The Dinner Diaries

My review of Betsy's Block's The Dinner Diaries: Raising Whole Wheat Kids in a White Bread World is in this month's issue of Whole Life Times (you have to scroll down the page a bit).

Hope you had a happy happy 4th. We played the role of tourists and left the writing cabin to head to the small town's cookout, eating kettle corn and lounging on a sleeping bag under the fireworks.

Something Fishy

I was so excited when I went 365 days without throwing up.

For as long as I can remember I’ve gotten sick at least once a year. Like the time I got a stomach bug and threw up at my in-laws. Or the time I ate too much butter on my pasta and threw up on a vacation. Even my honeymoon ended not-so-romantically when we splurged and got the chef’s special, spiny lobster. Apparently New Zealand lobster is toxic to some (me). We had a 13-hour coach class flight back to LA the next day, but that’s another story.

When I finally went 12 whole months without a barf-fest, I was so happy that I blogged about it (hey, what are blogs for?). When two years passed, I blogged again.

Sadly, my incredible record of 2 years, 7 months, 1 week and 2 days came to a screeching halt last night. At dinner I thought twice about ordering salmon in Colorado – probably better to stick with beef out here, but I couldn’t resist. After all, we were eating at a restaurant that served healthy organic fare and sustainable fish isn't easy to come by these days. About two hours after we got home, I suspected something fishy. I went to bed and woke up in sweat. I’ll spare you the rest, except to say I really tried to keep my record strong, hoping it would only come out one end. It came out both.

I was so weak I couldn’t move. Now, you all know we don’t have a ton of furniture out here in The Ark, right? We have a kitchen table, a bed, and a very small love sofa that was donated to us by our real estate agent. No rugs. No carpet. Not even a bathmat (the importance of which I could appreciate sprawled out on the tile). Also, no couch to snuggle up into (at least not yet – it’s coming in a few weeks). Anyway, where was I? Oh, so I decided to throw my party in the upstairs bathroom where the house is warmer. When the worst was over, I couldn’t imagine finding the strength to climb down the stairs to go back to bed. After sleeping on the cold, cramped bathroom floor, I finally crawled over to the love sofa – my feet hanging off one end, my head off the other.

I tried to call out, “Ron.” But I didn’t have the strength to shout. I was shivering and really needed him to bring me a blanket (and an extra trashcan). But the blanket was up in the loft – again, too much of a feat for the moment.

I began knocking on the tile floor. The love sofa is right above our bedroom – surely he would hear my rapping.

Nope.

The next morning, after filling Mr. Sleepyhead in on the details of my adventurous night, he mentioned that he woke up a few times and noticed I wasn’t there. “I figured you went upstairs to write on your laptop,” he said.

I do this at home all the time – get up in the middle of the night to go to my office and write. He always checks on me – peers his head into my office and makes sure I’m okay.

He did hear a knocking sound last night and laid there in bed wondering what in the world the dog was getting into.

Oh, well. I’m all better now. Hopefully he won’t have to check on me next time because hopefully there won’t be a next time. I’m still convinced I can be one of those people who “never” throws up. Time to set a new record.

Comfort

Standing in a bookstore, surrounded by books, nothing looks great.

I know there are authors I would fall in love with if I stumbled across their writing - I just don't know how to find them through the piles and piles of fluff. So I keep testing books out by flipping pages.

A small white one catches my eye: Comfort by Ann Hood.

I buy it.

Read it slow but fast. I can't put it down, but I want to take my time with it. It's a sad story - her 5-year-old daughter died suddenly. It's heart-breaking to read, but by the end of the book I'm addicted to her writing style. She has written many other books. Can't wait to read them - they look like gems.

Big Sky

Montana.

I love Montana.

I’ve always wanted to visit and now I’m actually here. It’s as beautiful as I imagined.

The mountains are huge. And yes . . . a river does run through it . . . many.

I’ve watched some gorgeous sunsets in my life – reds and pinks and oranges spilling like broken yolks over the Pacific. But the other night I saw a purple and yellow sunset. Why don’t more people live in Montana?

It stays light ‘til after 10:00pm. Most nights I go to bed before the sun is gone. But a few days ago, I was up working very late (I’m here at a writing workshop led by an amazing teacher). I walked back to my room in the pitch dark. As I stumbled along, I looked up. Above there were hundreds of thousands of millions of stars. It was so clear I could see satellites orbiting the Earth and 3 shooting stars. An entire arm of the Milky Way stretched across the Big Sky.

Montana.

I love Montana.

Beautiful, beautiful Big Sky.

The Little Locksmith

Today, a writing teacher gave me The Little Locksmith. Said it was one of her favorite memoirs. It was originally published in 1943 and then rediscovered. I love it when I learn about an "old" great book that I didn't know about. Anyone read it? I'm starting it tonight.

Clouds

Clouds.

They’re not really my thing. The only type of cloudy days I like are the ones that come with blue skies and poofy white clouds that are few and far between.

But I’ve gained a new appreciation for the aquatic floating beings. You can read about it online by clicking here or find it in Sunday’s issue of USA WEEKEND Magazine (distributed in the following newspapers).

Out here the wild wild west where I’m spending a good part of summer, most days have been like this:

Perfect. Although after this article, I'll think twice before complaining of gloomy days.

Maps

We got lost. On our last leg of the trip, we were chatting away and missed a turn. We didn't figure out something was amiss until we saw signs for Taos, NM. Taos? We just drove 2 hours in the wrong direction. Oh, well. I've always wanted to see Taos anyway. We stopped at a roadside store and were directed to a sweet local joint that served tacos and let us bring the dog on their outdoor patio. After lunch, in the car again, it was 2 more hours until we were back on track. "Llamas," I said, pointing out the unusual looking animals resting in a field on the side of a back road. "They're more lost than we are," Dad said. "Llamas are from Peru." I was driving and he was working on a crossword puzzle. "Motorist's aids," he said, reading the clue. Four letters, the first one begins with M. Maps. Yes, those would've helped today.

We arrived in southwest Colorado. But still had a loooooong drive up the mountain. Finally - my street.

Earlier, on our drive up the mountain, we found some loose cows. This was the second time this trip we came across cows that had broken through their fence.

Purple flowers growing by the side of the house. What a lovely welcome!