Test Your Diet with Pee and Purple Cabbage

Just had to share the latest from my nutrition guru, Dr. Michael Greger.  Watch all the way to the end for a legitimate reason for kids to play with their pee.

Sinking into the Day

handmade greeting cards, collage art, RumiLost Days.  Bad Days.  I used to have all kinds of names for days like today.  Symptomatic.  Hard.  Dead.

It’s a day when all plans and lists get set aside, all hopes for how the day might be spent suspended.  It’s a day when the rapid cycling pulls me under into the darker waters.  Drowning can occur.

But not today.

Today, as I schlumped home from the Y, brain fog closed off any line of sight to the shoreline.  I was left adrift with the nattering and fussing it grinds out on days like today.  The fibromyalgia that comes with depression deposited rusty spurs in every joint.  I could hear my muscles creaking.

Okay, my brighter mind conceded, let’s just sink into the day.

At home, I ate breakfast, watched an episode of Fringe, took Advil, then went to bed.  If I’m exhausted and aching, this part of my mind reasoned, then rest.  I slept for hours—deep sleep punctuated by cats.    Up in the early afternoon, I set about making soup with whatever I had left in my pantry and fridge—a little of Bob’s Red Mill Whole Grains and Beans Soup Mix, a can of corn, two little sweet potatoes, garlic, and half a bag of spinach.  I didn’t have any vegetable broth left, so surrendered my vegan status for the day and threw in a couple of chicken bouillon cubes.  Parsley, Garam Marsala, salt and pepper rounded it out.

While  my soup simmered, I spent the afternoon on Pinterest, looking at dreamy and beautiful images.  I went to the pinners I follow who gather their boards together with style and grace, then wandered off to experience some of their favorites.   Sinking into the beauty, sinking into the art, I let the images and words hold me like a raft on the dark waters.  I brought a bowl of soup back to my computer and sank deeper into the rhythm of the gentle pictures and soft colors, spooning a bite of sweet potato, a mingling of spice and savory.

Now, the day is almost done.  Henry is buzzing his little cat-snores behind me in the big chair.  The sun comes through the western windows, throwing squares of light on the floor for Emmet’s bath.  It’s quiet here.  No drowning.  Just sinking into what the day brought and resting there.

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