Stealth Salad: Operation Purple Smoothie

You know where I stand on salads. Love, hate--the line can be very fine. And eating spinach on its own? There's no love here. It's a texture thing, the way it feels between the ol' molars. It's a little squeaky. Anyway, at my sister Jennifer's recommendation, I am getting my squeakier greens disguised with berry and banana goodness in a "green" smoothie (but berries make it a much more palatable purple).

Here's where I got my directions:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eXr8-jru1KE

I just tried a similar version, in my standard, non-fancy blender, with the following basic recipe:

2 C. Cold Water
5 Collard Leaves (I used the ones growing in my mini-garden in the backyard)
Organic Baby Spinach (fill blender up to top with this)

Whirl on "Puree" setting until all leaves are annihilated. Color will be an alarming shade of green--the exact color of your fresh lawn clippings, in fact.

Add:
1 Banana,
1 C. Yogurt (optional)
2 C. Frozen Berries (I used the tri-berry mix from Costco)
More Spinach--IF you dare!
1/2 tsp. powdered Stevia (optional)

Whirl again until all objects are obliterated into a deep purple.

Other ingredients to add to your smoothies:
Kale
Apples, cored and sliced

I tried it, preparing my tastebuds for the worst, and was shocked to my very toes that it didn't taste at all like berry-flavored lawn. I sampled some more to make sure I wasn't crazy, wrote this down immediately because I was so excited, and slurped down the rest of it.

Another exciting way to clear my dietary conscience. Those brownies sitting on my counter will soon be a mere memory.

Brownies? What? I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about.

(Shifty eyes while discreetly raking crumbs from keyboard).

Biking in DC

We went to visit David's sister Debbie and her husband Greg in Washington DC a couple of weeks ago. One morning we had an opportunity to bike some of the usual tourist destinations near the Mall, and in the afternoon biked the beautiful Mt. Vernon trailway with some friends.

Ridin' on the Metro, with Debbie's Schwinn cruiser.

Thanks for the hydration packs, Momma Sue!

In the afternoon I had my first real bike wreck (anything without blood really doesn't count). About halfway through the ride, just a half mile from the turnaround point at Mount Vernon, I let my front tire get off the asphalt ledge into gravel. Of course overcorrection ensued on the wet path, and my left elbow, hip, and knee pitched in to help me out with the forward momentum problem I seemed to be having as I crashed.

Thanks, Knee!

Thanks, Elbow!

Little accidents like this really make you appreciate your skin layers protecting your nerves from the pain of water and air. I hope there was at least spectacular flailing and artistic color for the four people riding right behind me (slowest person typically sets pace). The only thing better than a bike wreck is for there to be lots of witnesses. Awesome.

Audience Members: Justin, Alisha, Ryan
(Who, incidentally, could all probably crush me like a bug with one of their calf muscles. Fortunately though, all very nice people).

The Baring Of One's Soul: (On Writing)

Writing can be a very public activity. Even the act of writing something down privately means that you realize that someday someone else might read it. I could be flattened by a truck tomorrow, and then some unfortunate soul would have to go through my things: my letters, my writing folders, my prayer notebooks. As a writer with a chronic editing complex, I have always at some level been aware of this and write my first drafts for the possibility of an audience other than the one originally intended.

The written word is a powerful thing, telling unauthorized tales between the lines, and has even more value when we have something to lose. In this very blog, I write more humor posts than anything, but I have very little to lose in doing so. Oh, sure, I may lose some dignity in my self-deprecation, but it shouldn't cause any permanent damage. But to write about the deep things which give me pause or pangs? Offering these up for public consumption is cause for greater anxiety and is much more difficult. Greater depth in subject dictates greater agony in revision as well. Conveying the nuance becomes more important as a writer becomes emotionally invested and desires a response in the life of someone else; the reader.

I had a great creative writing teacher, Dr. Randy Prus, who used to tell us that sentimentality was like a dog returning to its own vomit. I love this simile because it helps me stem the tide of pathos somewhat, and at the very least to keep it a little more real. There is certainly a place for sentiment, but in proportion. I don’t do syrupy.

Themes of so many works of fiction and works of life are the search for fulfillment, love, happiness. These seem to be the mirage in the distance for so many--searching everywhere to fill the void within us. Haven't we all been lost there at some point? Replacing the emptiness with whatever can make us forget for a time: food, entertainments, addictions, sarcasm, competition, consumption. Distractions. But the best times in my own life have never been related to things or objects or entertainments. They have been lit by the glow of happiness I felt when I was with those that loved me, and those whom I loved in return. They are my life.

And the writing. I've always thought it was much easier for me personally to write in the face of difficulty than in happiness. Turmoil is much easier to explore without sounding clichéd than joy (again, the sentiment). I wonder why that is? I'm saddened to think that humans relate to pain & suffering more than happiness--is it because we are accustomed to having the other shoe drop? Because we have empathy or compassion which has developed over the years as we also have hurt, have felt alone, and have cried ourselves to sleep with the pain of living?

When my heart is heavy, I think that I cannot make it relive all those hard times just for the sake of writing something meaningful. But I realize that those times are part of me. As much or more so than the good. The trials and sore heart is where the shape of my character has mostly been carved. So do they make me bitter? Do they make me sad? Do they make me strong? Do they make me judgmental? Do they make me compassionate? Yes, all. And I have to choose to overcome that which needs overcoming; to try and make sense of the imperfection that I am; to seek contentment in those aspects of my life I cannot change, while working to identify and correct the variables. All of this informs the writing which is the most difficult but most necessary to share. I’ll try to be brave enough to give you my best along the way.

Off the Wagon

I'm back from a twelve-day trip from Dallas to Kentucky, D.C., Tennessee, and back to Kentucky. I had a wonderful time, but I'm very glad to be home! I will be posting at some point on some of the adventures there, if I can squeeze some creativity from my brain. Nice visual, eh?