In which I skip out on Instagram and Facebook for the month of March but still allow myself the internet.
Good morning. Indeed.
Yeah, I made gluten-free Pop-tarts today.
Two fillings – blackberry and chocolate – largely due to poor filling planning and my belief that they probably wouldn’t work so why bother making/procuring something special. #ohmeoflittlefaith
I used this recipe for gluten-free Pop-tarts, only with my gluten-free flour blend, and I frosted both flavors with a simple icing made with milk, powdered sugar, and vanilla bean paste. I also made them 3″ x 4″, because who eats a Pop-tart that is 2″ wide? #noone
I won’t say they were perfect, but they were pretty freaking delicious. Next time I will maybe chill the dough, but it’s not strictly necessary.
In which I skip out on Instagram and Facebook for the month of March but still allow myself the internet.
There is no caption to adequately describe this. Please just watch.
Today’s post is not a happy one, brought to you as it is by the horrific history of American slavery and the manner in which we continue to perpetuate racism in this country.
Spoiler alert: If you are a white friend of mine, you may be getting one or both of these in the mail in the near future. I know reading actual books is unfashionable, and if you get the latter book you might feel defensive or insulted. It will be ok. Please read it anyway.
In one of this morning’s essays, Ross Gay talks about the genesis of the phrase “hole in the head,” and then tells the story of Vertus Hardiman, a man who, at age five, was experimented on with radiation.
Because here in the U.S., we experiment on black children. We enslave whole generations of people, break up their families, and blame them for the racist structure of the country.
We experiment on black children. I cannot put into words the grief I feel over this.
And then there is this:
Sorrow Is Not My Name By Ross Gay —after Gwendolyn Brooks
No matter the pull toward brink. No
matter the florid, deep sleep awaits.
There is a time for everything. Look,
just this morning a vulture
nodded his red, grizzled head at me,
and I looked at him, admiring
the sickle of his beak.
Then the wind kicked up, and,
after arranging that good suit of feathers
he up and took off.
Just like that. And to boot,
there are, on this planet alone, something like two
million naturally occurring sweet things,
some with names so generous as to kick
the steel from my knees: agave, persimmon,
stick ball, the purple okra I bought for two bucks
at the market. Think of that. The long night,
the skeleton in the mirror, the man behind me
on the bus taking notes, yeah, yeah.
But look; my niece is running through a field
calling my name. My neighbor sings like an angel
and at the end of my block is a basketball court.
I remember. My color’s green. I’m spring.
If you share nothing else that I write, if you comment on nothing or barely pass by the words that I put down, if you cannot even be bothered to click the little “thumbs up” on your Facebook page, please share this post. I don’t care on what channels you share it, I don’t care what caption you place on it or if you are horrified and disgusted that I would post this and want to write about how awful I am.
In which I skip out on Instagram and Facebook for the month of March but still allow myself the internet.
Just one hour in: onion, garlic, tomatoes, S&P. Sunday gravy.
Day 3: I need to test out a few recipes for a painting retreat I am cooking for in June, and a chilly day when more snow is in the forecast is as good a day as any.
Today is Sunday gravy with vegetarian meatballs (quinoa and cauliflower).
First I make Mark Bittman’s quick and easy waffles (literally the best ever, only I use my gluten-free flour blend and don’t warm up the waffle iron until the batter is mixed. This gives the batter some time to consider its thoughts and results in light, crispy waffles. Today I also used plain kefir and heavy cream, plus a little extra milk. The recipe is super forgiving. Give it a try) and eat the first two off the iron with Archer Farms maple syrup.
Pro tip: Khristian’s uncle Joe worked in the maple syrup industry in Vermont for his whole life and told us that Target’s maple syrup is the highest quality out there. This is NOT a sponsored post. I don’t do those. Just a PSA for the three people who routinely read this blog.
While I am cooking the remaining waffles, I chop onion and garlic and sweat those in olive oil before adding six cans of diced tomatoes. This will cook until it’s ready. Meatballs were made a month ago and have been frozen. When it’s time, they will finish cooking in the gravy, and I will serve them over penne, because that’s what Khristian prefers, and he’s my guinea pig today.
The house is warm and delicious-smelling, and my mind feels uncluttered by electronic noise. Again, I feel like this might be the honeymoon period, but I feel lighter. If this continues, I may make it permanent.
As ever, comment below if you want to talk. And thanks for following along. <3
In which I skip out on Instagram and Facebook for the month of March but still allow myself the internet.
Dy 2: Woke up at 4 a.m. to the intermittent chirp of a smoke detector about to shit the bed.
I am sensing a trend in this early rising. Goes hand in hand with the early eating from Day 1. Which was not necessarily bad, except I got really hungry around nine and ate a hunk of cheese and a gluten-free ciabatta. I could have eaten several ciabatta but did not because #restraint.
I have a hard time going back to sleep, even with earplugs in, a pillow over my head, and two doors between me and the noise (in The Child’s room, BTW, and she doesn’t stir at all).
I am sure as this month wears on I will alternate between longing for social media and realizing I am well shut of it, but when I wake up for good this morning, in the rainy quiet, with the cat purring on my chest and me reading out loud to him the first essay from The Book of Delights instead of automatically checking Instagram, I don’t feel the lack.
I get to yoga earlier than usual. Class is lovely, as it always is when my beautiful students show up to share their practices with me.
Later in the day I listen to other people’s children play their cello pieces, a surprisingly lovely thing, marred only by an old woman hacking and crinkling a water bottle in the quietest parts. Khristian’s daughter plays well, as do many of the others. A young man plays “Smells Like Teen Spirit” with the instructor, and it’s challenging to not sing along.
This post should feature a video of that performance, but none of my technology cooperates.
At intermission, everyone pulls their phones out. Except me. I feel mildly superior, and then remember I have 29 days left, and I have absent-mindedly chosen to keep this running commentary in the present tense – a major pet peeve of mine – and am chastened somewhat.
Two days down.
As ever, comment below if you want to make your presence known. And thanks for joining in. <3
In which I skip out on Instagram and Facebook for the month of March but still allow myself the internet.
Becky has to eat something.
Day 1: Super productive. Made myself a delicious egg sandwich for breakfast. Wrote 4,000 words for someone else, and a few for myself. Put away all of my stuff from my overnight with my boo, applied for a medical marijuana card, walked to the library where I commiserated with my lovely librarian neighbor Beth about the newly-painted hot pink house at the end of the street while I picked up Ross Gay’s The Book of Delights. Walked to The Wine Source where I got coffee and showed incredible restraint in the face of a wide assortment of delicious treats while the coffee was being ground.
On the way home, I wonder if it’s too early to start drinking. Maybe just a glass of wine.
Once at home, I realize I am hungry. It’s not even four o’clock, and I get a glimpse into why old people eat so early. Without the constant distraction and disruption of social media, they finish #allofthethings and sort of run out of stuff to do, so dinner seems as good an idea as any.
I am sad at that thought but looking forward to my sorority girl’s snack of salad with chicken tenders. #SolidKarenMove
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