Working Things Out

I wander around all day muttering to myself. Thoughts come to me about something to write but in the midst of my labors I can only hope at day's end that I will remember some of them. To remedy this, I repeat the thought over and over, hoping for the chance to write it down. The reality is that I mutter the same thought for long intervals, end up not writing it down, not attending to my task at hand, and having the same thought all day! I lost a few good thoughts, today, perhaps they will find me again, someday.

I am breaking one of my big diet rules. Yes, I have diet rules for myself. Admittedly, being American, rules are made to be broken, but these general guidelines keep me healthy, not that I am a paragon of health, but I did get pretty chunky in my twenties. My college roommate, herself fit and healthy, suggested we try the raw food diet. Raw broccoli and raw mushrooms still make me gag. I became a believer in eating real food and real fat. The basics are- eat three meals a day- the more of them you cook, the better; eat treats only you or someone else make by hand- no processed food; drink water with each meal, and, the rule I violate the most except when stressed, stop when you feel full- do not clean your plate- which is not a problem in Japan, only in America. Halloween is killing me as I have been munching on (processed) Reese's peanut butter pumpkins and mini Baby Ruth bars that are meant for treat bags. My guts are screaming for mercy, but I can't stop myself. There is an addictive chemical in them. Seriously, the impact they are having on my insides is remarkable. It's like that scene in Supersize Me when he eats all the McDonald's food and then that night his body feels like it is undergoing a metamorphosis from health to illness- he can't breathe and he feels weird. Processed food is bad, my body which has been free of junk for a long time is gurgling so loudly that  you could hear it if you were in the room with me, across the table.

While whining about my processed candy diet was not on my inner tape loop today, I have forgotten what was. I spray painted pinatas, contemplated kitchen plans, worked on the cookbook which makes me batty because the software is sooo slow, went to piano lessons with the munsters, stir fried chicken and beans with tobanjan for dinner- that stuff is amazingly spicy, and I did six loads of laundry as I had to wash the munsters's bedding while the weather was fair- takes flannel forever to dry otherwise- which did make me think of the bug we have for a pet.

The bug house sits on my son's dresser so I pass by it daily. The bug never comes out in the light though so I have no worry of seeing it. My husband and my children who have a greater interest in the bug have reported that it is getting really fat, pray for me- that there are no babies coming. The bug is nocturnal. My husband often comes in late so he checks on the bug when he goes into kiss the munsters (they share a room). The Mule reports that her dad sprays the cage, to keep it moist, every night. He has his rituals, and I have mine. I never look in the bug house. So while I was stripping and later making the beds, I thought about the bug- Is it a happy bug? Is it house proud (like the Edward Gorey bugs in the story)? Will it have babies?

When I met the Moose to go to the piano sensei's house, he appeared uncomfortable and wouldn't look at me directly. When I inquired, he said, "I don't want to talk about it." I stopped on the sidewalk and got down on his level and said, "I'm your mama, it's ok to tell your mama if you want to." He responded, "You look different today." I laughed because my whiley hair was all poofed up in a barrette that I haven't worn in a very long time. I told him, "You know mama's hair!" Dada always jokes about it being an indicator of the weather, the humidity, my stress level, etc. "Today the weather is fine so my hair is different!" He laughed because he recognized the truth in what I said. At bedtime tonight, he was stewing about Alice in Wonderland, the movie- it gives him the creeps, "I can't stop thinking about it" he said. He watched it in August. I read a chapter from the Little House on the Prairie series. He went to sleep.

My husband told me a story about a little girl playing with toys. He asked her, "Where is the daddy?" She said, "He's dead." He asked, "How do the brother and the sister feel about that?" "They're ok," she said playing with the toys. He asked, "How does the mommy feel about it?" She replied, "She's ok, she killed him. She ran him over with the car." Her parents are getting a divorce. He said this is not uncommon for kids to work things out like this.

I guess we all work things out in our own ways even as grown ups.

I wander around all day muttering to myself. Thoughts come to me about something to write but in the midst of my labors I can only hope at day's end that I will remember some of them. To remedy this, I repeat the thought over and over, hoping for the chance to write it down. The reality is that I mutter the same thought for long intervals, end up not writing it down, not attending to my task at hand, and having the same thought all day! I lost a few good thoughts, today, perhaps they will find me again, someday.

I am breaking one of my big diet rules. Yes, I have diet rules for myself. Admittedly, being American, rules are made to be broken, but these general guidelines keep me healthy, not that I am a paragon of health, but I did get pretty chunky in my twenties. My college roommate, herself fit and healthy, suggested we try the raw food diet. Raw broccoli and raw mushrooms still make me gag. I became a believer in eating real food and real fat. The basics are- eat three meals a day- the more of them you cook, the better; eat treats only you or someone else make by hand- no processed food; drink water with each meal, and, the rule I violate the most except when stressed, stop when you feel full- do not clean your plate- which is not a problem in Japan, only in America. Halloween is killing me as I have been munching on (processed) Reese's peanut butter pumpkins and mini Baby Ruth bars that are meant for treat bags. My guts are screaming for mercy, but I can't stop myself. There is an addictive chemical in them. Seriously, the impact they are having on my insides is remarkable. It's like that scene in Supersize Me when he eats all the McDonald's food and then that night his body feels like it is undergoing a metamorphosis from health to illness- he can't breathe and he feels weird. Processed food is bad, my body which has been free of junk for a long time is gurgling so loudly that  you could hear it if you were in the room with me, across the table.

While whining about my processed candy diet was not on my inner tape loop today, I have forgotten what was. I spray painted pinatas, contemplated kitchen plans, worked on the cookbook which makes me batty because the software is sooo slow, went to piano lessons with the munsters, stir fried chicken and beans with tobanjan for dinner- that stuff is amazingly spicy, and I did six loads of laundry as I had to wash the munsters's bedding while the weather was fair- takes flannel forever to dry otherwise- which did make me think of the bug we have for a pet.

The bug house sits on my son's dresser so I pass by it daily. The bug never comes out in the light though so I have no worry of seeing it. My husband and my children who have a greater interest in the bug have reported that it is getting really fat, pray for me- that there are no babies coming. The bug is nocturnal. My husband often comes in late so he checks on the bug when he goes into kiss the munsters (they share a room). The Mule reports that her dad sprays the cage, to keep it moist, every night. He has his rituals, and I have mine. I never look in the bug house. So while I was stripping and later making the beds, I thought about the bug- Is it a happy bug? Is it house proud (like the Edward Gorey bugs in the story)? Will it have babies?

When I met the Moose to go to the piano sensei's house, he appeared uncomfortable and wouldn't look at me directly. When I inquired, he said, "I don't want to talk about it." I stopped on the sidewalk and got down on his level and said, "I'm your mama, it's ok to tell your mama if you want to." He responded, "You look different today." I laughed because my whiley hair was all poofed up in a barrette that I haven't worn in a very long time. I told him, "You know mama's hair!" Dada always jokes about it being an indicator of the weather, the humidity, my stress level, etc. "Today the weather is fine so my hair is different!" He laughed because he recognized the truth in what I said. At bedtime tonight, he was stewing about Alice in Wonderland, the movie- it gives him the creeps, "I can't stop thinking about it" he said. He watched it in August. I read a chapter from the Little House on the Prairie series. He went to sleep.

My husband told me a story about a little girl playing with toys. He asked her, "Where is the daddy?" She said, "He's dead." He asked, "How do the brother and the sister feel about that?" "They're ok," she said playing with the toys. He asked, "How does the mommy feel about it?" She replied, "She's ok, she killed him. She ran him over with the car." Her parents are getting a divorce. He said this is not uncommon for kids to work things out like this.

I guess we all work things out in our own ways even as grown ups.