Whole Foods Bones and Death Star

I donated blood for the first time the other day.  I've always wanted to do it, but wasn't quite sure what was involved.   I felt it was time that I donated a part of my healthy body to those who need it more than me.  I can make more.  Some people can't.

They took a pint.  One pint is equal to two cups.  More blood loss than this in childbirth and midwives consider it a hemorrhage and are breaking out the life-saving medicines.  Donating blood is a significant act on our bodies.  As I waited for the procedure to begin and asked how much they would be taking, I realized I had not eaten much that day and started to get a little nervous about how my 5'3" 115 lb frame would handle the loss.  I spaced eating.  What a dummy!  I probably nibbled here and there leftovers from my toddler or other children but it was just a busy day where I had neglected to eat well.

Well nourished women can withstand a normal blood loss of about a pint in childbirth and go on as if nothing happened.  Slightly anemic women with busy homes and other children to care for often take weeks to feel normal after blood loss in childbirth.  The Red Cross requires about 8 weeks spacing between donations to allow the body to recover.  This is almost as long as midwives treat the postpartum period and how long most surgeries take to recover from.

I am a total and utter morning person, but I woke up the next morning (12 hours after donating blood) feeling like I could sleep for days.  I begged my smallish children to let me sleep for a few extra minutes.  No dice.

I decided to give myself the standard midwife prescription that we ask mothers to prepare after giving birth to speed recovery.

Bone Marrow.

I dragged myself into Whole Paycheck - I mean, Whole Foods - and grabbed a bag of Marrow Bones and some veggies to make a nourishing broth.  Here is one of my favorite funny clips about Whole Foods to get you in the mood:

As I navigate the murky waters of divorce and feel generally balanced, happy, accepting and ready for a new future, my blood shortage took me physically and emotionally a step or two backward where I found a return to my personal divorce-survival rule of not making eye contact with anyone in public lest a conversation or human interaction start.

I give off the "DON'T APPROACH ME, I'M AN INTROVERT" vibe really well.  It's getting harder and harder to pull this off as I feel more and more healed and ready to step out socially.  But my depleted blood state tossed me right back into that "safer" isolated emotional place today in public.  Implement: No Eye Contact (NEC). A DEFCON 5 day. 

As I loaded my bounty onto the belt in the check out line, an older gentleman behind me broke through my DEFCON 5 and said,

"What are you using those marrow bones for?"

 The voice inside my head said, "Mr., You seem really nice and harmless and all but I have not given you eye contact and therefore not given you permission to acknowledge my existence, are you really talking to me? CAN'T YOU SEE THIS DEATH STAR IS AT A DEFCON 5?!?" 

I was polite and divulged to him that I donated blood for the first time and it kinda took the wind out of my sails and hoped a soup with bones would do the trick.

He pressed in asking me questions about how I planned to prepare the Bone Marrow and had I considered making a spread, and did I know gourmet restaurants charge $30 an ounce for a pate that I could easily make at home with my bag of bones, etc?

I was more shocked at why he bothered to ignore my OBVIOUS DEFCON 5 that I was intrigued and listening to what he had to say.  He had immediate credibility.

Maybe I'm not doing a good job with the DEFCON system when I'm feeling anti-social.  Maybe he used The Force on this Death Star.

In all actuality, the work on vulnerability I'm doing in area of Brene Brown is showing outwardly.  After donating blood, and feeling empty and lethargic, I had four irritating hours strait of Brene Brown between a workshop and my monthly book club.  Between losing half of my blood volume and feeling drained from self-reflection, my Death Star defenses are rendered useless.  Gone.  Gonzo.  Not a chance of coming back, especially walking around short of a pint of blood.

Whether I like it or not, strangers are talking to me - in the grocery store, at the gas pump - and I'm responding and ready to have human connection.  Maybe wholeheartedly and consistently for the first time in a long time.  It's good!  Because what came out of it yesterday is a new and quirky pate to try and share with you and a feeling of connectivity with another human being that I will never see again.

I smiled and relaxed as I thought of trying a gross pate made out of marrow, feeling it work in my body and telling you all about it.

Because I was already through checkout, I loaded groceries in the car then returned into produce for the herbs he suggested.  Walking around a pint short of blood started to feel better just from a little human connection that I fought and resisted going in there.

I'll post the Bone Marrow Pate separately.

Ciao!

Dating Land Mines and Bizarro

I am concurrently reading two Brene Brown books Daring Greatly  and I thought it was just me ~ but it isn't.   Brene Brown has her PhD in the areas of shame and vulnerability.  One I am reading for a women's book club I'm in, and the other is for a 10 week "vulnerability class" I'm taking.  Being Mormon and not holding my marriage and family together,  I am working through a ton of shame. And if I want to embark on a new relationship I have to put all the hurt behind me, tear down any remnants of walls around my heart and be utterly vulnerable to a man. The end of this article looks at the Latin origins of the word VULNERABLE and it turns out, that we've gotten the word Vulnerability wrong all this time in our language!  No wonder we fail at finding and keeping love! 

 I'm a strong woman capable of living on my own.  I enjoy it.  One of the most frequent comments aside from what a beautiful family I have is "you are so brave and strong".  I've educated five children completely at home and helped them become accomplished athletes.  I am also licensed to deliver babies born at home.

When my former husband had a public and humiliating affair, I took the children and a U-Haul trailer 2000 miles to Utah to give everyone some space (and maybe run from my problems).  This takes a fair amount of strength and resilience.  But if I really hear the feedback coming out of my marriage as it dies,  maybe I lost my marriage and family in the process of being strong.  Maybe I need to tease out and hold onto the resilience piece and abandon some of the strong piece.  They are not quite the same.  I'm exploring the ways that these maternal strengths may have hindered me in intimacy.  The former husband has actually described me as pushing him away.  I've got to take a look at this.


I have not yet begun round two of dating.  I'm not sure what is holding me up.  All I'm clear on is that it is not quite time to step back out there.  To recap, in December and January I had four dates with four men.  One culminating into a late night meet the following evening to exchange baked goods before Christmas and and maybe go in for that quick kiss we avoided on the first date.  I guess it was like a mini "re-do" on ending the first date.  This is my first foray into dating Mormons (I converted to the faith after my marriage so I've technically never dated a Mormon man before).  Our kiss was textbook Mormon-esque.  Just a peck.  Maybe two... or three....  Lips firmly closed... No big deal, right?  Sure, except I parted thinking about it so much that I drove about a quarter mile home in the dark with my headlights turned off.

It left me feeling like..."Yep! There is something to the Mormon business of chastity."  I'm excited to parent teens embarking on dating having experienced both avenues of dating.   One can experience a simple kiss and have it consume your thoughts as much or more as if it had been way over the top involved.

But this article is more about the multitude of ways that many of us push others away in intimacy. This man turned into Caspar the Ghost just days following the intense encounter - either due to total lack of interest or due to his integrity and understanding that my marriage was not legally terminated yet.  I'd like to think the latter, but in reality, it's probably the former.  I like to live in denial that maybe he's just encased in cement in Jabba the Hut's lair like Han Solo.  Or maybe in dating he carefully constructs a mine field that no one can pass and come too close.

After all, who wouldn't want to just leap into life with a woman with FIVE kids including a toddler, whose divorce isn't quite finalized?  In some of the craziest moments inside my home where we've had several consecutive days of sports, the house looks like Bali after the tsunami and my toddler is in his season of screaming, I'll say to one of my married girlfriends, "Who wouldn't want to partake in all of this?!?"  "Take care of your marriages, ladies!!"  I'll say in a group text.

I'll review here some of the microscopic but significant things that went down to self-sabotage the endeavor before it even got off the ground.  Because next time around, I'd like to not lay a mine field  between the next great man and my heart ~ nor do I care to step along his carefully laid booby-traps, land mines and barbed wire on the path to his heart.

I'd like to be vulnerable and be a magnet for someone equally as sophisticated in the art of vulnerability.  If I lay land mines, I'll consequently attract someone who also lives in his own sabotaging minefields.

Let me share with you some of the detonated WWII-type mines I carefully placed.

1.  I might or might not have said more than once in person and via text "I imagine it will take me at least  2 or 3 years to find a committed relationship with someone." 

2. "I have to get my toddler out of diapers before I find a committed relationship."  Yep, I actually said that out loud.

3. My personal favorite commitment-phobe self-sabotage remark... "I can't imagine folding a man into my crazy life anytime soon."  

Now I've given up trucker talk unless I have a lapse and feel really emotional.  (Last week, I watched "the other woman" change her Facebook cover photo to her wearing my clothes and snuggling with my dogs.  So I may have used some expletives that day and if I were still Catholic, would be sitting in a booth with a priest.  Mormons just privately repent over and over and over and over...again.  I also scheduled counseling for some coping tools.)

But I just re-read #1-3 of what I typed - that which I actually said on my date.  And maybe via text - not to the men I didn't expect to see again...BUT TO THE MAN I DEFINITELY WANTED TO SEE A LOT MORE OF.  And I'm now saying... WTF?



I have issues.  I need an intervention.  I must morph into that DC Character, BIZARRO (click here for a reminder) where, when stakes are high, I communicate directly the opposite of what might actually be rolling through my brain requiring a translation.  I loved those episodes of Superman when Bizarro showed up.  Now I understand why.

Wait! It gets better!  If you subscribe to the notion that like attracts like, I may have attracted someone who does the same exact thing in regards to self-sabotage!  Here are a few mines he laid out for me to fall on....

1.  As he chose to extend the first date by an hour or so and talk...He says "I think I'm planning on traveling for an extended period to Europe sometime in the next year or so and maybe live there for a while."   In my mind I said "AWESOME! So why did we make this first date go longer and why does your online profile suggest you are interested in marriage?"  What came out of my mouth was a total support for this plan and suggestions he get a Eurail pass.

2. and 3. and 4 and 5.  all kind of go together and are paraphrased "I'm still wounded from my last long term relationship and am looking for just friendship.  We should go camping sometime. How far do you think we can get if we spend the night together?  I don't have physical relations before marriage. I want to get married sooner not later and you can't move fast enough for me as you are just coming out of your marriage.".

Again, a "WTF" moment in time and space.  With this, I'm like...OK enough confusing messages here that maybe it's just me, my crazy life, and he's obviously not remotely interested in exploring it further.  Or he's suffering from the same plague I have living on the square planet Bizarro occupies.

Either way, this is definitely NOT going to work.  Not at all!

I am learning that for me, I morph onto BIZARRO when I feel most vulnerable.  If one looks at the definition our culture gives to the word VULNERABLE...we associate it with" weak, impotent, open for attack, powerless".  No wonder strong alpha men don't want anything to do with that!

But if we consider the actual root meaning of the word and it's origins in ancient history....it originates from Latin BATTLE language and most closely means "open to attack", "difficult to defend" "bridge".  Even the most highly guarded defendable fortresses in medieval society had to have an entrance for food and survival.  Now this is the kind of vulnerability - just a footbridge toward my heart -  I can live with in search of love.  I imagine when we pick apart the word VULNERABLE in military terms this way, some men would see being vulnerable not as weakness, but a necessary part of the war of finding love as well.

When Bizarro shows up on my dates, that's probably a clue that I really like someone, but also a CUE for me to just STOP talking.  A little silence never hurt anyone.  But ultimately, Bizarro needs to understand that although he means well by protecting my heart, he's no longer invited to the party.

{Other clues I am pushing a man away...talking incessantly about my gluten-intolerance. That should be reserved for my closest friends who already love me unconditionally.}

Ciao!

Derivatives, Barbecue Sauce and Mozzarella

If you come here seeking professional grade photos and a gourmet recipe for pizza bagels you will be severely disappointed and you should seek entertainment elsewhere today.  If we share a dry sense of humor with hidden meanings in things, you might be entertained for a few minutes.

Three years ago, I was approached to contribute for compensation to a magazine based in the Pacific northwest on Dutch oven cooking. I chuckled when I read the invite because it was based on my previous posts on a lazy dutch oven pudding cake and some other open fire pit cooking with cast iron. You would chuckle too,  if you read the posts that elicited the invite. 

"Someone is wiling to pay me for this stuff that I call a coping mechanism?!?! SWEET!! " 

(envision my head tipped back in the kind of deep-belly laughter that makes your face hurt) 

 I would have loved to do it, but they had a problem that I would be a regular contributer to a magazine that championed Pacific Northwest things and I lived in rural Vermont. Also, the photo specs required a camera more sophisticated than my iPhone to conform into their online and hard copy publication. Although a tempting invitation for extra cash to do something really fun - dutch oven open fire pit cooking!! - I didn't want to make the investment in a camera for this purpose at that time. And would they ultimately require me to move to Oregon?

Shortly after this, I was invited to contribute to a popular homeschooling blog. The owner gave me a few parameters and a deadline. I was so excited.  I really let my creativity fly.  The topic was - what led me to homeschool - something I have a lot of passion about. I may or may not have weaved into it an important religious conversion story that is ultimately connected to my decision to home school. Ironically yet predictably, the article was rejected and she wanted me to take another go at it but with "less of me" revealed. After I emerged from the fetal position under the bed sheets, I expressed to my imaginary friend: 

"Wait a cotton-picking second!! She INVITED ME! ~And then rejected me...(sniffle)"

I took a couple days to ponder her offer to rewrite to conform to her reader culture and politely declined. I had spent a career with banks and  Wall Street firms using business writing in boiler-plate form to cover my heiny, the firms' heinies I worked for - always running it by legal before sending. Having just orchestrated for myself a major career change from WallStreet  to midwife to allow more of my natural nurturing self to be expressed than the days when I wore Ann Taylor power suits and heels - I was  not about to conform to anything. It was almost like the universe was testing my resolve to stay the course on finding myself.

This is a time in my life to exercise more of ME.... in every single thing I do. There is no budget for a legal department right now.

Okay, maybe there is a guy in a back office somewhere in the recesses of my brain who looks at things after they're already submitted and makes irrelevant suggestions. He knows he'll be fired if he asserts too much rigidity.  In my imagination, I hired him from Apple, where the culture to innovate and create is based in never letting shame or fear be allowed floor time. 

Somewhere out there exists a publication who is willing to pay money for me to write just as I do because it's a perfect fit for their mission and audience. 

 ...I just realized that all of this is a metaphor for dating and marriage... 

I can read your mind.  WHAT THE BLEEP does any of this have to do with barbecue sauce mozzarella cheese. Absolutely nothing (laughing...)  or I'll let you find the irony and your own deeper meaning in it all.  Hint: always add sugar to your recipes

Enjoy my iPhone photo of my latest kitchen and taste bud obsession: Finding as many ways to pair mozzarella cheese and barbecue sauce as I can. It started as a derivative to pizza bagels. 

Big hit with the little people I cohabitate with. Things I would add to this are sautéed purple onions and chicken pieces soaked in the barbecue sauce. 

Ciao.