn't hate it, I just didn't try to learn. Knowing how to make a quesadilla was good enough. Now I want to dabble into the culinary horizon. Part of it may be that I am on my own. I need to eat to survive and without mom or a college cafeteria I want something besides Ramen or cereal. Why should my taste buds be deprived of excitement in my own house?
Mine and my girlfriends' desire to experiment in the kitchen goes beyond survival of the fullest. I think cooking, in a sense, has become a rare art. A slough of fast food joints and restaurants make meals for us. Family meals are still around but are no longer staples in today's fast-paced society. I'll admit I've fallen into the "I'm too tired" or "I don't have time" trap (and that's without children or even a significant other!) yet I can't help but crave something better.
Cooking for our mothers was part of the "I do" package, making it primarily a responsibility. Not that they didn't take some pride or joy from it, but it was a type of duty. For the four of us and many others in our generation (including gents), it is a type of hobby and an adventure. Maybe that's why there's more interest in it.
Becca hopes society somehow goes back to the "older times," when meals were homemade, families ate together, and the only acceptable take-out was a brown sack for lunch. As we and four other friends sat around a table, laughing and talking over a pasta dinner made from scratch, I kind of hoped it would and that I could be part of it.
Growing up I never took much of an interest in cooking. I didn't hate it, I just didn't try to learn. Knowing how to make a quesadilla was good enough. Now I want to dabble into the culinary horizon. Part of it may be that I am on my own. I need to eat to survive and without mom or a college cafeteria I want something besides Ramen or cereal. Why should my taste buds be deprived of excitement in my own house?
Mine and my girlfriends' desire to experiment in the kitchen goes beyond survival of the fullest. I think cooking, in a sense, has become a rare art. A slough of fast food joints and restaurants make meals for us. Family meals are still around but are no longer staples in today's fast-paced society. I'll admit I've fallen into the "I'm too tired" or "I don't have time" trap (and that's without children or even a significant other!) yet I can't help but crave something better.
Cooking for our mothers was part of the "I do" package, making it primarily a responsibility. Not that they didn't take some pride or joy from it, but it was a type of duty. For the four of us and many others in our generation (including gents), it is a type of hobby and an adventure. Maybe that's why there's more interest in it.
Becca hopes society somehow goes back to the "older times," when meals were homemade, families ate together, and the only acceptable take-out was a brown sack for lunch. As we and four other friends sat around a table, laughing and talking over a pasta dinner made from scratch, I kind of hoped it would and that I could be part of it.
Monday, May 17, 2010
Today I Ate an Organic Cow
Today I ate an organic cow. I'm a vegetarian. Oh, and I went to a H.E.M.P. (Help Marijuana Prohibition) picnic, so I was quite the "rebel".
Whitney, a friend who works at the dry cleaners next to our bakery, helps organize these rallies. After many invites I finally went. It was the perfect day for the park: rainy and cold. I kept thinking of Seattle, though the one day I was there the skies were blue and the sun shone upon my back. I think the older hippies who lead H.E.M.P. also had something to do with my Northwestern thoughts.
One of the group leaders, Farmer Bill, brought some organic ground beef from his farm. Whitney assured me the cattle were grass-fed and well treated. I'm not a hard-core animal activist or green person but my flower child tendencies figured it was OK to try it. After all, it wasn't hormone-filled, grocery store meat, no?
Two ladies opened the packets and began shaping the meat into red, round patties. It didn't hit me until later that they might not have washed their hands. Hemp, meat AND unsanitary food preparation? Bring it on!
I got in line and put some carrots, chips and a hamburger bun on my paper plate. Most of the patties were small; mine was about the size of a deck of cards. (That's the correct helping size for meat, just FYI.) I topped it off with classic ketchup and mustard.
Whitney, her sis Lindsey and I sat down. I picked up my burger and took a bite. I haven't had a burger since turning to a green diet, so I have nothing to compare it to, though Whitney said you could definitely taste the difference.
Taste was good, not going to lie. Yet something in the back of my mind kept reminding me I was eating animal muscle. I didn't completely not enjoy it, and knowing this had been a well-cared-for creature eased guilt and fear of chemicals and disease. But the experience reaffirmed the fact that I don't really want to incorporate meat into my diet again. I left it behind and therefore don't find it as delicious as I once did. I'm a creature of habit and it's no longer for me.
Happy cows come from California, and organic ones come from Farmer Bill's, but I'll let each one have their beef.
Whitney, a friend who works at the dry cleaners next to our bakery, helps organize these rallies. After many invites I finally went. It was the perfect day for the park: rainy and cold. I kept thinking of Seattle, though the one day I was there the skies were blue and the sun shone upon my back. I think the older hippies who lead H.E.M.P. also had something to do with my Northwestern thoughts.
One of the group leaders, Farmer Bill, brought some organic ground beef from his farm. Whitney assured me the cattle were grass-fed and well treated. I'm not a hard-core animal activist or green person but my flower child tendencies figured it was OK to try it. After all, it wasn't hormone-filled, grocery store meat, no?
Two ladies opened the packets and began shaping the meat into red, round patties. It didn't hit me until later that they might not have washed their hands. Hemp, meat AND unsanitary food preparation? Bring it on!
I got in line and put some carrots, chips and a hamburger bun on my paper plate. Most of the patties were small; mine was about the size of a deck of cards. (That's the correct helping size for meat, just FYI.) I topped it off with classic ketchup and mustard.
Whitney, her sis Lindsey and I sat down. I picked up my burger and took a bite. I haven't had a burger since turning to a green diet, so I have nothing to compare it to, though Whitney said you could definitely taste the difference.
Taste was good, not going to lie. Yet something in the back of my mind kept reminding me I was eating animal muscle. I didn't completely not enjoy it, and knowing this had been a well-cared-for creature eased guilt and fear of chemicals and disease. But the experience reaffirmed the fact that I don't really want to incorporate meat into my diet again. I left it behind and therefore don't find it as delicious as I once did. I'm a creature of habit and it's no longer for me.
Happy cows come from California, and organic ones come from Farmer Bill's, but I'll let each one have their beef.
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Graduation Day 2010
It doesn't seem like 7 p.m. It doesn't seem like my roommate moved out. It doesn't seem like life changed today. But of course it has.
Another year officially ended with Union's graduation weekend. The school is my alma mater and I live across the street, hence my life rhythm still being synched to the school year. I may be out but I still feel a slow down coming when May comes.
My cousin, roommate and several good friends marched down the isle, received their diplomas, and bid farewell to our little college. I couldn't help but be nostalgic. I remember my cheeks hurting from smiling and being tired from a packed weekend.
I'm exhausted. I went to three receptions and hung out with my family. But this time even my surroundings seems tired. My apartment is a quiet mess, except for Ferdie, my parakeet, who keeps jumping through his swing and puffing his feathers from my window's cold draft. I like the idea of my own space now that Crystal moved out, but knowing she won't be coming back will be odd for a few days. The weather outside is not helping: it is May and in the low 50s, complete with a chilly wind and overcast sky.
Today has become a tired day. I feel like napping to recharge but I tried and couldn't fall asleep. That's why I'm here. Maybe reflecting will help me readjust of my surroundings and life. Ah, thank goodness for writing.
First on the list is my apartment. I don't like my computer being on the ground and Ferdie probably doesn't appreciate being crowded by DVDs, CDs and LPs.
Another year officially ended with Union's graduation weekend. The school is my alma mater and I live across the street, hence my life rhythm still being synched to the school year. I may be out but I still feel a slow down coming when May comes.
My cousin, roommate and several good friends marched down the isle, received their diplomas, and bid farewell to our little college. I couldn't help but be nostalgic. I remember my cheeks hurting from smiling and being tired from a packed weekend.
I'm exhausted. I went to three receptions and hung out with my family. But this time even my surroundings seems tired. My apartment is a quiet mess, except for Ferdie, my parakeet, who keeps jumping through his swing and puffing his feathers from my window's cold draft. I like the idea of my own space now that Crystal moved out, but knowing she won't be coming back will be odd for a few days. The weather outside is not helping: it is May and in the low 50s, complete with a chilly wind and overcast sky.
Today has become a tired day. I feel like napping to recharge but I tried and couldn't fall asleep. That's why I'm here. Maybe reflecting will help me readjust of my surroundings and life. Ah, thank goodness for writing.
First on the list is my apartment. I don't like my computer being on the ground and Ferdie probably doesn't appreciate being crowded by DVDs, CDs and LPs.
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