Love Don't Come Easy

"It's a game of give and take..." (Dixie Chicks Day 4)

Okay, today I had to work a little for the title.  There were several more depressing takes, notably Hole in My Head, but yesterday I think I might have turned the corner.  True, I was treated to a Starbucks mocha, but I had to share, and, well, when that happens, I usually end up on the losing end of the glass half full debate.

Anyway, lunch rolls around, as usual, I am starving.  This after writing yesterday about getting the munchies a mere two and a half hours after breakfast.  I had no hopes, whatsoever, but after eating my meal of a healthy pita pocket with lean turkey and swiss cheese with more Terra chips (I love Terra chips), I was prepared to crack and make another sandwich when it hit me: I was full.  The concept was so foreign I nearly made the sandwich anyway.

Surprised, but cautiously pessimistic, I waited this whole full thing out.  Oddly enough, dinner rolled around and I had only cracked for one of those individual pop corn bags.  (It wasn't really an individual bag, but I have yet to figure out this microwave.  Thursday, I burned the bag and could eat less than half.  Yesterday, I undercooked half the bag.  I guess it works the same)  Granted, the popcorn is not fat free, but, if you were to do a calorie/fat side by side comparison, I bet you the Big Mac wins every time.

Here's another funny thing.  I went about afternoon/early evening and DID NOT WANT a Big Mac.  (Sorry, that should have been italicized.  Oh my goodness, I spelled that right the first time!  It's the little things that no one else can see that make me smile on a daily basis:) See a smile.)  Anyway, I ate my fat free soup, my organic lettuce salad, and a bread stick (okay, two bread sticks, but with no butter).  And the result?  I was full, again, the second time in two meals on one day.  I was shocked.  I had pulled out fat free instant Jell-O pudding for dessert, still unable to grasp this new concept, when I realized I didn't want it.  I settled for two gingersnaps and a cup of tea.  Wow, the world must really be changing. I don't quite know what to make of it.

So after three days of feeling like I was starving, like my stomach was so desperate it had turned to eating the fat that surrounded it, I can finally say I feel normal again (or as normal as I will ever be).  Who knows if this a permanent or one time thing, though.  I mean, I've got ten days left of this diet.  Just imagine the weight loss...hmm, shame I have no wedding or high school reunion around the corner.  Besides, I swore I'd be out of the country when my high school reunion rolled around.  My exact words?  I would have to be extradited to get me home.  And so the love of my diet (i.e. Terra chips) has not come easy.  I have had to give up daily luxuries like chocolate, peanut butter, and cheddar cheese, but if I can keep on keeping on, I can only see this as a win-win, and, yes, I am aware that in another blog I said win-wins don't exist.  It is called denial, and I accept it.  Anyway, what do I take away from all this?  An appreciation for a healthier diet, I can hope.  However, if I step on a scale at the end of this two week long forced calorie reduction and have not lost more than two pounds, I'll go right out to McDonalds.  Like the song says, it's a game of give and take.

BlytheLea L.E.

So Hard

"It's so hard when it doesn't come easy..." (Dixie Chicks, Day 3)

So, I have to ask, though I am not guaranteed a response, is it normal when going from fast food to health food to want to eat every two to three hours?  I've cracked.  I am now eating a piece of organic whole grain toast.  I had organic raisin bread and yogurt for breakfast.  What will lunch bring?  Relief? I doubt it.

I remember, about four years ago, my oldest friend who was human (most long standing friendships involve horses) was getting married, I went up to Lake Wenatchee for the bachelorette party.  The party itself was pretty tame, if a bit beyond my limited budget.  I spare the reader all of those details.  I could go on for ages, but that is missing the point.  The point was that I had never lived with so many people my own age.  The concept of sharing a bathroom was totally foreign, as was preppy, well, preppiness.  I'll admit, freely, that I was not the most popular girl in school.  I had friends, sort of, and I was okay with that.  The popular crowds let me sit with them, especially if they wanted something, but I was never going to be the Homecoming Queen.  Ach, I'm off topic again.  So many issues, so little time.

The point, stick to the point.  So here it is.  During that weekend trip up to a cabin on the lake, there was predominantly only healthy food available.  Low fat dressings, spaghetti that seemed to largely just be a jar of tomato sauce, and no great dessert.  Heck, I don't even remember dessert.  Breakfast was a single low fat yogurt.  Lunch?  More salad with low fat dressing.  As soon as I got home, I went straight out to a McDonalds and ate a Big Mac.  I could literally feel my deprived stomach happily replenishing any lost fat for that weekend.  I didn't eat a Big Mac again for a month, but I needed it then, and I wouldn't say no to one now.

My hope is that the longer I endure, the less I will crave.  Isn't that how cold turkey works?  But I must be careful.  I must stay strong.  I must drive by the McDonalds on my way to work.  Okay, who am I fooling.  I'm broke.  That money goes to horse food, literally, so I'll settle for the rabbit food, figuratively, that I have here.  After all, just how bad could this be?

BlytheLea L.E.

Am I the Only One

Am I the only one who has felt this way?  I told myself I'd keep with the Dixie Chicks theme. Hey, we safely have day two.

Okay, I'll admit, I tried this morning to sit down and write, but absolutely no topic came to mind.  None. Nada. Rien.  Then, over dinner, it hit me.  I would write about, well, dinner.

Let's be honest, this site is not called Ramblings for nothing.  I'm away from  my horses, the garden has gone into hibernation  and the only other topic I have going is how much I might appreciate applique but still hate bias binding.  Instead, I have another wrinkle to add to the mix.

As I am not with my herd, I am faced with a new diet.  A largely vegetarian and nearly entirely organic and low fat one.  Today was day two and already I have had to forcibly drive past a McDonalds.  I have found myself desperate for something with fat, and had to settle on blue cheese dressing.  That was my vice today.  Oh, and the mocha in the fridge, but that's gotta last at least through the weekend, so it is only in severe moderation.

So, I guess the point of all this is when contemplating a diet, no one ever mentions the cold turkey phase.  The longing, the yearning, for something with too much fat in it.  I long for peanut butter flavored pretzels or salt and vinegar potato chips.  I have, albeit delicious, Terra chips.  I stare at the fridge willing a block of cheddar cheese to appear.  I settle for low fat swiss on a whole grain piece of toast with organic turkey.  Is it good?  Of course it is.  But then comes the late night pangs.  I feel like a drug addict deprived of her hit.  While there might be ginger snaps, and I do love me some ginger snaps, they do not make up for homemade chocolate chip cookies.  When I wake in the morning, I hope the feelings are gone, but they never go far.  I eat yogurt, a piece of toast, and tea.  Heck, that's what i usually eat, but before lunch rolls around, I am dreaming of whipped mashed potatoes and marinated beef or salty french fries.  I have to wonder how long I will think only of what I cannot have.  When will the day come that I can safely get up and look forward to low fat soup and reduced fat chips?  Honestly, I'm hoping sooner rather than later.  This is my first shot at breaking a habit of this magnitude.  I'd be too terrified to ask anyone who might know better. The answer would probably just depress me.  In the mean time, I'll take a forbidden sip of Starbucks and close my eyes, dreaming of Barcelona.

Ah, Barcelona. Even when I eat donuts with my coffee, I dream of you and your delicious pain au chocolate.  Waking, sleeping, I dream of that perfect delicacy.  Oh, and the city too.  Right, nearly forgot about that.  So in my misery, I'll think of coffee and pastries in the Gothic Quarter and dream of the day I can afford to go back.  Maybe then I'll finally have moved on from my other food longings.  Then again, maybe not.

Rambling on,

BlytheLea L.E.

Long Time Gone

I'll admit, I like the Dixie Chicks.  That might have just weeded out any possible reader who happened to stumble upon this blog.  Rest assured, I won't be blogging about them.  It just seemed appropriate to have a shout out with the title and everything.  Anyway, moving on...

I love fall, the weather turns crisp here in Eastern Washington, the leaves start to change color, the garden finally bears fruit, and the horses become woolly.  Just as I can't think of a single thing to detract from the beauty, the weather comes and says hello.  First there was the massive northern wind that killed my poor corn, then there was the deluge of rain (by our standards, which would not hold a candle to Marion, Alabama or Rochester, Washington rain), capped off by that beastly southwestern wind that stripped the trees of their beautiful leaves.  Say hello to winter.

Still, I love October for more than just the leaves.  I love Halloween.  Forget Christmas, and I literally have. (Working for a retail oriented delivery company over the course of four peak seasons made me selectively forget everything from Thanksgiving to New Years all four years).  Halloween is the time of year where we can afford not to take ourselves too seriously.  Okay, maybe I never do, or at least I try not to, but what other holiday lets even the grown ups play dress up and ask for candy?  If you came up with something, chances are its far dirtier than anyone but yourself wants to hear, so do us all a favor and keep it to yourself.  Thank you.  Also being a life long black cat owner, I love that every one of them has thought the holiday was theirs.  Well, and who am I to say no?

So, was there a point?  No, that's why this blog is called Ramblings.  Its what we do.  We like to ramble, and maybe, just maybe, we'll find someone to ramble along with us.  Randomness is always appreciated, and oddities appreciate company just as much, if not more so, than misery.  Keep on keeping on.  We'll keep rambling on.


BlytheLea

In this blistering heat, there isn't much to tell about the garden.  Weeds in some places are being mowed rather than pulled to simply survive to do battle when the heat wave breaks.  Articles all across the internet detail how the heat and drought are ravaging the farms across the country.  The wonderful advantage of living in Washington is that while on the eastern side we might not see an abundance of rain, we do have quite a few rivers.  In Prosser, we operate off the Yakima, in Burbank, the Snake, and farms up and down the state draw off of the might Columbia.  When people talk about alternative energy to coal and gas, I have to shake my head.  Most of my life has been spent on water power from dams.  I have heard about the plight of salmon, but not that of the pollution of "clean coal".  Instead, these rivers that never cease to flow, keep us here in Washington going even while others falter.  I have to count my blessings to be so lucky.  Our garden is thriving, even if a few plants have taken a need to be watered twice a day.  The corn, the crop of the Midwest, here is thrilled to be baking.  It helps differentiate between the plant we want and the weeds around it.  The weather people promise a break, but that hasn't been coming.  When it does, maybe I'll be back out there battling weeds with something other than a lawn mower.  Until then, weeds remain the enemy, but I'll wait to fight another day.

Been a crazy busy couple of days, so other than bemoaning weeds, there is nothing more on the farm or sewing front.  I really need to buckle down and get to designing clothes for Rambo.  Don't ask.  However, I'm running around this week, cleaning stalls here and teaching lessons over there.  When that settles, I can finally sit down with some fabric and my sewing machine. 

Speaking of teaching lessons, and this blog is called Ramblings for a reason, let me just say that "lesson moms" are far worse than hockey or soccer moms.  There is a rule at most horse shows that mothers and coaches cannot coach from the rail.  This rule exists for a reason, but it doesn't stop some mothers from coaching during lessons.  Memorably, last week I met the worst of the worst.  There comes a time in every person's life that they want to say something but cannot pull their jaw from the ground.  That was last week for me.  Please, "lesson moms", if you're going to all the effort to bring your kid to a lesson, let the instructor teach.  If not, then get a horse of your own and save us all a lot of heartache.

Sorry for the detour, readers, but if you have any similar stories, feel free to share. Misery loves company, and I have to prepare for battle with the same "lesson mom" again.  Wish me luck, regardless.

BlytheLea L.E.

Just a sec

Rough week for getting the blogging done.  Have been training my own horses, teaching lessons, setting up house sitting, and sewing in the few minutes of free time.  Have to hurry back to all the things piling up, our irrigation is clogged, again, and the pastures need water, but a quick note about the sewing before I go.

Sometimes an idea just takes hold and won't let go, no matter how difficult or trying.  That was Wintersong, my latest creation.  He is an adorable dragon, but the pattern took a week to think through, and a day and a half of sewing to put together just right.  Finally, though, I can go back outside to work on what needs to be done here with a lighter heart.  I have finally finished something!

More later, I promise.

BlytheLea L.E.

Back in the Saddle, sort of

So sorry to have missed out on the blogging world for a few days, but anyone who has ever had horses knows that for all the wonderful things they bring us, they can also put us in bed for days to weeks on end. 

In the grand scheme of accepted superstitions, injuries always happen in 3's.  This year, said injuries have all involved my horses and my back.  First, my injured Thoroughbred (who thoughtfully bowed her tendon Christmas morning), Wish, ran me over and cracked my neck into my spine.  Laid up: 6 weeks. Secondly, I crashed and burned in a 3'6" jump combination on my younger Thoroughbred, Myth.  Laid up: 6 weeks.  Then, just this week, the Standardbred we loving call Bucky Bo clipped my back while trying to get a fly.  Don't ask for details, please.  As it is, well, that's another injury, in yet another part of my back.  This time, though, the recovery time will be shorter.  I'm already considering getting back in the saddle.  It'll hurt, but so far this year, I don't think I've had a day that hasn't.

My family, when this sort of thing happens, tries, in varying degrees of seriousness, to convince me out of riding.  My parents know better, but it doesn't stop from the half hearted try.  I know the sport I have chosen is a dangerous one, but with my track record, I literally have been hurt getting out of bed in the morning.  Better to stick with the devil you know, or something like that.

Where does this put the farm?  Well, luckily, short of a few more weeds, we're at a stage of rest that leaves us time to recover, me in particular.  But, as BlytheLea is about more than just gardening, we are also about sewing and riding, well, I guess everything's going to be on hold for a few days more.

I planned on sharing a photo or two to introduce the culprits, but sometimes my phone just refuses to cooperate about much of anything.  Will have to make sure that is included in a later post. 

BlythLea L.E. rambles on home