So, y'all know how I feel about my beloved veganism (I love you veganism), but recently I've had to come to terms with the fact that I could EASILY become a junk food vegan. I know me well and I know that I could/would/will turn my enthusiasm for all the new glorious vegan choices into a sly excuse to oink out on some processed, albeit vegan, foods. I'm realizing that when I'm saying, "I can't believe this is vegan!" that this may not be a good thing. I've never been a fan of soy "chicken" or "tu-no" or seitan "shrimp" -- barf!-- (though Soyrizo is crazy good), but if the word "cookie" follows the word "vegan", I am ALL-OVER-IT.
When I worked at Mothers, I boasted to employees and customers alike that I was the Company Vegan Cookie Connoisseur, and I could recommend a cookie -- and eventually a nutritional bar -- like a good sommelier. I would confidently approach a confused customer who was scanning the organic chocolate aisle and after asking a few qualifying questions, I would break open bars to sample. They would leave with a new item that they loved. I continued my research and I was set on eating my way through every packaged vegan item sold at Mothers. Good for me.
THE POINT IS, just because it says vegan, it doesn't mean it's ok for me to eat an entire delicious Fabes blueberry pie - regularly. Why? Uh . . . wait, I know this . . .I'd like to pretend that vegetable shortening is doing me some good, but come on. I decided that 2006 would be the year I get back to basics, get together more with my good friends, Fruit and Vegetable. Ever since I went to San Francisco and experienced the eye-opening raw-food extravaganza, I've had a crush on the Raw Lifestyle. And since then, I've been reading about and I've been flirting with the idea. A couple of weeks ago after some research and soul searching, I dove into a Raw Until Dinner regime. I eat fruit and fresh juice until noon and raw veggies and other raw shit ("crackers" and nuts and avocados, raw bars even) until dinner. I was terrified to give up a hearty breakfast. But when Santa surprised me a juicer (he was thanked handsomely for that stunt!) and when I just dove in and went for it, I realized it ain't that hard! I was kind of shocked by this. So, I'm digging this decision like you can't even imagine. You know that Rebirth Post? It was written during one of my many fits of euphoria I've experienced since getting raw. I mean, I felt good as a vegan, but it's a little ridiculous to feel THIS good.
However, speaking of raw, my mother is coming to visit us tomorrow. We see each other about once a year, maybe every year and a half. And I always get very nervous before she comes. It usually all turns out fine and we have a good time because she’s interesting, artsy and hip. . While she's here, Husband notes, I'm cordially tense, not quite myself. I am polite and accommodating. I do my best to be a good hostess and I run around nervously getting her whatever she wants when all I want is for the weekend to be over so I can relax. She's very nice too, now. But there is a synapse missing between us. We relate, but we are on different continents. Our misfitting is not generational, it's emotional and historical. I keep her at bay with my hospitality. I had written more, but then deleted it because I’m not quite ready to betray her troubles, more than I already have I suppose. Or, really, I’m not ready to expose the one big issue that I can’t seem to make peace with yet. I brilliantly planned her trip around a tattoo convention - she likes tattoos too-- so we can mainly talk about that, and we can people watch or even spend time under the needle. She’ll like to hear about my raw experiment and she’ll like the juice I make, I’m pretty sure. I’m just nervous. It will be ok.
Happy Birthday, Streetsblog Los Angeles
13 hours ago