Bloggers know not to post on Sunday because no one will read it.
But I’ve got this itch and the sun is coming in just right and some coffee just arrived by my side. I’m feeling reflective and thankful but also hungover with that tired feeling. Okay, and maybe that cocktail I had last night was sorta strong. But I know that’s not really it.
When the hot sun finally makes its way over Portland, you know it. You wake up at 7am feeling ready to take on anything. Or for me, I laid around with the box fan blowing into my face, throat dry, lips chapped and a stinging headache.
Lovely way to start this Sunday. Folks around the country heading into church and breakfast spots or for many Portlanders, when the thermostat hits 80, they go to the beach because it’s ‘too hot’.
Summertime to me, correlates to small freedoms. Or at least it used to. And there is still some truth to it. It’s generally time to travel and go on vacation and slurp sweet stuff while sitting in the sand. (And I do actually get to do that, at some point.) Windows down. Music loud. Being outside the moment the sun sets and night comes to take the edge off with a cool breeze.
Those are the things I seem to be thinking about lately. Always aware of what new seasons bring. Realizing I officially started my new gig on summer solstice. It felt appropriate. Things are shifting in lots of ways. And as always, working hard at being self-aware of the changes.
It also seems like all I want to eat is pizza and hamburgers.
My dietary struggles are legit. All this talk on eating real food is still important, and for the most part, I do. But if I’m being honest with myself, when you cook for a living, cooking at home takes a back seat. And when both parties are busy in the summertime, you seldom have time to cook in your own hot kitchen. At one point I may have been excited about eating salad for dinner, but now, I want decompression food. Food that is comforting and speaks wonderful things into my subconscious. Like, “…you won’t even notice I’m here until the morning!”
The theme of this blog is pretty wide open. But it usually comes back to my belly. Not in its physical form, though it fluctuates. We all know what that’s like. My belly is my hearth. It is deeply connected to all the other parts. Without it, nothing else works. It is what I fill up on a daily basis. When it hurts, I notice.
More so, it’s what I put in it that matters. How I digest what I see and have seen, to what I want and what it needs.
I’m paying attention.
And these days, that’s all I could really ask for.