Whole30 food : : 13

As this heinously hot weather continues (and I am so very grateful to have air conditioners and electricity and money) and our kitchen declutter drags on (I urged Cap to get a start on the bedroom and he is making good progress in there...though the dust is getting all up into our systems), I am not doing much cooking.  (Pretty much nothing stops the husband so the kids are eating delicious warm food.)

I woke tired and stiff and a bit sore again.  My stomach felt a bit sour.  Depleted.  Another night on the pull-out in the living room, another night of air conditioned air, another night of going to bed later than I wanted...it all intersects and means something.

No Qigong, but I did enjoy some kitchen time with the kids.  Made Sag a gluten-free cheese quesadilla (he has been loving these lately) and guided Gem through reheating leftover gluten-free tortillas from last night's dinner.  (We remain microwave-free...for now.)

After unloading the dishwasher and refilling water glasses and uncorking a new bottle of Sag's "herby ballies", I cast about for some breakfast.  I'd already enjoyed a new pickle (replenished my supply at the farmer's market yesterday) and a couple of dried figs.  It was time for protein.

Roast beef and guacamole wraps.  The roast beef is Whole Paycheck's in-house (beef, salt, pepper), the guacamole is also WP's in-house (Whole30 safe) and the lettuce is Forellenschluss from Starbrite (our CSA farm).

As I tucked into my pillowy "sandwiches", I noticed just how much I didn't miss not only bread, but the brown rice tortillas I had grown so fond of before starting the Whole30.  Those tortillas definitely kept me off the grain-free wagon once I started eating them (rationalizing they were a significantly lesser evil being gluten-free).

Nearly halfway through the Whole30, I can taste and feel and understand how my taste buds have adjusted.  And how that has shifted my chemicals/brain/neurology.  The concept of "it starts with food" makes sense here.  

Points of inquiry over the next months: 

• what pushes me off the wagon?

• will there forever be a wagon for me?

• what can drive me right back on the wagon after falling off?

: :     : :     : : 

The bedroom is undergoing some transformation.  We don't have much wiggle room because the bed is ginormous.  (We all love the cherry wood framed king-sized futon.  On the day Gem was born, my maternal grandmother died.  Of the many gifts she gave us, one was a tidy sum which covered the cost of purchasing our family bed.)

Last night I was struggling a tiny bit that I was losing "space" in the room.  I found myself jockeying for this corner or that shelf.  I was trying not to be too aghast that our "sides of the bed" were being switched.  (But, that's "my" window!)

This morning I nearly laughed out loud with the irony.  Here I am decluttering my/our stuff with such determination, and yet, there I was attempting to "hold on" to an unnameable yet fairly desperate sense of loss.

Don't get me wrong, I uphold Virginia Woolf's ideal of "A Room of One's Own".  In the situation I am in now, though, I am striving to create and strengthen my virtual, personal space, while compacting my physical one.

Peace and love.