The Sky is Falling but I Will Survive!

bal·ance

'mental steadiness or emotional stability; habit of calm behavior, judgment, etc...

Maven before her hiatus from blogging:




Maven after:



Okay, still crazy but whatever.

Dammit, I'm more relaxed!

***

When I was on hiatus from blogging, I had no problems...

I swam every second day, hiked, read, jogged, and even spent quality time with my husband.



People, if you missed Saturday Night Pasta on my new Kitchen Witch blog you're missing out - where else will you see the PB in a SPEEDO?

***

While on hiatus, I cleaned, cooked, dusted, and laundered.

I made it to work on time, sized up coffins, and gave nary a thought to people with names like Desperation 9 or Angel on My Shoulder - instead opting for actual conversation with real people.

In short, I was living a life that we, the great unwashed of blogging only ever dream of.

Conversation that didn't involve typing.

Intermingling with actual human beings. People with names like Bob or Karen. Folks who do things like go to the movies, and meet for coffee. Folks who know nothing of Twitter, Facebook, or the dangerous allure of the internet quiz...

Maven completed the quiz "Which Peanuts Character Are You?" with the result Snoopy.

You are Snoopy. You have a lot of energy and you travel with a bird. You are man's best friend. But not always Charlie Brown's. You also like to pretend a lot because you sometimes think you're Joe Cool or the Red Baron..

And I was one of them.

But lately I've been noticing that old familiar pull back into the kingdom of the blogs and, by damn, I'm committed this time to keeping it healthy.

***

It's been an interesting couple of days since returning from the dead.

First I need to verify, once and for all, my irrefutable addiction to potato chips.

(and the odd glass of wine)



I share this because, for the longest time any talk of addiction has been merely anecdotal.

Something funny to blog about.

The potato as heroin, the grape forcing me to rap or sing Oh Canada at odd hours of the day or night, and yadda yadda.

But I've lately come to realize its much more serious than that.

It's infringing on my God given right to a life of normalcy and balance!

***

Last Friday after work the PB called and asked me to meet him at our local grocery store.

Um, whatevah.

Keep your sexy date night at the club people.

The PB and I like to get it on in aisle five right next to the peanuts and Doritos.



Except for one thing...

Me 'n the Poolboy I foraging around a grocery store on a payday weekend is akin to setting a pack of wild dingoes loose in a barnyard full of chickens.




In other words, not your best idea.

Although I managed to pick up a few healthy items, the t-bone steak, Kettle Crunch potato chips and Tiramisu cheesecake that somehow made their way into my cart taunted me the entire way home.

People, I am an all or nothing kind of gal.

If I'm eating in a healthy manner, it's easy for me to keep it up providing I don't stray from the chosen path.

'Give me your lentils, your Wasa Crisp, and the mighty chick pea and, verily, I shall eat.'

But set my foot off the path of high fibre, and my mind begins to wander.

Especially after that first slice of cheesecake.

Or in my case; tiramisu.

For some reason, everytime I leave that path of good health, the combination of fats and sugar sets off a strange primal reaction within me.

Something Wild.

Feral.

And out of control.



Is that a gun, big boy, or a Snickers bar you're hiding?

But I'm proud to report that I succesfully hid the two bags of Kettle Crunch chips in order to protect the PB's cholesterol.

What a wife!

I know.

Then I enjoyed a grilled t-bone with a lovely side salad, a glass of red wine and even allowed myself a small piece of tiramisu because "everything in moderation" seems the sensible way to live.

Right?

Right.

I put on my flannel pyjamas and furry socks, made a pot of peppermint green tea, lit some candles, and settled into the couch for a round of tv watching, relaxation, and self care where I caught the end of Ghost Whisperer.

Is it just me or has this season been really weird?

Jim? Sam?

Grandpa can you hear me?



Then I put on a DVD called Angel Falls starring Heather Locklear.


The candles were twinkling, my movie was playing, and the fragrance of peppermint and lavendar swirled up from the tea cup and candles by my side.



The moment was pure Zen.

In fact, the only thing missing was a voice over singing 'Celebrate the moments of your life...'

And all I could think about as I watched Heather Locklear frolic about on screen - besides the fact that she really shouldn't have had her lips done - was:

I wanted the damn chips.

And the longer I sat and obsessed about them, the worse the craving became.



So I rationalized.

What harm could one small bowl of chips do?

***

I crept ever so quietly to the cabinet - careful not to make any sudden noises that might alert the family as to my whereabouts - and set the super sized bag of balsamic vineagar and sea salt chips free.

Then I read the nutritional info on the back.

Twelve chips had 172 calories and 9 g of fat.

Chump change people.

I could afford to eat twelve chips, get over my craving, and return to the movie.

So that's what I did.

Carefully counted out 12 chips, and then folded the bag and placed it quietly back into the China cabinet.

*Cue the dramatic silence followed by two claps of thunder*

The next thing I know, I'm like an alcoholic who's been given a sip of scotch on Christmas eve.

And by the end of the evening, I was hiding empty bags.



So dish it!

Do you ever wonder why all the good stuff is so easy to give up?

If you told me tomorrow I could never eat another carrot, indulge in a serving of low fat cottage cheese, grapefuit, or celery, in the immoratal words of Miss Gloria Gaynor - I would survive.

But take away my chips, sugar, butter, or T Bone steaks and I would be a mess.

Why do you think that is?

In men, love, and food - why are the things that are the worst for us always the hardest to give up?

And what are your food addictions?

Enquiring minds want to know!

The Kitchen Witch

I'd like to introduce you to my brand new blog...




The Kitchen Witch is an addition to A Fabulously Good Life.

I'm excited to stretch myself in new directions while continuing to write about my passionate belief that life is what you make it and that to change the world we must first strive to change ourselves.

To me, there's a whole lot of abracadabra in that...



From the Blog:

"Within the walls of Maven's cozy kitchen are the secrets to conjuring everyday magic.

Enchanted with deliciously fresh recipes using local or home grown ingredients, The Kitchen Witch is brewing a cauldron of wonderful food, family, and fun that is always... Just. That. Fabulous.

The Kitchen Witch will continue to feature new recipes, Mave's unique trials and tribulation in the kitchen, and stories that focus on food, fun, and the magic of everyday life starting with: Saturday Evening Pasta - Linguini With Shrimp and Scallops in Lemon Cream Sauce."



Because of requests from several friends, all the recipes henceforth on The Kitchen Witch will have a printable recipe link.

I'm hoping that many of you who enjoy this blog will bookmark that one as well.

All those who are subscribed to my exclusive email list will begin to recieve notices of Kitchen Witch blogs.

If you are not currently on that list, please email me to ziggfoo@live.ca and ask to subscribe.



I'm in the process of creating a trinity - a cooking blog (The Kitchen Witch) a gardening and herbal magic blog (The Hedge Witch) and my day to day lifestyle blog (A Fabulously Good Life) all will be linked to one another to make for easier navigating.

I won't be writing as much as I used to, but when I do I'm hoping you'll find my words positive, helpful, funny, and uplifting.

Until next time friends,

Have Fabuloulsy Good Day!

Love,

Maven

When The World Is Puddle Wonderful

As I've gotten older I've become more and more aware of the routine nature of life. Minutes, blend into days, which bend into months, which blend into years.



I've begun to notice a pattern to things.

Every year come August I become incredibly domestic; baking, and canning, cooking, and cleaning as though the entire survival of my family depended on it. Wondering if its due to some kind of ancient female DNA compelling me to prepare for the long winter ahead.

In those months I tend to cocoon myself. Soft clothes, candlelight, comfort foods, and lazy evenings.



In short, bear magic, comes to visit and by mid January every year I go into my own state of hibernation until sometime in spring.

And then one day, the sun comes out.

The breeze sweetens and becomes warmer.

And everything feels new again.

***

About a month ago the PB and I were out driving.

I'd been taking a counsellor training program on grief throughout the month of March and my heart and head were on overflow.

There's nothing quite like a grief training program to get you thinking about your own mortality.

Anyways, the drive followed a particularly impacting session at a local funeral home. We were introduced to a funeral director - who was a surprisingly warm and wonderful person - and given a tour of the facility which culminated in a trip to "the back room."

The back room being the place where the dearly departed go in order to be prepped for burial or cremation.

A place I honestly didn't need to be seeing because as I stood there surrounded by bio hazard signs and incredibly narrow looking plywood coffins, the only thought in my mind was "I wonder if the PB is going to fit into one of those boxes."

As a result, on the drive home, I was muddling around with all kinds of "deep thoughts" and casually mentioned that, "We're both heading into the Autumn of our lives."

The PB answered with a characteristic grunt and the slightest of eye flickers.

"No, really," I said, "We've been enjoying the summer of our forties but right now its rolling into August. The grey hair and aching joints of September are just around the corner and I think we'd better both be prepared."

(can you see why the PB deserves saint hood for staying married to me for so long?)

He replied with "I don't really want to think about it," and kept on driving.

Leaving me to stew, alone, with my thoughts about mortality.

***

It's interesting.

As a younger person my favourite time of the year was Autumn.

That zip in the air, the burning of the leaves, a chance to start all over again, because I have always associated Autumn with beginnings.

But as I've gotten older, I've come to associate August with "preparing."

And had pretty much given up on spring.

To me it had become just another season - the joy and the beauty of it long blown away on the winds of sleep over parties, best friends, and first love.

But then, something amazing happened.

Enmeshed in another one of life's routines, I was sitting by candlelight a few nights ago, sipping tea, and watching something on tv when, at 10:00 pm, the dog woke up, meandered to the couch where I sat, and began staring, grunting, and pawing at me.

Dammit!



It was time for his walk.

At 10 on the dot for the last eleven years that dog has ressurected himself.

Everybody else is in bed. I'm usually in my pyjamas and have to cut into Top Chef, Celebrity Apprentice, or Medium in order to endure our nightly neighborhood jaunt.

Grumbling, I put on my shoes, a jacket of the PB's, and out we went.

Except on this evening, the breeze was warm.

And fresh, like someone's grass had recently been cut.

The stars were out and a chorus of frogs chirped lustily in the background.

We walked, and I remembered...



Riding bikes, and hunting for tadpoles.

Junior highschool dances, and hide 'n seek.

It was all there, on the warm breeze of an April evening.

And suddenly I realized, I hadn't lost spring.

Though the minutes of my life continue to steadily ebb forward, each year that I live, I am given the gift of seasons.

Summer, autumn, winter, spring.



I realized that right now, in the late summer of my life enjoying a sunny and temperate spring, it is incumbent on me not to waste time.

And to try not to take my life for granted. To avoid the futile arrogance that makes us believe the people we love will always be there.

The sad truth is that one day when my phone rings at 6 pm, I will no longer have the luxury of saying "If that's my mom, tell her I'm in the tub," because one day it won't be her calling.

Who will I be then?

And how on earth will I survive it?

For now, all I can do is take my living seriously. With gratitude. Knowing none of us is guaranteed a perpetual spring and that while it is upon us, we should hold on tight.



Stay tuned in upcoming blogs for some healthy recipe creations I've stirred up along with ideas for "spring cleaning your life..."

Until then,

Have a Fabulously Good Day!

Love,

Maven