Thursday, June 24, 2010
Monday, June 14, 2010
I either misread the menu or they decided to give me a little extra somethin’ by sprinkling shredded cheese on top. Basic yellow fromage does nothing for me, though, so I happily picked the little pieces off. I should have photographed the resulting pile, which looked quite silly.
So, thus ends the challenge. Six of my seven salads fit the bill. Three were absolutely delicious, three were serviceable, and one I will not make again. I’m glad I did the experiment, and I may try it again in a couple of weeks – after play rehearsals are over. When I have more time to do prep work, I know the results will be more interesting. However, my overall goal of cleaning up my eating habits was mostly achieved, so that’s the good news. I do plan to carry that over into the rest of the summer.
Thanks for watching and for playing along at home!
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Speaking of my eating habits, here is today’s response to my salad challenge:
Once again, I had fruit salad at tea, so I won’t bore you with more pictures of the same. Tomorrow, I’m looking forward to a salad involving two somethings I’m using for the first time. Here’s a hint . . . one component is one of Rick Bayless’s favorites.
See you on the flipside of Hump Day!
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Monday, June 7, 2010
· 6:30 a.m. – breakfast (usually toast with nut butter and a fruit smoothie)
· 7:30 a.m. – tea with honey
· 10 a.m. – coffee (black)
· 12:00 p.m. – lunch
· Between 3:30 and 4 p.m. – tea with honey
· Between 6 and 6:30 p.m. – dinner
Today has been a whole different story. I signed up for a wellness check this morning at 8 a.m., for which I had to fast two hours in advance. So, I packed up my smoothie, a slice of bread and my homemade cashew butter to eat afterward. However, the city got caught in a crazy storm, which caused a power outage at work starting at 7:45 a.m. Needless to say, my wellness screening was cancelled. I finally remembered that I could eat at 8:30, so I drank my smoothie and then smeared cashew butter on my untoasted bread. The power went on and off for a while, finally choosing the latter for a while around 10:30. We were all told to take an early lunch until noon. A coworker and I headed to Panera, where I drank a
Anyway, here is my first entry into my Salad Challenge:
It’s going to be a crazy week, so I will admit that I did not make this salad. It is one of Whole Foods’ salad shakers. However, the ingredients are all-natural and fit the bill. The salad contains brown rice, edamame, carrots, mushrooms, cabbage, almonds and their no-oil carrot ginger dressing (carrots, mirin, agave, tamari, rice vinegar, mustard and ginger). The verdict: it’s tasty, though not particularly filling. I intended to serve it atop spinach I washed, spun and tore up previously, but they were pretty nasty by the time I got them out of the Ziploc. Given my particular non-love for spinach, it’s probably tastier without the greens, though the added iron and magnesium would have been nice. The dressing is great without oil; I love the ginger zing.
Here's some bonus salad pr0n:
OK, so there's really nothing salad-like about chicken salad. Mine is, of course, of the vegan variety. This post was apparently sponsored by Whole Foods.
(Not really. I paid for all of these items. Or rather, my love did, since it was his week to buy.)
Verdict on this one: tasty, though not life-altering. I'm not sure I've ever eaten actual chicken salad, so I have no basis for comparison. I will tell you that, last week, when my taste buds weren't working properly, nothing tasted as amazing as this sandwich. Today, I would not go that far, but I still enjoyed it.
Did you enjoy a nutritious salad today?
Sunday, June 6, 2010
See you on the flip side of Sunday.
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
My coworker has a dry-erase board on which she displays a new quote every so often. The last couple of weeks, it’s been a modified version of this gem by Charles H. Spurgeon:
A good character is the best tombstone. Those who loved you and were
helped by you will remember you when forget-me-nots have withered.
Carve your name on hearts, not on marble.
It made me smile the first time I saw it. Since my grandmother died last week, it has made me smile even more.
My grandmother was a truly amazing woman. She was born in 1931 in Sallisaw, a tiny community even today in Oklahoma’s Cotton Belt, to Georgia and Benjamin Franklin Davis. They later moved to Muskogee, where she always considered home. She was married to my crazy grandfather for 40 years and, if not for his mental problems, would probably still have been with him to her last day. She got a two-year degree from Connors State College, where she studied literature. She raised two children while also working, certainly an anomaly for a middle-class woman of the time. After my grandfather served her with divorce papers, she picked herself up and kept living the life she chose. She went to work at several different doctors’ offices over the years, doing administrative work and assisting in physical therapy. She was an active member of her church, the guiding force behind her class reunions (which happened every two years), the family photographer and record-keeper, a reliable friend, and an omnipresent grandparent. She was also strong, independent, vibrant, hard-working (even at 78, she still occasionally went in to her most recent employer’s office to help train new physical therapists), reliable, loving, and big-hearted. She watched what she ate, got regular exercise, and had her hair done at the salon every Friday. She had a kind word for everyone, a smile even in the hardest times, and an unending supply of encouraging and supportive thoughts. The only time I heard her complain during the past year of hospitalizations was at the very end. I last visited her a week before her death, at which time she told me she didn’t feel like company. As much as I wanted to be with her, I preferred her honesty, and I knew she appreciated me coming.
My grandmother considered nine of us her grandchildren, though three were not related by blood (and one not even by marriage). Being a grandparent was one of her greatest joys in life, and being the oldest, I always felt a special connection to her. I was forever her princess. I never doubted for a second that she was proud of me or that she loved me completely. We all had photo albums, and thanks to my several years of precedence, mine comprised two separate albums. Her home was a photographic shrine to us all. In fact, she so often had her camera in hand that my little sister called her “Cheese” for several years. She had a sponge-like memory and could quickly recall funny things we’d said or did throughout our lives. She remembered our ambitions, our quirks, what sports we played, our friends’ names, what foods we liked, and what we called her (Meemaw, Grandma, Grandma Margaret, Cheese or Mother Goose).
At the funeral last week, I met and hugged people who loved her throughout her life. I saw family I hadn’t seen in years – some in two decades. I cried with my beloved aunt, her daughter, over her memory and what we’re going to do without her. I shook hands with members of her church who remember me as a little girl. I knew these people better than the rest of the family, and it made me feel privileged, like I was in an important part of her life that no one else was. Even the man who mows my grandmother’s lawn was there. When the preacher asked him before the service if she was as meticulous about her grass as she was about her appearance, he told him that she was the only one of his clients who never complained. “She treated me like the valedictorian,” he said. She treated everyone that way.
My grandmother, Margaret Jane Davis Vance, most certainly carved her name on my heart, as I know she did on the heart of anyone she ever met.
Saying goodbye is taking its toll on me. I won’t pretend that everything’s fine, but I will get there. I remember a line from a movie saying that you lose people in pieces, not all at once, and it’s true. I suppose I’ve been lucky not to have lost a grandparent until age 25, but knowing that doesn’t make the pain any less. I’m sad, because I loved her. I regret that she left us before any of her grandchildren married or gave her great-grandchildren. I’m angry that she – the most life-loving and healthy-living of my grandparents – was the first to lose her fight against time. I’m disappointed that I didn’t get to see her again before her death, but I know you always feel that way. I’m still in shock, too, because we weren’t expecting the end to come so soon. I wasn’t ready to let her go. None of us were.
However, if my grandmother left a legacy, it is this: love with your whole heart, respect your body, embrace adventure, and never leave home without a dab of red lipstick.
You can read her formal obituary here.
- ▼ June (9)
- ► 2009 (163)
- ► 2008 (107)