There is an elf in my grocery store. I presume it is the same elf that adores peach yogurt and leaves the blueberry behind (see earlier post).
I say this because on Saturday when I went to the groc (as W would say) to get a few things, I wanted to pick up some of my favorite brand of Greek yogurt: Fage (which, as it says on the label, is pronounced "fAy-uh"), but I am picky and I only like the stuff made with whole milk (they call it Total). It's absolutely divine. It's usually uber expensive, but sometimes they go on sale - individual servings (which are really like 4 servings for me) for $1. So I always swing by the yogurt half-aisle to look for it - but now I always approach with caution, because for nine out of the last ten times, when I arrive on the scene, the Fage Elf has been there. Apparently this elf is on a high-fat, high-protein diet, because he/she takes the total of the Total and there is never any left for me. Seriously. There's 2%, and nonfat, but never Total. All I want is plain yogurt. But this elf continually denies me! And I've had it. >: # ---> angry face.
I even vary the times I go to the grocery store, and the days of the week, just to see if I can catch the elf out...or at least beat it to the yogurt punch...to no avail.
Last week I even resorted to buying a sort of half-serving that had a compartment of honey in it (they have fruit ones, too-and unsurprisingly, there is always plenty of blueberry [see previous post]). There was only one left. I even went so far as to mention it to my grocery manager. I even told him about my firm belief in the Fage Elf that was out to ruin my life. (It's Cap Hill, so I can get away with that. Also, I didn't use the phrase "ruin my life" - but I did mention my belief in the existence of the elf.)
So I was eyeing the greek yogurt section, despairing inside at the lack of Fage, and refusing to compromise my tastebuds for 2% (It's 80% as good. But why settle for 80% when if the darned elf would just give up, you could have 110% tastebud bliss?), when a lady walked up and picked out four cartons of another brand, and when she saw me eyeing her, she raved about how delicious it was. I inwardly laughed, as that's something I would do--buy a zillion cartons of something and give an on-the-spot groc recommendaiton. Unsurprisingly, she took no blueberry, and there were several blueberry cartons left...and not much else. Maybe she was the yogurt elf of the other brand! I thought. So, because I can't let the elves win, I found myself reaching out to put a carton of the substitute in my basket, on her recommendation...I think I took the last honey.
Sorry, blueberry yogurt, you're still not loved.
Not even by the yogurt elves.
Monday, January 30, 2012
Wednesday, January 25, 2012
Feeding Your Demons
So I'm reading this book about feeding your demons. The idea is that instead of hating yourself and letting fear rule your life, you can invite your demons over for tea and feed them. Meaning, once you recognize the dark holes inside yourself and acknowledge them, and you can actually use your weaknesses to your advantage.
Visualizing what the demon looks like, identifying what the demon wants, is, according to the author, much better than living in fear all the time.
I was reading this as I was feeding myself at a great restaurant: Veritable Quandary. I saw the name on the map and immediately was in love. That was more than a year ago, and it took me this long to get there. I had a serving of cassoulet. For any of you who do not know what that is, it's French stew stuff. VQ's had handmade sausage (which was good, but I didn't eat most of it because of everything else that was excellent in it) and duck and white beans and red and yellow beets and small whole onions and potatoes and other root vegetables and it was gorgeous. So was the bread.
I thought about all the demons I have. It's hard to follow the advice and think of individual demons when in your mind you can rationally see how Pink Fuzzy Polka-dot Demon is holding hands with Greasy Green Mossy Demon, and they are running away from Night on Bald Mountain Demon, who is swirling around, great and powerful, but then it's sucked away into the Neverending Story's Nothing.
When you think about all the things that could go wrong - all the things you want to change about yourself - it's paralyzing, and easy to think that it's easier to just invite the demons in and not only let them have tea, but also crumpets, cucumber sandwiches, lemonade, and cake. The thing is, not all demons want cake. Some want pickles, or pretzels, or prunes. So you have to figure out what the demons want and then figure out how to trick them into thinking you've given it to them so they'll go away.
I guess I'm fixated on the whole "tea" thing because in the beginning of her book the author says that Gandhi had a British colonel or something over to chat about the salt tax protest. Gandhi's supporters wanted to put nails in the road so the Colonel's tires would pop. Gandhi refused, saying instead he would invite the Colonel to tea. Upon sitting down and asking for the appropriate number of lumps of sugar and stirring them in, the Colonel, I imagine, said, "Now see here, Gandhi, old fellow, let's discuss this futile resistance, shall we?" in a falsely cheery tone. Gandhi reportedly said, "No, no, my friend, there is something more important we must talk about." So they'd talk about something else - who knows? The price of wheat, maybe, or the weather. And then the Colonel would say, "Well, really, Gandhi, good fellow, you really must do something about this salt tax." And Gandhi would repeat himself. This happened for a few cycles before Gandhi apparently had the Colonel wrapped around his finger - he had expressed himself so well and comported himself with such devious dignity that the Colonel had been swayed. In the author's analogy, Gandhi is us, and the Colonel - the oppressor, is the demon. So instead of antagonizing the demon and playing along with its game, the author thinks that we should find a very Demon custom - in this case, having the British take tea - and use its own custom to trick it, and afterwards, banish the demon.
I'm not sure I agree with this line of thinking, or if it will even work. But I do know that just like everybody else, I've got some demons that need reconciling. The demons can have the tea. But I won't share my cassoulet with the demons. It was too good. Don't want the demons thinking they can get any of the good stuff!!
Visualizing what the demon looks like, identifying what the demon wants, is, according to the author, much better than living in fear all the time.
I was reading this as I was feeding myself at a great restaurant: Veritable Quandary. I saw the name on the map and immediately was in love. That was more than a year ago, and it took me this long to get there. I had a serving of cassoulet. For any of you who do not know what that is, it's French stew stuff. VQ's had handmade sausage (which was good, but I didn't eat most of it because of everything else that was excellent in it) and duck and white beans and red and yellow beets and small whole onions and potatoes and other root vegetables and it was gorgeous. So was the bread.
I thought about all the demons I have. It's hard to follow the advice and think of individual demons when in your mind you can rationally see how Pink Fuzzy Polka-dot Demon is holding hands with Greasy Green Mossy Demon, and they are running away from Night on Bald Mountain Demon, who is swirling around, great and powerful, but then it's sucked away into the Neverending Story's Nothing.
When you think about all the things that could go wrong - all the things you want to change about yourself - it's paralyzing, and easy to think that it's easier to just invite the demons in and not only let them have tea, but also crumpets, cucumber sandwiches, lemonade, and cake. The thing is, not all demons want cake. Some want pickles, or pretzels, or prunes. So you have to figure out what the demons want and then figure out how to trick them into thinking you've given it to them so they'll go away.
I guess I'm fixated on the whole "tea" thing because in the beginning of her book the author says that Gandhi had a British colonel or something over to chat about the salt tax protest. Gandhi's supporters wanted to put nails in the road so the Colonel's tires would pop. Gandhi refused, saying instead he would invite the Colonel to tea. Upon sitting down and asking for the appropriate number of lumps of sugar and stirring them in, the Colonel, I imagine, said, "Now see here, Gandhi, old fellow, let's discuss this futile resistance, shall we?" in a falsely cheery tone. Gandhi reportedly said, "No, no, my friend, there is something more important we must talk about." So they'd talk about something else - who knows? The price of wheat, maybe, or the weather. And then the Colonel would say, "Well, really, Gandhi, good fellow, you really must do something about this salt tax." And Gandhi would repeat himself. This happened for a few cycles before Gandhi apparently had the Colonel wrapped around his finger - he had expressed himself so well and comported himself with such devious dignity that the Colonel had been swayed. In the author's analogy, Gandhi is us, and the Colonel - the oppressor, is the demon. So instead of antagonizing the demon and playing along with its game, the author thinks that we should find a very Demon custom - in this case, having the British take tea - and use its own custom to trick it, and afterwards, banish the demon.
I'm not sure I agree with this line of thinking, or if it will even work. But I do know that just like everybody else, I've got some demons that need reconciling. The demons can have the tea. But I won't share my cassoulet with the demons. It was too good. Don't want the demons thinking they can get any of the good stuff!!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)