My omnivorean dilemma.

Farmers' market in Monterey, California

I'm reading a book that is making it very difficult to eat. Thanks to the thoughtful arguments laid out in Eating Animals (by Jonathon Safran Foer, whose fiction I adore), I am thinking it's time to rethink meat.

I've already grown more circumspect about what I eat. The additives, the massive amounts of sugar, butter, oil, and Lord-knows-whatever-else kinds of chemicals and preservatives. It's easy to know that those things aren't good for you. And, relatively speaking, it's easy to find ways to avoid them or reduce them or be smarter about them. (Though I do love sweets. And high-fructose-corn-syrup-laden popsicles--0 points for 2!)

The difficulty comes in meat. Factory farms, as Foer points out, are almost literally the only option for chicken, turkey, pork, and beef. And animals in those farms are drugged up and kept in deplorable, filthy conditions. What kinds of drugs are they taking, and how often? What is the long-term side effect for humans eating them? We know that we don't want to eat non-organic apples or potatoes because those things are chocked full of pesticides...but what of our meat and poultry?

But what if not everyone in your family wants to go vegetarian or go out of their way to find local chickens or beef? And what do you do when you have a child and they get fed hot dogs and nuggets at day care or birthday parties? And how do you eat out? This touches every aspect of life.

Becoming a thoughtful consumer/eater is a lifestyle change in and of itself. But can I overcome my intrinsic American laziness over food? Will I be willing to paying more for humanely raised and processed chicken? (I am a penny-pincher.) Do I want to shop at three different grocery stores every week--one for Chris's food and stuff like Fiber One bars, one for produce, and one for local chicken, eggs, and milk? (I hate grocery shopping, so very thought of this is enough to me want to quit before even starting.)

When I think about the scope if this, it is humbling and frustrating and challenging. But probably necessary. Maybe it begins with baby steps, one thing at a time.

And so we're clear: I will not judge what you or anyone else chooses to eat--I hate it when people do that. I can't even promise that three months from now I'll still feel this way (though I hope my awareness of what I'm eating never leaves me). I'm just trying to get my own thoughts in order here.

Dog days.

There's a certain quality to the sky during the summer in Texas that makes you feel as if you will never survive. It's bleached blue, beaten by clouds that offer no shade, and seems to stretch further than normal. Texas summers always remind me that I am living in the middle of a land mass, hours away from the continent's edge.

The beach. Oh, the sweet beach. I would give anything to hear the tide right now instead of the cicadas whirling in the late afternoon heat.

I have realized that I am going to have to move my after-work work out to before work, once and for all. I am not a morning person. The idea of lacing up my shoes for a 6:15 a.m. walk does not appeal to me. But I suppose it appeals more than walking in heat whose index is currently sitting at 102 degrees. And I just bargained with myself that I would walk tomorrow morning (my usual day of rest from exercise) instead of this afternoon. Anything sounds better than going back outside right now. We'll see how this goes.

This is the time of year where stores are switching to early fall clothes--boots, sweaters, jackets. Meanwhile, I am still looking for another bathing suit for our cruise (Did I mention we're taking a cruise? October, going to Cayman Islands, Jamaica, and Key West. Cannot wait.) or for another pair of shorts. I see back-to-school supplies and I want to feel relief that fall is around the corner, but all I really feel is annoyed by seasonal creep. Can't we still want to buy barbecues and umbrellas and sun screen?

We're only half-way through summer, after all.

Plus/minus me.

After a rough four weeks of plateauing, I feel like I need to take an accounting of how I have changed in the last year. By the numbers:

• 1: Year on WW
• 80: Pounds lost
• 40: More pounds to go
• 122/80: My blood pressure, now normal. Much higher a year ago.
• L: Size of some of my tops now
• 10: Number sizes down
• .75: Portion of a mile I can jog without stopping. A year ago, it was maybe .75 feet.
• 90: Average afternoon temperature during my walks, sometimes with a heat index of 100+. I do it anyway.
• 6: Number of days I exercise

It's hard some days to remember that it took years to put this weigh on, and it'll take years to take it off. Why must things take so long? 

To celebrate one year in my new life (careful not to call it a "diet"), I made a delicious berry smoothie for dinner. Strawberries, blueberries, blackberries, Fiber One vanilla yogurt, and some milk and ice. Perfect for the post-walk sweats--you know the ones, when you're still sweating after you've gotten out of the shower.

Deliciousness.

Has anyone tried the Strawberry, Poppyseed & Chicken salad at Panera yet? Despite the fact that they don't use a comma between "Strawberry" and "Poppyseed" on their menu (the poppyseeds aren't strawberry-flavored; it's a list, so there should be a comma), it is straight-up delicious. Strawberries, blueberries, pineapple, mandarin oranges, pecans, and chicken in a really light poppyseed dressing. I am in love. And only 280 calories.

Freedom from sea-foam green.

Yesterday Chris and I celebrated our independence from my horrible green-based color choices of yore by painting the kitchen. When I first bought this place 5 years ago, I pictured everything being soft, beachy greens and blues. The kitchen color never panned out--and this was a repaint over the initial color I had chosen, which can best be described as fluorescent.

The cabins I redid about 3 years ago; I updated the stove and micro-hood 2 years ago; the tile was last summer, as were the drawer pulls. Finally, the paint. Looks like a whole new room, really.

I've moved from an all-green pallet to an all-brown one. I suppose that includes the smudges on the wall in the foreground, from George. (It's matte paint, so you know those don't wash off.) We still have lots of painting to do.

Pickin'.

I've been watching American Pickers on the History Channel lately--two guys who travel the country, pouring over other people's junk in old barns and attics. "Junk," of course, is in the eye of the beholder. I am a trash-to-treasure kind of girl myself, so I appreciate that ethic.

One of the houses on my walking route was having an estate sale last weekend. On Sunday, they marked everything 50% off. I thought we should take a look; at worst, it was a chance to snoop around someone else's house, something else I enjoy.

I spied this, for $2.50.

I've been in the market for a food processor--my one-cupper is practically useless.

Is this an awesome bargain or a disgusting mistake? I can't tell if food-prep equipment is one of those things that you never should buy used--like shoes or underwear--because you don't know where it's been. I scrubbed and disinfected the daylights out of it, and though it could use some blade sharpening, it works like new. (Even if "new" was 1983.) For $2.50, I think it was worth the gamble.