Did the summer FLY by? Now, I realize that it is still the beginning of August, but I have half my body mentally out the door of summer. August, for me, means gearing up for School.
Usually, the first Sunday paper adverts containing back to school stuff start appearing mid-July. Bastards. Our neighbor children are still shooting off fireworks on a nightly basis how can they even fathom purchasing the big box of Crayolas or pencil boxes??? (Newsflash: The Surfers are being evicted!!! Sweet. More on that in a later post....)
August, despite the heat and humidity, is a good month. Not my fave, but up there. (I don't know if I have a fave.) Anyway, the garden, begun a couple months ago, is beginning to come to fruition. Literally. I actually made and froze pesto a couple weeks ago with half my basil crop. That was a proud moment. Usually, it goes to seed and I haven't followed through with my big plans. Not this year, dammit.
So...There...Then...Girl: 1, Garden Procrastination: 0.
Yay me.
The tomatoes are in and beginning to ripen:
This year, as last year, I have a variety called Druzhba. Yep. It is a Bulgarian heirloom variety. I heart it; I spent 2 years in the Peace Corps there and it reminds me of my former home. I used to hate tomatoes. HATE them. (I would still eat ketchup and salsa, but plain RAW tomatoes? Barf. ---Side note---I love the word "Barf". The "Buh" with the "Are" ending nicely and conclusively with the "Fuh". One clear syllable.) Turns out, if you eat produce that has been allowed to ripen naturally, it makes a friggin' difference. Not any of those pink, mealy tomatoes of Minnesota groceries in the winter trucked in from who knows where. The tomatoes in Bulgaria converted me. It was like, "SER-iously??? I like tomatoes now??"
I now grow them in my own garden. If you would have told 13 year old me THAT, she would have rolled her 'Tweener eyes, sighed dramatically and with the condescension only a 13 year old can perfect, "Yeah. Riiiight. WhatEVER. (Silently, in her head, "I hate you. And tomatoes.")" Those of you that deal with 13 year olds know of what I speak. Or...if you knew 13 year old me.
I also have Bulgarian peppers, simply called Chushka. Which is just "Pepper" in Bulgarian. If I remember correctly, Druzhba means friendship, but I can't be certain.
I am really doing well with this whole healthy living thing. I went for a walk with my mom this morning where we usually go. It is a four season landscaping research area; I really have enjoyed going at various times during the year to see the different seasons in action. We HAVE gone in the winter. Once, I think. It was late winter and a "nice" day, maybe just above freezing.....What??? That counts. While I have been doing great moving by walking everyday and doing good food-choice-wise, I fear myself.
See, this is where I am in my Militant Freakshow Wannabe stage. I am full steam ahead with new lifestyle, new choices, new motivation. I fear that it won't last. But, really..........that's just stupid. Part of the reasoning in creating this blog is to acknowledge these fears, put them out there in the Interweb-o-sphere and then laugh at them. Scoff in their face, if you will. I would never spit at them, though. That's gross. Barf.
I fear that it won't last because history has shown that So...There...Then Gal always starts out like this and then gets bored, frustrated, crabby, restricted-feeling, lazy...you pick one....and then melts back into old habits of excuses and patterns.
Then, I start getting mad, disappointed, frustrating with myself for having failed again at losing weight and sticking to it. (For those of you that have struggled with weight or something similar, you know of what I speak, yes?) Then it all goes to s*** and I eat a suitcase because it doesn't matter anymore and I have given up already.
I have matured to a point in this struggle that I know that the "fear it won't last" is pretty spot on about me......but also, at the same time, pretty ridiculous. The fear is not coming from something imposed from the outside, it is all me. Duh. I can chose to, or not to, do something. No one is barring my way from walking, no one is somehow opening my mouth and making me ingest a morsel of food. It is a decision to be made in the moment. If I do "screw up", then I get back on track and move on. A screw up is put in quotes because it is only a screw up if I eat a suitcase's worth of food as a result.
It is not a "screw up" if I acknowledge it, make the decision to NOT eat a suitcase, enjoy whatever it is that I decided to eat or do instead of exercise. Then, in the next day's moment, maybe I walk an extra 20 minutes or eat a salad to compensate for the previous day's decision.
It isn't rocket science here, people. (Insert eyeroll/dramatique sigh combo here.)
So. There. Then.
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