My new Valentine sweets

Can you imagine what I asked my hubby for for Valentine's Day?

Can you even guess?

A new neti pot?  Nope.  Flavored kombucha?  Not this time.  Organic fair trade 72% dark chocolate without soy lecithin?  Already got it.

Oh, m'dearies, this time, THIS time, I've asked for...get ready for flabbergastedness - two bags of...prunes.  Well, I mean, not just ANY prunes, of course.  Organic prunes, naturally.

I am obsessed with prunes..  

woodstock-foods.com

I love them.

I run to the cupboard and promise myself I can just eat one.  Or two.  Shut the bag, shut the cupboard.  Walk away.  That was enough.

Oh but it SO WASN'T.

Just one more.  Just one delicious, chewy, sweet one more.  Make that two.

Oh m'gawsh, I'm going to have a bathroom party if I don't stop.  Aren't I?  Right?  Isn't that a thing? (If only I could believe the EU on this one...)  Daisy, get a hold of yourself!  Do you want to be sitting on the toilet for the next week?  Oh, that sounds horrid.  To console myself I shall eat a prune.  What?   NO!  Step away from the bag!

This is almost as bad as the 35 pounds of tomatoes episode. 
 Good heavens. Or...the fenugreek/maple syrup armpit obsession.  It's certainly along those lines.  Oh dear.  But what, pray tell, could possibly go wrong with eating two bags of prunes?

I mean, the EU has decreed (officially, I might add) that prunes are not a laxative.  I'm so relieved.  Except for the small problem that they are also the people who've decreed that water doesn't help dehydration..  I suppose you might not want to believe everything you hear... (But I do like their response - which was to challenge him who decreed such a thing to a prune eating contest.  Seriously.  The article is supposed to be informative but it's really just hilarious.)

Well, anyway.  I'd better run along now.  All of a sudden I feel the need to visit the bathroom.  Probably just coincidence, I'm sure!

Peace, love and take a back seat, heart-shaped chocolate box!
Ms. Daisy

p.s. I wrote the above post yesterday.  Let me just say that perhaps you ought to have one or two prunes and REALLY STOP.  I had to chug the kombucha to exorcise the screaming prune demons that were trying to slice the insides of my intestines with their talons for quite a while yesterday.  Good news is I feel much better now and probably am about four pounds lighter.  Silver lining, people, silver lining!

Halftime, Halftime, Hoochie Mamas

Perhaps you got a chance to see some of the Superbowl yesterday.  Did you see the halftime show with Beyonce?

I must say that I only caught glimpses of the game (because I was busy starting up a crocheting circle in the back of the room with a pile of ladies - who, I might add, hadn't learned before - except one - and by the end of the evening were gleefully addicted and whipping out lovely mini-scarfy objects), but I did partially watch the halftime show...unfortunately.

"Unfortunately" -  because it seemed to me I was watching a leather-clad, mostly naked pole dancer (without the pole) who had an extreme penchant for flashing lights and apparently using up so much electricity that she shut down the stadium for an hour or so.  Most people were starting out the halftime show wondering if she would be lip-synching, I was wondering halfway through it whether or not she would have people flicking dollar bills at her (in the shape of triangle footballs - you know the game, right?).

I was watching with my brothers-in-law, one who is 25 years-old.  He commented that he was all for women's rights and even thinks they aren't treated quite equally in the workplace, but if they are so against being objectified, why do they do things like this (gesturing to the stripper  singer on TV)?  

Indeed it is peculiar.  I postulated that perhaps it is because instead of actual "equality"  and other such keywords that float along with the general women's movement, these women actually just find the old-fashioned base and banal power sufficient to them and prefer to be relegated to objectification within society.  Would they actually admit to that?  Probably not, but I wouldn't put it out of range.

I heard a lady in the locker room this morning remarking about her performance and she quipped, "If you've got it, flaunt it, I guess.  And she's got it!"  

Tis a sad sentiment, I think.  I think it takes a bit more to NOT flaunt it if you've "got it" and you might want to not flaunt "it" out to the whole wide world (in this case, I suppose QUITE LITERALLY).  

It is no wonder that as the United States tries to export itself in every form to the whole world that certain areas resist takeover (especially in such a rather vile manner).  I'm not suggesting perpetual skirt-wearing or busting out in your burquini, but c'mon, man, that was some serious hoochie mama-ing going on.

And f'real, you know that 99% of those drunken, slobbery, balding dudes are just straight up NASTY - why would you want them drooling on you?  That's called serious self-image issues right there.

Take your pick - live like a princess above reproach or like an objectified magazine cut out.  At least (for crying out loud) while you're in front of 99 bazillion viewers.

Peace, love and just like there's no "I in team", their ain't no "hoodrat" in "hottie",
Ms. Daisy
(but there is "me" in team...)

Supercentenarians...and you

So I'm sure you've just been dying to know what my latest obsession/interest is, right?  You've probably been sitting around at your kitchen table with your head in your hands, wrenching them through your hair - occasionally pounding your fist in frustration upon your beloved eating space while desperately crying out, "What COULD she be obsessing over today?  OH!  If I only might know!  I would feel that my day would be complete!  Argh!  I am robbed of joy, robbed!  Robbed, I tell you!"

You may now heave your gigantic sigh of relief because I am about to tell you.  

Lately I have been inclined to obsess over...bum ba da BAAA!!  Supercentenarians!  

They sound like super heroes.  Well, duh, 'cuz they so are.

If you're saying, "What the heck is a supercentenarian?", you know that I shall gladly tell you.

So, a regular centenarian is a person who has achieved the feat of turning a mere 100 years old.  My great-grandma was a centenarian - she was 102.75 when she passed from this world to the next and my grandmother (her daughter) is 11 months shy of her 100th birthday.  I suppose it's how we roll around here.

A supercentenarian is someone who is greater than 110 years old.  There is this organization that records and verifies the age of such people and they keep this list and it's all Guiness booky and everything.  You have to have three sources to prove your age that are recognized by an international body.  Other people who are not verified may have less than three - like just having your birth certificate is not quite good enough for these fancy people, they've got to do it up all the way in three separate directions.

Currently, the oldest person in the world is a man from Japan.  He worked for the post office for about 45 years and then after he retired, he decided to be a farmer until he was 90.  He's 115 (116 in April) and is reported to read the paper every day with a magnifying glass.   He says his secret is eating small portions of food.

The oldest person ever on modern history's record is a woman from Arles, France.  Madame Calmet was 122 years old when she passed from this life to the next.  If you know anything about Impressionism, you know a Mr. Vincent van Gogh and that he lived in Arles in his painting years while he was trying to get people to come hang out with him in that section of France.  You will be fascinated to know that Madame Calmet was in her uncle's shop when she was about 13 when Mr. van Gogh came in to buy some paintbrushes.  She described him as, "rude, dirty and unpleasant" and she disliked him very much.  If you read his letters, you can see that many people held that opinion of him during his time (except perhaps his brother - who was also his patron).  

She celebrated her 121st birthday with a little champagne and was reported to eat about 2.2 pounds of chocolate a week. 

Once, someone said to her something along the lines of "Perhaps I'll see you next year?"  (She was about 115 at the time.)  She said, 'What's the matter with you?   You don't look sick!"

All of these people had something in common - they had an outgoing personality, many had/have a good sense of humor and they all tried new things and found enjoyment in life.  Madam Calmet took up fencing when she was EIGHTY-FIVE YEARS OLD.

What is says to me is that they were actually living their lives instead of waiting to die.  I suggest to you that you do the same.  At best, you may one day join the supercentenarian club - at worst, you will have spent your life enjoying it, others and learning about piles of things all over this blue and green planet.  

I'd say that is no loss either way.

Peace, love and get out there and enjoy it!
Ms. Daisy

Lovely Lovin' Languages

Oh surely you have heard of that book about the five "love languages", haven't you?

Pray tell, say you have!

Well, no worries.  If you haven't, I am here to inform you of something you may know already - buried deep in your never-rusty heart, which is: according to this book, you speak a language of love to those around you and receive and understand love in that language also.

No, no, the language is not "English".  It's not even Spanish or Italian or Finnish.  No, m'dearies, these babies are things along the lines of:

+ gifts (giving/receiving - the little to the big)
+ acts of service (washing someone's car, babysitting for them, helping them move)
+ words of affirmation (dang baby, you lookin' HOT today - and have I told you how smart and capable you are lately?)
+ physical touch (may I have a foot massage, por favor?)
+ quality time (shall we sit here on this our couch together and bond over tea and conversation?)

I put the important ones first.  Duh.

What.

Why are you looking at me like that?  Fine.  But everyone has their own opinions, you know.

So here's the premise and the problem.  The book states that you have a primary way of showing how you love someone else.  You do this thing to them to show and prove you are sacrificing your very LIFE for them.  This is wonderful IF...they speak that love language primarily too.  You're filling up their "love tank".  If perchance, say, your significant other has a different love language and you're just going all ballistic in the corner on your own opposite-y lovey thing, they're like, "Aw man!  My significant other must not love me!"  because they're expecting foot rubs and babysitting and you're just over there telling them they're hotter than Matt Damon, Orlando Bloom and Leonardo DiCaprio put together.

Raise your hand if you are with someone who "speaks" the same love language as you.

Bueler?  Anyone?

Yep, that's how it goes.  It makes life more hilarious that way.  And challenging.

Seriously.  If my hubby came home with a daisy and said he was going to wash the dishes and put them away for me, I'd probably die of love.  If he said he was going to wash my car, I'd double die of love. 

Now wouldn't this be nice if it were reciprocal?  Like if me washing his socks made him go into a tizzy of loveness.  I agree.  But I must tell you - IT DOES NOT.  He's all up in my griggidy-grill saying, "Ooh, you're so pretty!"  And I'm all, "Please hold this towel and massage the newly-washed glass into a dry frenzy, please."

Sorry doesn't put the delicious Triscuit crackers in my mouth, now does it, Karl?

Ah, well.  Here's a quiz for you to figure out your love language.

What'd ya get, huh, huh, huh?

It's an interesting idea, certainly.  Perhaps if we just work on serving and loving others in general (instead of our pedestaled selves), the world might just spin 'round a little more peacefully.

Quiz up - let me know - what's your thang?

Peace, love and even more love,
Ms. Daisy

Late night absurdities

My computer: "Would you like to shut down?"
Me: "Would you like to shut up?"

Every.  Single.  Time.

Peace, love and don't stay up late - it increases your weirdness levels,
Ms. Daisy

Supa-sonic "Baby's Butt" Face

As I type this, my face is covered with a concoction of Finnish yogurt and nutmeg.  If you don't know me, you may likely think this very strange.  If you do know me, well...yep, you're just wondering whether or not this is a daily happening or one I save for special occasions.

Well, special.  I guess.

When I was a teenager, I think I got a total of three zits in something like seven years.  Now that high school is a teenage lifespan away, I have decided to make up for it and get a new and friendly zit each and every month.

This is very disturbing.  I mean, really!  When I was a teenager I actually ate quasi-foods like McDonalds.  Here I am, something like six years clean of such things, getting a dear, sweet visitor to my what-used-to-be-a-clean-canvas face.  Well.  Isn't that lovely?

Hold on, I'm going to scrub it off and see if it did anything good.  Be right back.

Back.  It felt like a long time, didn't it?  Let me just say to you - GO.  Go to your fridge NOW.  Go get some milk or yogurt (plain, please, no strawberry Dannon going on) and stick a teaspoon-ish into a tiny bowl and sprinkle it with nutmeg.  RUN.  NOT KIDDING.

You know how people say "soft as a baby's bottom"?  This is my face right now.  I am a butt face.  

In a good way.

This is for real amazing.  Are you seriously still reading?  Go!  I'll wait, I promise!  You waited for me, remember?

Okay.  So I did circular-y motions of dairy product smelling of nutmeg upon my face and then sat here quite awkwardly until it was dry and I could feel it pulling my face off in a crackly way.  You'll know.  Trust me.

When everything was all dry and I looked like I had a face sprinkled of nutmeggy goodness, I rinsed it with hot water and viola, here I am, new face.

I'm pretty sure I've looked at my face up close about five times since I've rinsed it all off to check if it was really my skin.

Are you wondering if I just sat around thinking up weird things to do?  Well, I mean, YES, that is something I have done in the past, totally, BUT - this one I had help in the form of some Crunchy Betty inspiration.  She has a post where she uses milk and nutmeg and says it's her favorite way to remove blackheads.  The milk (or yogurt like I used) has some lactic acid in it that does crazy good things to your skin and the nutmeg is a supersonic (not literally, just in an 80's dance music way) scrubber exfoliator.

Supa-sonic, sonic, sonic...

Six times.  Ooh, lookie me face.  It's probably some supermodeliquin's secret or something.  

Like f'real.  Have you done this before?  What do you exfoliate with?  

If you try this, let me know how you like it.

Love, rather.  Let me know how you love it.  I am pretty sure, unless you are highly allergic to one of these ingredients, you are going to be rather smitten.

And now, back to staring at a mirror.

Peace, love and three cheers for supersonic nutmeg yogurt,
Ms Daisy

Love Letter to the Politicians...not.

Dear elected officials in Congress and in the office of the Presidency, 

I write to you today to address a very pressing issue in our United States: the return to the payroll tax hike. As the vast majority of Americans opened their first paycheck of the new year, some eyes bulged out in utter bewilderment, accompanied by anger and confusion.  Yes, there are some who were aware you allowed it to resurrect itself as you stepped aside and let it walk back in, but most were rather surprised.  

 You've been rather busy arguing with the other side of the aisle, so perhaps it was put on the back burner and escaped your astute attention, but I would like to plainly point out to you that this was a disasterous idea - for you as well as for the country. 

The majority of Americans are so involved with their own lives and their iphones that they don't really care what you're doing and just take it from Brian Williams that what you're doing must be just fine.  You can get away with a lot of things that way, I'm sure, but you can not get away with hiding the removal of a large sum of money from their weekly or biweekly paychecks without their notice. 

This is where you may have bet wrongly - you figured that people will perhaps be upset for a little while and then get used to it - they always do.  It's like complaining when Facebook changes formats.  

However, you chose the wrong route for this one. 

Everyone knows that Social Security is a laughingstock joke and it isn't going to be there for the people who are paying into it now.  A return to tax hike isn't going to fix it.  It is just going to allow most people to not be able to afford their groceries.  People have lived so close to the limit of income that they've scraped down everything already to try to make it work as it is.  You are so far removed from those you have been elected to serve that you cannot even begin to understand this, unless you actually do know what you're doing in it and maliciously don't care. This was the one decision you let slide by that may end up costing you your (apparently quite posh) job.   

As long as you continue this, I won't be voting for you and I will be loudly encouraging others to do the same.  When they look for answers as to why they have to decide between paying their heating bills and feeding their children, I'll step up and let them know that you allowed this to go back into effect and you're the one to go talk to about it. 

Stop playing games.  Stop increasing taxes.  Let those who work for their money be able to keep it and do what they need to do. 

Those who have elected you to serve would appreciate it.

Sincerely,

Ms. Daisy

Encouragement through horrifying you

I am about to try to encourage you via horrifying you with my own personal history.


I was talking to my dear diva friend, Julie D, on Friday evening and the comment came up from another friend that where I am now on my trail of foodie-ing has been a long path, a.k.a. I didn’t get to my current food beliefs overnight nor have I always viewed food in the manner that I do now.

Some people read my blog or speak with me about food and they want to change what they’re doing, but they see that there are so many things you can do out there and then give up from being totally overwhelmed at the vastness of it all. Let me say to you with an arm swung triumphantly across my body, “Do not give up!”

Let me tell you my horrifying little secrets.

While it is true that now I eat things that I make at home, organic things, made from scratch-y things, kombucha-y things, this was not even on the radar in my late youth and early adulthood.

Yes.

Do you know what I was known for in high school?

This is rather embarrassing.

I was known for…drinking…Mountain Dew. Yeah, you know - the stuff that has no food ingredient and is made mostly of butane and other drastic chemicals?

Yes.

And…eating…sugar.

Excellent.

In fact, since I was on the swim team, we were banned from eating sugar during the season. Unfortunately for me, the swim season spanned across Halloween – or as I now call it, Crackoween – the time of the year where kind neighbors distribute sugar narcotics to small children…and older ones, too. Since I usually do follow the rules, I would go Trick-or-Treating, save my gigantic pillowcase of cracky candy in my bedroom closet and leave it there until the last swim meet of the year had ended. At this point, I would run to my room, throw open the closet, snatch out the pillowcase of preservative-laden sugar, sit on my bed and eat at least half of the bag. I looked like a homeless vagrant – surrounded in a leaf pile of candy wrappers, fingers sticky with the saccharine-sweet candy, my smiling expression covered in brown gooey chocolate as I neared a joyful coma-like state.

Also, I’ve always loved tea. Nice, proper, strong black tea. I take it with milk, of course (like any civilized person ought). When I was in high school, I also took it with about five lumps of sugar. FIVE. This is not a joke.

This was until my uncle encouraged me to try it for two weeks without sugar. He told me if I did, I’d begin to like it that way and never go back (it was how he took his tea – and my grandmother, too.). I did it to humor him, thinking that I could accept the challenge and then proudly say that I would love to go back and actually add about ten more lumps of sugar after being put through intense suffering such as that. But…well. I was wrong. I liked it just fine. And now I won’t take it any other way. Thanks, Uncle Gary! You probably gave me about ten more years on to my life span.

Not only did I (beyond) indulge myself in straight up sugar (and low-quality chocolates), I also did many other unthinkable things, like EAT AT MCDONALD’S. And Taco Bell. And Frosted Flakes! And Pop Tarts, Twinkies, the ever-lovely orange processed American cheese, Pepsi, “Fruit” Roll-Ups, Franco-American Spaghetti-O’s, Stove Top, King’s Hawaiian rolls, ramen noodles, Nutty Butters, Pop Rocks, Miracle Whip and many more horrors that would knock my current self over just by speaking their very names.

This is what I was.

(Now that I think about it, I’m kind of surprised I’m still alive, actually.)

I mean, I actually ate at McDonald’s. I guess a lot of people have a problem admitting this, but I did it. I ate their cheeseburgers and even the fries! Those things that don’t even change after like being left out for eleven years – they don’t even MOLD! Have you seen that lady who collects Happy Meals? She has a few and they vary in age from something like a few years to a very lot of years old and they all look the same! I ate this stuff!

Oh, my poor husband. When we got married I didn’t know how to cook. I could pretty much make cereal, sandwiches and boiled chicken. BOILED chicken. That was a meal.

As you can see, you look like a granola covered, Birkenstock-and-sock wearing, tie-dyed, dreadlocked hippie from Berkley right now compared to the audacity of what I once was.

All it takes is you getting an itch for one thing. My first step was getting rid of high fructose corn syrup. Do you think you can do that? After I got a handle on that, I got rid of partially hydrogenated oils. It was step by step. I did not omit HFCS, PHO, GMO’s, unfermented soy, nitrates, nitrites, beet sugar, polysorbate 80, bPA, TBHQ, BHT, other preservatives, chemically manufactured vitamins, conventional pesticide veg and fruit, feed lot corn-fed beef, eggs from caged hens, chicken meat from scary dark tin houses, store-bought/manufactured sweets, treats and breads, canola oil, parabens, sodium laurel/laureth sulfates, citric acid + sodium benzoate, artificial flavors and colors all at the same time in the same day. That would be enough to make anyone lose their mind completely.

I guess the removal of high fructose corn syrup from my diet was my gateway onto the highway of clean eating.

You can’t do everything today. Just pick one thing. Read up on it. Research how it is affecting you and your chil-drey-nos. The education you receive will benefit you and yours.

Then c’mon back and tell me what you did!

Peace, love and just try it,
Ms. Daisy

You're not fully clean unless...

Ello, lovelies! 

Today we explore another area of do-it-yerselfing (yer-self is the correct pronunciation, of course.).  What now could it possibly be, say you?

The necessary evil – ba da bummmm (dramatic music, please)…the “L” word.  The dreaded, the horrid, the mountainous…laundry.  Perhaps you can’t stand a mountain of laundry and you keep up with it, if so, kudos to you.

You know, speaking of which, I want you to think about what you have for just a second and how much you really need.  I went (a long billion years ago or so-ish) to El Salvador and experienced something I have never before (or since).  It was simply this: the women I was working with had two pairs of underwear (knickers?  Is that right, UK?) – one that they were wearing and one that they washed and hung on a line to dry every morning. 

Hello!? 

That is pretty much – to tell the truth – all you really need.  But why don’t we open up your knickers drawer and peek to see if you’ve got two or two hundred.

Anyway, something to stick in the back of your head.

And now, in the meantime – laundry.  Do you do your laundry the same day and time each week?  Or if you’ve got a pile of littles, perhaps you do it several times a day.

At any rate, let’s talk about laundry detergent. 

Do you make yours?  Have you ever thought about it?  It’s pretty easy and if you’d like, I’ll show you a recipe I know for it.

Here is the easy-ness in all of its glory…

Homemade Launderings

1 cup Borax

1 cup Washing soda (this is NOT baking soda.  It kind of looks like a baking soda box but it’s about fifty times bigger.  Look for it in the laundry area.)

2 cups of a shredded laundry soap bar (some people use Fels Naptha, other people say Fels Naptha is poison from the devil)

This is for a dry mix.  You mix all of that stuff up and off you go.  There is another way with this recipe that makes a liquid detergent – basically you get loads and loads of water, boil it up, and it turns to a goo.  You add more water and you can basically make 5 gallons of detergent for like a dollar.  Okay, maybe not a dollar.  But not very much.

Here’s the site I’ve used to make my own:

One Good Thing, by Jillee: Laundry Detergent

She’s got some great ideas to look through.

Why on earth would I want you to make your own detergent?  Two reasons (okay, maybe more) – one: because I want you to be independent and know how to do things and two: it’s waaaaaaaaay cheaper.  Reason number three would be something like: so you can avoid a slathering of poison chemicals on your clothes that you rub on your children’s skin and your own.  But whatevs, you can pick a reason you like.

They ought to wash up those adorable cloth diapers you made by hand very nicely!  Oh wait, only super popular people make handmade cloth diapers, right daaaaaahling?

I can’t say I did that, although I quite wish I would have. 

Alrighty, me dearies.  May you have a very wonderful weekend!

Peace, love and scrubby bubbles,

Ms. Daisy

Highway to the danger zone

At noon today (EST), the President of the United States is to make an announcement regarding four points of gun control while usurping the balance of the Congress, denying the second amendment of the Constitution and acting in an autocratic, emperor-like fashion.  Even if you are uncomfortable with firearms, you should feel a bit (um, like one million gallons) more uncomfortable with an elected official who feels they have the right to overpower the Constitution, rape over the wills of those in Congress and the general public of whom he is supposed to serve.

It was a wise choice that the founding fathers made in devising a document to govern us instead of an individual.  As they came from an authoritarian monarch, they saw the danger and the unbalanced power that he held and provided a way for their future to be secure in a tri-fold balance.

All throughout history we’ve seen countless numbers of men (mostly) come to power, hungry for more – more power, more land, more control.  As they have tried to reach out for it, the sips of what they could reach only made them thirst for an unquenchable desire – total control and absolute power.  At the heart we know that people are evil – seeking their own good before the good of others, preferring themselves over service to another.

Up until this time in the short history of the United States, we’ve seen Presidents who have (mostly – at least until recently) respected our true governing authority – the Constitution. 

The right to keep and bear arms is not to support people in their duck hunting endeavors.  The right to keep and bear arms is not even to support people in the preservation of their very lives against street thugs (although it works for that, also) and other such criminally-minded social deviants.  The right to keep and bear arms is exactly to support the people of the United States against a tyrannical government – a government who bulldozes their will, dictates autocratically, mandates without restraint and waves magic wands (or apparently a magic marker) over the Constitution.

All citizens should be spending less time arguing about whether or not they believe people should own assault rifles and look to the infinitely more alarming and blatant situation that we face at this precipice: a ruler who is approaching (in his mind and in his actions) complete autocracy.

Even if you voted for the current President, you should be alarmed at these drastic measures – not because they line up (or don’t) with you politically or in theory – but because of what this means for our future.

Please hear me.

Stop arguing about who didn’t sweep the kitchen floor – look up and see the ticking time bomb that is attached to your fridge.

I know that there must be a thought in the minds of the powers that be that the American people are so drugged up, stupid and uneducated that everything will slide through easily – and if it does, those things will be never ever more obvious.

I beg you to wake up and see what is at stake.  Don’t argue with me about the cards on the table.  If you don’t have a raised brow at the card dealer, you are missing it.

It’s time to prove you’re out there.  The threat to the independence of your progeny stands at your front door and knocks.

Gravely yours,

Ms. Daisy