I'm back... I guess?

Since July, you could say that "change" was a common theme for me. 

My webcomic: One Day Closer, a comic about LDRs

I got a full time job (July). I started another artsy project (July). I moved out (October). I started paying bills (October). I got and lost a new animal companion (October), followed by the adoption of two new ones (November). I learned about dealing with out of the blue expenses (October - January). I make change for laundry (weekly). I got engaged and celebrated my third anniversary with CK (December).

My job at the Washington Youth Garden: Helping FoodCorps members at an event

When the office got too technical, it's awesome to go out to the garden.

Life went forward, and yet Meals with Morri stagnated and seemed difficult to update. Recipes were thrown together and not meticulously tested. Food was made, eaten, and forgotten about.

Thistle, my first rabbit, died too soon. RIP October 2015.

My friends and family encouraged me. They asked when another post would be put up. It raised the question as to what this site was, and how it would go forward. To quote one of my dearest friends: "Wait, Meals with Morri is a food blog?"

Bran and Teague: my Super Pooper Fluffbutts

When I started this blog, it was to talk about managing and healing my various ailments. It was to share my progress and experiences in taking back my life into my hands. It was to process the concept of cooking at home and to self-reflect my day-to-day life.

On a positive note: I've become quite good at pizza.

So no, I suppose it really wasn't a food blog. It was a journal, a diary, a reflective practice with gluten/soy/cane sugar recipes. It revolved around food, but it wasn't an online cookbook.

Through Meals with Morri, I overcame my disordered eating habits, found a healthy middle man with exercise and being okay with chocolate and fried food, became confident in my body and my abilities, learned about the local food movement, and found my passions that led to the start of a fulfilling career.

But the things I expected from this blog never really came to fruition. I saw amazing men and women turn their lives around and make careers from their blog. I saw amazing artistic and aesthetic abilities in their photography, and beautiful contemplation in recipe design. 

It's so weird to call CK fiance now, but he is and it's awesome.

Me? I certainly enjoyed it, but I happened to be okay with recipes not "replacing" their gluteny counterparts in look and taste. I was quite content with simply enjoying new grains to incorporate to my expanding diet, and accepted that it may turn out a little differently. But how do you convey that to a reader? How do you say, "It isn't a replacement, it's a recipe all it's own?"

I've also realized that my initial goals for blogging didn't grow up with me. I don't have a best selling cookbook. I'm not known in the gluten free community. And oddly enough, it felt weird for me to push that. My blog was an individual experience to taking back my health, talking about the links with the environment, the body, and the spirit, learning about the psychological effects of being "other" simply because you happened to eat differently.

I learned how to make latkes from the ultimate source: CK's nana. Coincidentally, I used the term putz correctly when describing someone, and she promptly laughed, hugged me, and called me adorable.

I'm not the same person who started this personal movement in April 2011. My tolerance for bullshit and worrying about what people think has decreased significantly, and that cost me a lot of unfulfilling relationships (no issues there). In retrospect, writing and capturing my life on Meals with Morri met the personal goal that honestly should have been my top priority: I took back my health and gave the status quo the finger. I got angry and was okay about it.

So you will see that I've changed the Meals with Morri motto to being personal, to not being about the gluten free movement, and being more about self-reliant and sustainability mind. There are enough gluten free bloggers to empower others in taking care of themselves, and I'm proud to say I participated in that and helped people by answering questions or making recipes they could enjoy.

Five years is a good time to evolve, don't you think? 

 I want to thank everyone who participated in this blog up until this point, for the support, the criticism, the good, the bad, the screwups, and the successes. MWM is no longer the focus of my abilities, but an addition to my dialogue. It may be days, weeks, months, until I update. It may be never.

And for the first time, I'm pretty okay with that.

National Eating Disorders Awareness Week: My Journey

A few years ago my cousin introduced me to Post Secret, a movement created by a very compassionate individual by the name of Frank Warren who created an outlet for people to anonymously mail secrets to him. The secrets can be funny, ridiculous, serious, sad, and anything in between. Every Sunday, he posts new secrets that millions of people read. Every Sunday, I am one of those millions of people that do. It’s a way, I think, for people to feel connected with others around the world. Sharing these secrets is a way to let go as well as bringing people together. It’s a relief know that there are others who are going through similar things or thinking the same thoughts.

Last Sunday’s secrets really hit home for me. They revolved around eating disorders. Here are a few examples:

(Probably the one that was the most personal and relevant for me.)

National Eating Disorders Awareness Week brings into light a very personal matter for a lot of people. It doesn’t just affect a certain weight, gender, age, or nationality. It affects a wide ranged of people for different reasons. It mostly is about a sense of control or the desire of being this ideal image or weight, but those aren't the only reasons.

I remember becoming extremely offended when this fight of what ‘real women’ look like started. Suddenly, naturally slender women were subjected to scorn in the media. I have friends of various height and weight combinations, and they are all exceptionally beautiful people. They have shown me that there is no one-size-fits-all aspect of beauty.

One of the things CK told me (and that I love him for) is that there is no such thing as the fairytale relationship. And so, this past weekend, he asked me a very hard question: “So then, why do you demand for the fairytale body?” This applied not only to my appearance, but also my health. It was one of those questions that not only broke down everything I tried to ignore, but once I let it out I couldn’t stop.

I don't refer to having had disordered eating as an eating disorder  because I believe the term 'eating disorder' places blame on the person suffering. Disordered eating is also more inclusive and, in my opinion, something you can rise from and have the power to change. Disordered eating has traveled with me like a codependent ally, needing me to need to control what I ate, when I ate, and how much. When I went to college, I lost a lot of weight. In total, my weight loss journey resulted in over 40 pounds. Most of it was due to changing my eating habits and preferring healthier options and exercising more. But when I became ‘thin’, I was deathly afraid of gaining it back. I’ve had panic attacks in the past because it was so terrifying to me to go back to that time when my body was a prison to the wonderful person underneath.

*Photos are from 1990 - 2012.

The evolution of my disordered eating habits became more about earning and deserving food than not eating. To be fair, I didn’t decide one day to be anorexic my sophomore year in high school. I just felt I didn’t have time to eat in the mornings and simply wasn’t hungry for lunch (and believe me, the food options in the cafeteria were not appetizing). So I would go almost twenty hours without eating, snack when I got home and then eat dinner. I drank hot tea in the mornings with lemon and sugar, but that was it. By the end of the first quarter, I was under 140 pounds, a first since I started puberty.

And then I got sick and began vomiting blood. The trip to the ER showed stomach ulcers from drinking tea (which is extremely acidic) on an empty stomach, and put a slight hole in my esophagus. I called this experience the time I was “accidentally anorexic”.

By college, I went gluten free (soy free and cane sugar free came about a year or two after). I started eating healthier and exercising and was rather happy with where I was at body image-wise. I changed my appearance often, even cutting my hair in a pixie cut. My exercising, however, became something I had to do and a way to cut calories. I would do the math and think: “Okay… I’ve burned a certain number of calories, enough to have burned off breakfast, and maybe that smoothie I want to have later.” (This is also known as exercise bulimia and a very common form of disordered eating.) I looked at my body more critically, wondering why I wasn’t getting the body I wanted. At one point I tried to survive on 1200 calories a day. I guesstimated my intake, so I’m sure I ate more than that. But it still stands that, while I was active and walking to class, I wasn’t eating enough. I think I even blacked out while driving at one point on my way back to campus housing for lunch.

When I started this blog, the first post began with me being hungry really early in the morning. The echoes of healing are apparent in many posts and recipes I’ve published in the last three years. Seeing a holistic nutritionist (Cheryl Harris of Harris Whole Health and Gluten Free Goodness) probably saved my life. She encouraged me to take small steps, read Johnston’s (2000) Eating in the Light of the Moon: How Women Can Transform Their Relationship with Food Through Myths, Metaphors, and Storytelling, and I slowly changed how I perceived eating and food. My self worth and image built itself up and, in increments, stopped focusing on calories and focused more on what my body needed and when.

Being diagnosed with hypothyroidism in 2011 also changed by body image and eating habits, and it really helped in knowing my struggles with weight weren’t entirely my fault. Yes, I could have eaten healthier and exercised more, but growing up with an underactive thyroid literally makes you the underdog. Not only does your metabolism suffer, everything does. How could I be healthy when I was sick all the time? How could I get better if it was my body that wasn’t working?

Since receiving treatment, I’ve noticed my body doesn’t get sick as often or as easily. And the slow change of feeling like I have to exercise to wanting to exercise as well as removing ‘good’ and ‘bad’  as labels for food (also called orthorexia, or a fixation of only eating what the person believes is healthy or ‘good’ food) really helped transform my mindset toward loving my body. I still have old paradigms rear their ugly heads when I’m stressed or feeling vulnerable, but I know where I am right now is a pretty awesome place to be.

The last thing that really changed everything for me was doing the Insanity Challenge. I went from 125 lbs to 142 lbs, eating up to 2500 calories to maintain efficiency. I started learning how to take cues from my body, and was absolutely fascinated how I became more solid, but didn’t get bigger. In horror, I realized just how much I denied my poor body nutrients in the name of fairytale beauty. I knew in theory that not eating enough will actually keep you from losing weight because your body is trying to keep you alive. But after completing the Insanity Workout, it finally resonated.

Even today, while I have moments (and they are fleeting, I’m happy to say) where I think I’m not pretty enough, smart enough, thin enough, whatever enough, I have a fantastic support system and I am dulling the words of that harsh Inner Critic we are all capable of having. I cook and eat because food nourishes my body and my soul. I exercise to see how my strength has improved physically and mentally. I have learned to treat myself with compassion and empathy, and am learning what situations open the door for negative thoughts (usually sleep deprivation, sickness, or getting stuck inside my own head for too long).

The one thing I really hope the world comes to realize is that people who suffer disordered eating do not do it for attention, and telling them about how there are people without food in other parts of the world do not help. And while it helps to receive reassurance (because I admit to needing reassurance from time to time), the only thing that will change their outlook on themselves and the need of control is their desire to change it. It may mean getting professional help (as I had), changing the environment that encourages this disorder, and taking as well as celebrating the little steps. And while I believe it is most certainly acceptable to change yourself to feel better health-wise, I have learned that seeking perfection is impossible, mostly because there is no such thing as the perfect person. It's okay to be any weight that makes you feel comfortable, so as long as you don't risk your health or happiness to get there. It's also okay to have a 'type', but just remember that the other types out there are equally awesome.

It also means looking at body shaming as it is: a form of violence and bullying. We need to stop focusing on beauty as a surface phenomenon and looking to create the word to mean something that is all-inclusive. Let's stop comparing ourselves to one another and looking for acceptance based on what the scale says or what the media tells us. We need to stop diminishing someone's worth based on their appearance, and STOP STOP STOP saying someone isn't beautiful in order to make someone else feel that they are. It is NOT okay. And the first step to achieving this is inward.

I am so grateful to my family, friends, and partner for changing my life. And thank you all who were so brave as to sharing their stories, with me personally, and on Post Secret. And for those who are still suffering, are recovering, and everywhere in between, I want to say this to you:

• You are beautiful in the present. At this very moment, you are the perfect you and you are on the path you need to take.
• You are the ideal you.
• You matter.
• You are loved, honored, and appreciated for being yourself.
• No one’s opinions of what you should look like or be like is important. The only thing that matters is how you feel.
• It does get better. I promise you.

I made this recipe as a way to honor those struggles, and to reach out to others. Following this recipe are some stories about disordered eating and body image. I cannot express to you how much I appreciated the bravery of these individuals to share their story. It will be updated throughout the week, but feel free to leave a comment also.

Mashed Potato Biscuit Hearts

420 g mashed potatoes*
75 g Garbanzo bean flour
100 g ground almonds (i.e., blanched almond flour)
65 g Brown rice flour
60 g Flaxseed meal
120 ml Whole milk
1 Large egg
1 tsp. Sea salt
3/4 tsp. Baking soda
3/4 tsp. Cream of Tartar

Preheat the oven to 375°F/190°C.
Mix together the wet ingredients (potatoes, milk, and egg) in a large bowl and add the dry (the dough will be a bit tacky).
Let the dough sit for five minutes.
On a floured surface, take a handful of dough** and flatten it to about an inch thick.
Using a heart-shaped cookie cutter (or any for that matter), press through the dough and place the cutouts onto a greased baking sheet (or parchment paper).
Continue to do so until all the dough has been formed, and bake for 30 minutes or until golden brown.
Remove from the oven and let them cool for about 10 minutes before eating.
Can be served hot or cold.

Makes 11 or more biscuits, depending on cutout size.

* I used the potato ricer to make the mashed potatoes and didn't add anything to them.

** I found it easier to take a handful of dough at a time than to just roll it out and cut.

Other's Stories (Coming Soon)

Story 1: The Legacy
The Influence of family: My first negative body image messages came from my own mother when I entered puberty. She made me self conscious about my weight gain. (Replaying the messages from her own mother about her struggles with weight gain. To lose weight that she gained during her own puberty, she ate only mayonnaise sandwiches for an entire summer. She did some severe dieting after each of her children to lose the baby weight, which affected her mood and energy levels.) I also remember my father making comments that 125 lbs was an ideal weight (for my mom) so that was a weight goal I strived to attain. No matter that I was actually 3 inches taller and actually looked ghastly at 125 lbs. As a result, I went through puberty and early adolescence (in the 1970’s)  “knowing” that I was “fat” and unattractive. As a result, I became anorexic in my mid-teens, something that was acerbated by a bout of mononucleosis.

The influence of media and product advertisements: Dress size, body weight, body image, attractiveness and perceived sexual desirability have always been interconnected. No matter that I actually felt my best when I weighed a certain amount. In order to fit into certain styles of clothing, I had to be a certain size. In order to accentuate my eyes and my cheekbones I needed to have a certain contour to my face (achieved only by dieting). The mirror: It lies. What I see is not what others see. As a result I have to use a tape measure; it doesn’t lie.

My regrets: I hate how I look. I have always hated how I look. Once in a while, when some time has passed and I see a picture of myself, I think, “Wow! I look really great in that picture.” But, if I think back to when the picture was taken and how I felt about my looks, I would say that I felt ugly or at least not attractive.

Legacy: I have watched helplessly as my own daughter has struggled with this amorphous monster, wondering what I could have done that I didn’t do; how I could have better protected her from the jaws of this gaping beast. I tried to offer unconditional love and support as she has struggled. I tried to keep my own self criticism and self esteem issues to myself. I tried to make every effort to not taint her with the family legacy of toxic messaging. I have tried to be her best cheer leader. But, as evidenced by her very public struggles with disordered eating, love isn’t enough. This dis-ease is insidious. It’s in our wiring, it’s in our cells…

One Year Closer

I did it. One year of grad school over, and another to follow. I don’t like to think about it very much, simply because the idea of leaving academia in search of a career scares the heck out of me. School was my only focus for months, and as a result my work at the community center suffered, as did my overall health and social life. I wrote my final papers and proposals in a haze of fatigue and tear-filled vision, my walls finally crashing down and hard. How long have I been like this, you ask. Too long, dear friends. Too long.

The Meals with Morri front page was up on the screen of my laptop on a daily basis yet untouched, a neglected hobby you once couldn’t tear me away from. At one point I had so many recipes and photos it took, I kid you not, weeks to get them all down. It’s been over three weeks, and not one recipe was recorded, with only one meal photographed. I didn't even celebrate my site's second anniversary back in April. Something was seriously wrong. 

Mother's Day Dinner: Grilled scallops & crispy polenta salad

I don’t take the idea of depression well. It’s a phenomenon that happens to other people, whereas all I experience is a funk that won't go away. All the stress and the obligations and the things I simply wasn’t doing were purposefully replaced with over-activity and worrying. I wasn’t eating enough, sleeping enough, or being enough… and people noticed. All I wanted to do was sleep and read, a red flag telling me to slow down if I ever saw one. But I didn’t slow down. I just kept going and going and going.

I know I said I wouldn’t use the “h-word” early on in my writing, but I’m using it now. I hated it. I hated that I couldn’t do it all. I hated that people and activities I loved with every essence of my being were left in the dust while I scrambled to make everything work. The past wouldn’t stay where it was, and the future was a mixture of uncertainty and terror. Never mind the present, I said to myself, because if I work my butt off now I will have everything in place for later. That’s the thing about time, though: it’s always the present.

So with summer school starting next week, I’ve decided to change my focus. I’m not working at camp this year, sadly, but I will have the energy to get through school and also spend these months being with friends and family, starting new hobbies, and going on adventures. 

After all, Life isn’t about how much you do but how much it means to you doing it.

Today's Menu: Stress-free Soup

With all the progress I have made since the start of the year, I thought my health would be at its peak when spring came along. The birds started singing and the weather began to warm (as far as strange Virginia weather is concerned), and I thought it meant that I had it all together.

But health isn’t like that. It isn’t some commodity you need to only focus on once and you’re good for life. It’s a lifetime responsibility, and one you should never take lightly. So when school resumed from Spring Break, I found it harder and harder to do my daily responsibilities. I slept whenever I could, and all my plans for my mornings were left undone as I nestled further underneath my warm quilts and blankets.

It was heartbreaking to see that weeks had passed without a single recipe written down and plans with friends cancelled because I was so tired. Frustration seeped in to my otherwise bubbly demeanor when I saw my winter troubles reappear. I admonished myself for not having the capacity to handle nine credit hours of school, plus work, plus climbing, plus a social life of some description. The stress was getting to be too much.

This likely started with an old acquaintance of mine dying in February, and I spent the majority of March padding along in morose reflection. Death and dying, school and career possibilities, old relationships and new loves… this was my mindset. Perhaps that was why I chose to either push myself beyond exhaustion with sixteen- (sometimes eighteen) hour days with less than six hours of sleep or nap when I had the free time. I didn’t want to think about the building emotions whose intensity I couldn’t discern. I didn’t want to think about anything other than my obligations to other people; and as I result I forgot who I was and why I do what I do. Among other things, Meals with Morri was terribly neglected.

I didn’t think J’s death would affect me as much as it did. At most we were friendly acquaintances a couple summers ago who shared amazing conversations about identity, gender, and love. When I learned he had died, I felt a part of my Universe shift. Everyone who has ever passed through your life matters, no matter the time or the impact. Everyone matters, and I frantically tried to make everything equally important. A month later, I officially crashed and was so burnt out from the self-inflicted stress I carried. I spent all of yesterday in bed, leaving work after an hour, with school and social plans discarded. I slept and I dreamed and I recharged, three things I hope to never take advantage of ever again.

This soup is the kind of food everyone should have when life seems too real and you need a mental health day. It isn't the prettiest of soups, true, but it is perfect to sip on in bed while you catch up on your reading or on the couch as you watch uplifting comedies. Better yet, have it with the people you love at the dinner table, reflecting upon one of  life’s greatest lessons: 

“Be mindful. Be grateful. Be alive.” (Mama Dazz)

Creamy Celery Soup

24 Celery stalks, coarsely chopped
450 g Sliced leeks
4 (536 g) Red potatoes, peeled and cubed
4 Garlic cloves
2 tsp. Sea salt
1 tsp. Cracked pepper
Pinch of rosemary powder
Dash of nutmeg

In a large pot or pressure cooker, combine all of the ingredients and pour water just an inch below the line of vegetables (more or less, depending on your preference of soup thickness).
Cover the pot and place on medium heat to cook for 45 minutes to an hour or until all of the vegetables have softened.
Turn off the heat and use an emulsion blender to puree the ingredients smooth. (Should it be too thick for your taste, add a little water at a time and place on medium heat until at the desired consistency.)
Pour into bowls/mugs and serve hot.

Makes 6 – 8 servings.

The Truth is Somewhere in the Middle

Warning: may contain less than pleasant descriptions of bodily functions and words of ranting, needing advice, and strong-ish language.

Ever have those moments where you perceive that everything is happening at once and time is moving faster than you can handle and run-on sentences suddenly make sense and your body is exhausted and your mind keeps going and then… BAM! You hit a wall.

Yeah, I absolutely “adore” those moments too.

As mentioned in my last post (an astonishing two weeks ago), I’ve had tummy troubles. This term is an understatement, but I try to keep the content of this blog as family friendly as possible. I was so terrified of my symptoms and the pain that I scheduled two ASAP appointments with a gastroenterologist and an urologist. Add the fear of the unknown with emotional/hormonal upset in the form of body image obsession… My two weeks MIA from MWM have not been all rainbows and free hugs. But goodness, I wish it had been.

For a week it seemed like I was balancing a number of plates in the air with spectators looking on, ready for a good laugh. I wanted to do so much, be so much, in a short time frame. And instead, when everything was expected to crash down, porcelain shards littering the floor, some spectators were kind enough to join the act in assisting. Some plates were added and others removed, but little by little I could balance the aspects of my life. And while I was overwhelmed by it all, it isn’t as bad as it was.

If I could list all the plates I have been balancing based on their importance and priority and my focus of them, it would be thus: Health (includes all aspects), Grad school, Future, Miscellaneous obligations, Work, Family and Friends, Meals with Morri, and so on. The overall feeling of crappiness health-wise bled onto the other plates, and I was so exhausted and so stressed out and internally so toxic it started to physically manifest in the form of bloating and red bumps around my eyes, hands, and elbows.

I waited and waited and waited until I couldn’t take it anymore. The pain was terrible, the Google searches foretold impending doom, and the inner dialogue was scattered and anxious. Doctors’ offices were called and appointments were made. And if there is one moral in this story, people, it is the following:

“The truth is somewhere in the middle.”

The gastroenterologist I met with is an esteemed practitioner in his field of practice. Mama Dazz even visited him back when she was in her early twenties and recommended his expertise. With appointments like this I tend to be nervous. I lose all sorts of control and power when presented to doctors in general, so it was nice to have her come with me. I walk into his office and the usual questions are asked: Why are you seeing me today? How long have you experienced these symptoms? What have you done thus far in regards to treatment, management, etc.? What additional medications are you taking? What does your diet look like…?

The last two questions resulted in him essentially going into a tirade about how as far as he could see, a healthy young woman did not need hypothyroid medication and most certainly should not be on a gluten/soy/refined sugar free diet. From this conversation I was shaken to the core. This person did not know my history and had only one doctor-patient meeting to go on. He did not know how much better I felt eating the foods I ate, or how the Armour Thyroid did indeed affect my life positively. I felt so small leaving his office. I began to cry when the discussion turned to possibly having to incorporate gluten and soy based foods in my diet for tangible analysis in future blood work, to stop taking my hypothyroid medicine, and to think about a colonoscopy in the next couple of weeks (his recommendation, but not something I plan on doing right now).

Upon reflection, I realized I was given a broader image of what ethics and values the health industry contained. The majority of my health providers (such as Hurlock and Harris) are holistically based. They tend to focus on the intangible evidence and have a more qualitative outlook on healing. The gastroenterologist, however, as I perceived him is a man of numbers and facts, needing tangible evidence to satisfy his quantitative logic. My other grievance was, along with his strong opinions about my life, he didn’t really provide me with any answers, only diagnosing me with terms I’ve had been labeled with all my life. He mentioned ASD (anxiety stress disorder) and IBS, but I knew that already. What I didn't know was how I could fix a lifetime of adrenal fatigue and self-imposed stress and how my symptoms tied into it.

The urologist, another esteemed practitioner (who reminded me of the stereotypical grandfather image giving advice while on a fishing trip) was a little softer in his quantitative logic and needs for tangible evidence. Instead he listened and pondered and asked questions when appropriate. His practice was in no way what I’d consider an alternative practice, by his demeanor was. I felt no judgment as we talked about possible reasons as to why the UTI and other symptoms were happening now, and if his options matched my values and ethics. I was reserved at the thought of being on low dose antibiotics and very powerful antispasmodics for the next three months, but I do feel the difference after a week of treatment. 

The truth is somewhere in the middle, and for me that means joining the two logics and needs for evidence to see the bigger picture regarding my health. I can’t help the world sick. It’s as simple as that.

I end this long and non-recipe based post with a request. I am currently looking into other ways of stress management and anxiety diminishers. If anyone has had any experience similar to what I’ve gone through, from mindfulness exercises to probiotic recipes to balancing the antibiotic’s side effects, I’d love to hear from you.

Have Yourself a Merry Little December

I’m one of those people who start the holidays right when I wake up to the December 1st morning. Pandora is devoted to secular holiday music with songs sung by The Rat Pack, Ella Fitzgerald, Louis Armstrong, Bing Crosby, and many others. The Christmas lights are shining brightly around our doorway, inviting good cheer to everyone who enters our home. This week is devoted to getting into the Yuletide spirit, putting the tree up and decorating, preparing for finals, and cooking up a plethora of winter based recipes.

Last Year's Tree

In the last month of the year 2012, I have been looking at past blog posts and life decisions fervently, awed by how much has changed and inspired by how far I’ve come. I’ve found my passions in food have surpassed my expectations and evolved into something leaning towards sustainable development, urban agriculture, the local and organic movements, gardening, and “know your farmer”. My fitness regimen in the form of rock climbing and yoga, although sometimes appearing lack in progress at times, has conditioned my body (and spirit) in ways I couldn’t have imagined when I first started.

And in December of last year, I couldn’t imagine being a successful graduate student, let alone being accepted to the graduate school program. My acceptance letter came last week, and already plans for the spring semester are being laid out to balance all the loves in my life. I’m currently working on time management week by week, only because the semester is almost over. But goodness, I’m an official S/CAR graduate student… Me. Accepted.

Holy cow.

So while I hum to Ella Fitzgerald’s version of “Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas”, I figured to honor my acceptance by making socca, a food I’d fallen in love with over a year ago but haven’t made another recipe since my "Happy Herbivore Tendencies" post. That’s way too long a break in between without socca, I say, and started thinking of a recipe to share. I wanted to use up the remaining pumpkin puree in the fridge, but I was also hankering for an old school peanut butter and banana sandwich.

Let’s just say my craving was more than satisfied, and that pumpkin works beautifully with peanut butter and banana.

Pumpkin Socca

120 g Garbanzo bean flour

180 ml Filtered water

5 ml Whey (optional)*

240 g Pumpkin puree

1/2 tsp. Sea salt

30 g Butter (for a dairy free and vegan version, you could use coconut/olive oil)

In a small mixing bowl, stir the flour, water, and whey until thoroughly combined and let it sit overnight on the counter.

Add the pumpkin and sea salt while melting the butter on medium heat in a cast iron skillet; once beginning to brown, drizzle the excess fat into the batter.

Pour the batter into the skillet and treat it like you would a pancake, either flipping over or using the broiler to cook the other side.

Turn off the heat and transfer it onto a plate to cool slightly (the inside is delicious custard when hot and solidifies as it cools). 

Cut into quarters, bars, or squares to enjoy as you like and serve warm.

Makes 2 servings.

Socca is a great bread substitute to make sandwiches. For two peanut butter and banana soccawiches, slice the socca in half, smear 2 tbsp. peanut butter (or any nut butter of your choice) and slice one ripe banana thinly on one side of the socca. Fold the other side on top and cut the socca again so you have two – four sandwiches on a plate. Enjoy with a glass of milk (dairy free or otherwise). 

New Priorities

As I worked to finish my midterm by the deadline, another week between posts went by. The realization of no longer having a plan still lingers in the back of my mind, but a new realization has taken its place for introspection.

That is, I’m going through the process of deciding what my priorities are. 

Tell me, has your Mara come to Tea lately?

This can be an ever-consuming venture, as I’m the sort of person with a plethora of big dreams, seemingly bigger than my life can permit simultaneously. To an extent, my dreams are too large to manifest themselves at the same time in the here and now, but I still dream and want and need.

The Burt-man, being ever observant in my turbulent changes these last few months, provided me with his Pennsylvanian Dutch wisdom the best he could (Dad figures tend to do that). He told me that life was like a chessboard and I was chess piece on that board. As a singular chess piece, I only have a certain number of options of squares to which I can move to, and each piece on the board plays the game differently. You play the game with the options you have, and work with the strategies to move from square to square to ultimately assist in best playing the current game.

In where I ultimately plan to be, I cannot move through life thinking “if only I had so-and-so’s life” or “why is it easier for so-and-so to do this or be that.” They’re just a different chess piece in a different game.

I bring this up because I still struggle with wanting to do everything and do it right the first time. I want[ed] to be a full-time graduate student with a full-time job of my dreams (with benefits), live on my own, heal whatever is conflicting my body, become amazingly fit as I excel at rock climbing, weight lifting, running, and yoga, blog beautiful posts and recipes five times a week, have an active social life and time for a significant other, learn the cello, sing jazz, travel often, have daily enlightening meditations and philosophical realizations… 

And this all had to happen at the same time in the course of a year or I viewed myself a failure to all Morri-kind.

I still want to do and be all these things, and I am confident that at the right time and place I will. It’s a matter of priorities, of deciding what move on the chessboard you position yourself first.

Not surprisingly, the personal growth my blog has nourished has become a top priority. This isn’t about the site itself, but more what it had manifested: self-awareness, confidence, the evolution of my passions, and a focus of my creativity. And though I have a few of the things I want to do in life underway (part-time graduate school, part-time work, part-time social life, working to become awesomely fit and healing holistically), fueling and nurturing my creative outlet has taken center stage.

For one, that means taking photography seriously and actually understanding why I produce the photos I take, and how to make them more professional looking. It also means taking the recipes to a higher standard.

Here goes everything.

Pumpkin Chai Latte

480 ml Filtered water
2 Chai tea bags (or loose tea equivalent)*
120 g Pumpkin puree
1/4 tsp. Cinnamon
1/4 tsp. Nutmeg, plus a dash as garnish
1/4 tsp. Allspice
1/4 tsp. Coriander
1/2 – 1 tsp. Unrefined apple cider vinegar, optional **
Sweetener, to taste ***
120 ml Almond milk (or whatever “milk” you prefer)

In a medium saucepan, cook the water on high heat until it simmers, and add the tea bags to steep for three to five minutes.
Remove the tea bags and lower the heat to medium-low, and add the remaining ingredients save for the almond milk.
Pour the chai tea into two mugs and set aside.****
In a separate cup, froth the almond milk with an immersion blender, milk frother, or simply put in a lidded jar and shake rigorously.  
Pour the milk on top of the tea and garnish with nutmeg.
Serve hot.

Makes 2 servings.

*I used Trader Joe’s Rooibos Chai Tea
**When I was sick this time last year, the old boyfriend put apple cider vinegar in my rooibos tea and it tasted like a tangy hot apple cider. He had read somewhere that it helped with sore throats and the overall feelings of crumminess.
*** I used honey, about one tablespoon per serving. (I get such a sweet tooth for my tea as it gets colder.) But this can be easily made herbivore using maple syrup, stevia, coconut sugar, date sugar, or left unsweetened.
****The pumpkin puree has a tendency to separate and sink to the bottom. Simply stir until you add the almond milk.

Self-Realization and Without a Plan

I have been wondering almost to an obsession why I have suddenly come to a standstill. Over a week had gone by and there wasn’t a recipe made, a photo taken, or a witty post written. I came back from my long weekend in Florida and discovered something daunting and rather terrifying: I lost my plan.

It didn’t occur to me until a few days ago what my breakup would mean in the long run. Here I was at twenty-two (a month shy of turning twenty-three), in a relationship with a man I thought was the forever kind, and poof! All the plans and dreams that involved "us" were gone, completely thrown out the window as if it never existed. I was feeling, for lack of better words, lost, because for 2.5 years I didn’t have a plan without him in it.

“We must be willing to get rid of the life we've planned, so as to have the life that is waiting for us.” (J. Campbell)

Flash forward to today, with hormones and emotions flaring up, and I have been looking into new plans, short and long-term goals for what I want to do in life. My friend in Florida and our mutual friend in Italy have shown me from their past heartbreaks that the heart does heal and the world will not implode in on itself while being single. By no longer having a plan that includes another person at this point in my life, I can focus on my studies, my health, my passions in conflict resolution/food justice/sustainable development, and learn the beauty of solitude and inner quiet.

 "By creating a strong body and emanating good health, we attract more of the same in our lives." (R. Mars)

The world seems so vast and new, raw and intimidating. I have started to see how much of ourselves we give to others, intentionally or not, and the positive and negative effects it can have on you as a whole. You start to question yourself: Did I make this decision for me or because it was expected? The scary part is wondering whether or not you would know the difference.

You think you know everything in your early twenties. You think you can handle whatever trials the world decides to throw at you, because it is what is expected. I can’t believe how much self-inflicted stress I endured because I felt I didn’t have the plan that suited the expectations of everyone else  (Rosenberg and Gandhi’s (2003) Nonviolent Communication has really helped in this department). Once my old plan literally fell to pieces, the one that consisted of pleasing everyone along with unrealistic goals and expectations I had put upon myself, self-realization and an inner calm overtook me.
 
In a lifetime of gasping for air, in asking for the right to breathe, I could feel my entire lungs utilized and I breathed deeply. I’m sleeping throughout the night and eating healthily. I’m finally acting my age and having fun doing it.

So what’s my plan? To keep doing what I’m doing, and learning all I can along the way. I’m going to continue being inspired by the people life puts on my path, love them and honor them for the lessons they bring. I’m going to give generously, receive fully, and pay it forward whenever I can.

And naturally, with an assortment of recipes coming your way. 

Reaching Acceptance & Letting Go

It was three-thirty in the morning when it happened. That same clawing hunger that I thought I’d tempered came back with a vengeance. And it doesn’t just come at three-thirty; sometimes it happens at two. Has it been weeks since I’ve slept over six hours at one time, or months? Regardless, I haven’t slept a full night for quite some time, simply because the hunger pains are relentless. It’s like all I do throughout the morning is eat, and then after dinner before bed I eat. I eat and I snack and I graze. I feel like a black hole that’s always empty, or a pot that never fills, even when you’re making rice for the whole family. 

It's never enough.

I eat and I eat and I’m frustrated. Actually, I’m not as frustrated as I was on Monday (or on Wednesday, when I started writing this post), but still I’m frustrated.

A couple of weeks ago I received a letter from my doctor regarding the bone density scan I had done in February. The results weren’t alarming, but they weren’t rays of sunshine either: my bone density was below average.

I remember watching the machine scan my hip, and how humbling it was to see my bones on the computer screen. It occurred to me how little I thought of what was under the skin, the muscles, the veins, and the blood. Beneath all that I never considered how real my bones were, how instead of being the body of a small universe there were these white masts I used as foundation. It was so grounding a thought that when I received that letter, I felt unreal, deflated, like I could feel the very things that were my foundation giving in to the weight of what it held together.

I was no longer immortal, and I was suddenly aware of my humanity.

The results could have been worse. They could have shown that I had the bones of a one-thousand-year-old mummy with no way of fixing it. Instead, it just merely pointed out that my bone density was below average, and the good news was that there was treatment. (The Doctor had mentioned that too much Armour Thyroid could cause bone loss; however, I think my low bone density was the consequence of years of disordered eating.) So with that in the back of my mind, with some of my early hypothyroid symptoms returning and being Hungry with a capital “H”, you can see how it can leave a girl frustrated.

The hardest part for me is not knowing why I am so hungry, and whether is has to do with: my thyroid condition or some other health factor I haven’t considered (hypoglycemia, mineral/vitamin deficiency, etc.); my fitness regimen of exercising six days a week; or, even with additional meals and snacking, I’m still not eating enough.

And there is the matter of considering that it’s all three.

I usually get emotional when I talk about having a hypothyroid condition. I feel really vulnerable when I do, and that is probably why I don’t write about it very often on Meals With Morri (I’ve talked about the treatment, but rarely the condition itself and how it affects me). I am not the condition, and I don’t view it as part of my identity as a person. There are days, however, when I can’t explain this overwhelming fatigue or when I’m suddenly intolerant of the heat or the cold. I get embarrassed of my cold hands and the yellowish hue when both symptoms flare up. I get discouraged because of the added complications that make it harder to keep weight off or lose weight in general. The biggest fear I’ve had as of late is if I eat more, despite my very active lifestyle, I’ll become the next incarnation of Budai (without the jolliness). 

(source)

So this week I’ve been experimenting by writing out what I’ve been eating, taking my pulse before I go to bed and after I wake up, and working on balancing my active lifestyle with my calorie intake. I’m still waking up early, and I weigh no more than I did when I was weighed before my bone density was scanned. But if getting my bones in tiptop shape means weighing more, or if eating enough to sleep a full night in peace means I am destined to weigh (on average) 125 pounds, I accept those terms.

To be honest, fighting your body for what you believe to be best is hard work, especially when there is more than one way to being right. I could fight (and have been fighting) against my health’s shortcomings or I could work with them and accommodate those needs accordingly.

I’m done being my worst enemy, and I’m finally ready to be my best friend. I’m ready to work with my whole self to finding what works and what doesn’t work for me. Sure, I may get frustrated and I may have days when my symptoms flare up. And yes, there will be days I think it’s unfair that I can’t wear a size 4 dress. But having the health that I have has taught me the importance of pacing myself, being honest, going with the flow, and to never give up trying. It shows how marvelous life truly is in all of its twists and turns and complexities.

I may have gotten up earlier than I wanted to today with a sniffle and a sneeze, and I may have “a rumbly in my tumbly” like a certain Silly Old (Taoist) Bear, but I smile and I enjoy the beautiful spring day as it is.

And really, that’s all we can ever ask for.

Simply Green Brown Rice

360 g Sprouted brown rice
500 ml Water (or more if you want a creamier consistency)
15 ml Unrefined apple cider vinegar
3 tsp. Minced dried onion
1 tsp. Sea salt
1/2 tsp. Herb de Provence
1/4 tsp. Whole cumin seeds
1/4 tsp. Cracked pepper
1/4 tsp. Dried tarragon
1 bunch (126 g) Curly leaf parsley
Juice of 1 Lemon
30 ml Olive oil

1 Lemon, cut into wedges and served as garnish

Combine the rice, water, vinegar, and spices into a pressure/rice cooker or medium saucepan and cook until the rice has softened and taken a creamy consistency (time will vary based on how you usually prepare brown rice and how much water you put in).
Place the parsley, lemon juice, and olive oil in a food processor and pulse until the ingredients form a pesto-like quality.
Fold in the parsley mixture with the rice, and then serve warm with the lemon wedges on top.

Makes 8 servings.