Well it turns out that my oldest is not any less of a packrat than the middle kid. He’s just REALLY good at masking it. He had some VERY cleverly disguised compost piles going on in there. But, after a long day of hauling junk out, a trip to Lowe’s, several swear words and one Phillips head screwdriver later. The boy has a clean room and a new headquarters for his business endeavors.
All on my own, I put together those shelves, popped a wood top on, and called it a desk. It is now home to his sewing machine, drawing supplies, and HALLELUJAH, not much else! The peg board is for his necklace making stuff. To the side is a new (old) shelf for his growing Pez collection. He is thrilled with his space. And I still have miles to go before I sleep, and miles to go before I sleep.
As for eating, I crossed the Rubicon today. Well, at least I have fallen in and am now wading slowly across.
Today was my first day without Diet Coke. I bloody well thought I might die a couple of times, but I am yet taking in breath.
I have an 8 a day or so habit, but I ran out today, and I didn’t buy more, though I circled the Wal-Mart parking lot several times, thinking on it. See I promised myself that we would eat up what we had still , but that anything new to be bought and brought in would be given careful thought: Is it healthy, is it locally grown/made/raised, and if not, will it add to our lives enough to make an exception?
Turns out there are no Diet Coke farms in our area.
But, praise God, there is always Blue Bell Ice Cream. (and before you say it, I am not yet ready to consider that their vanilla might not grow in Central Texas… la la la la la, I’m not listening to you!)
So why, you ask, why would a person of comfortable means, who lives in a country when she can eat what she wants, when she wants it, choose to deprive herself?
1)Read Barbara Kingsolver’s book, “Animal, Vegetable, Miracle.” It’s fascinating, chock full of information, and her characteristic, thoughtful, beautiful style.
2) Well, it’s just that. We are far too willing to take what we want, when we want it. We feel entitled. And I kind of think that mentality bleeds right off the dinner table and into so many other areas of life.
Isn’t it possible that if you only see those happy little blueberry orbs bobbing in your cereal for a limited time, they taste all the sweeter? Isn’t it true that if you’ve been craving a good homegrown, sun-ripened, REAL tomato since January, the first on your plate in June is just about heaven? Well then consider that a person who grasps this idea fully, that things are best in their season, and therefore precious and limited, might understand that really there is a time for EVERY purpose under heaven. (Go on, sing, get it over with.)
Just maybe, a kid who grows up eating this way, appreciating on a visceral level that there is a best time for things, might be more likely to understand that, ahem, romantic relations, are best in a certain season of life too, and that to rush it, risks taking the sweetness away. Or maybe a kid who has learned the art of waiting for something special will grow up to be the kind of person who understands it is better to save up for a thing you want than it is to jump the gun and buy it on credit.
Or, he might just go nuts with new freedom when he reaches college and instead of going to keggers overdose on out of season produce at the local grocery. I can live with that.
There’s lots more reasons I’m going to give this local thing a go, but I’m so stinking tired in my caffeine deprived state that I am going to drop where I stand.
So, until later, I leave you with visions of sugerplums, er, tomatoes, fresh from Grandmother’s garden. We added some basil from our own garden, whipped up some homemade crust, and had pizza of the most delicious kind.
Mmmmm if yer gonna go local, this is the BEST time of year for it!