Pumpkin in Effing Everything

Like pretty much everyone, I love fall. Mostly for the food and booze. Of the pumpkin persuasion, primarily. I've been putting pureeed pumpkin in everything I eat. EVERYTHING. It's such an easy add to sauces and as a spread and smoothies and--God, there's a lot of alliteration going on right now. 

Anyway, I've been enjoying this breakfast for the past couple weeks:

(This is where I'd insert a gorgeous, artful picture of this taty recipe that would make you want to lick your screen, if I were that sort of person. I'm not. Maybe someday.)

Spiced Pumpkin Apple Oatmeal Extravaganza
1/2 cup old-fashioned oats
1/4 cup pumpkin puree
1/2 honeycrisp apple, cubed
1 banana, sliced
cinnamon, nutmeg, vanilla extract to taste

Cook the oatmeal, stir in pumpkin puree and spices, top with sliced banana and cubed apples. That's it. And all for 375 calories--hurrah!

It makes for a filling, completely delicious autumn breakfast. The recipe actually makes a pretty hearty breakfast--the pumpkin and apple add lots of fiber, so maybe cook up less oatmeal or add less pumpkin if you like your breakfast light. I like starting my day with a big breakfast, though, and this keeps me full for hours. I add a tablespoon of ground psyllium husk also, 'cause fiber is super.

Now, I'm usually ot a big baker; it takes precision and patience, two things that don't come naturally to me. However, one of my favorite recipes comes from Shutterbean, who comes up with amazing delicacies with food pictures I'm consistantly amazed at.




See what I'm saying? Courtesy of Shutterbean

  I tweaked her Baked Caramel Apple Donut recipe to make it "healthier." I also turned them into mini muffins instead of donuts, because I don't have a donut pan. Or a regular-sized muffin pan for that matter. Here's what I came up with:

Baked Apple Pumpkin Mini Muffins

• 1 1/4 cup whole wheat flour
• 2 teaspoons baking powder
• 1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
• 1/2 teaspoon salt
• 2 eggs, at room temperature
• 2/3 cup agave nectar
• 1/2 cup pumpkin puree
• 2 teaspoons vanilla extract
• 3 medium apples, peeled & shredded
• 1 1/2 cup chewy caramel candies
• 1 tablespoon vanilla almond milk

Directions
Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Grease up the muffin pan with coconut oil. Mix up dry ingredients in a bowl.

In another bowl, whisk together the eggs and agave nectar until smooth, then stir in vanilla and pumpkin puree.  Combine dry ingredients, then fold in the shredded apples. Spoon the batter into the muffin pans until about half full. Bake for 15-20 minutes until golden and a tooth pick inserted in the center comes out dry.

In a small, microwaveable bowl, combine the caramel and milk. Microwave for 1 minute at medium power. Stir, then repeat in 30 second intervals until melted and smooth. Without supervision, I will eat this entire caramel batch with a spoon.

Drizzle the remaining mixture over the muffins once they've cooled, or while they're still warm--whatever. Then enjoooy!

For a slightly healthier version, I've skipped the caramel completely and they're still delicious for a little snack or dessert.

My sister is coming in from school this weekend, and we're totally making these, sitting on the couch and watching terrible scary movies on Netflix. Yeah!

Yoga Hurts

My boyeee Ganesh is the remover of obstacles. I need him big time these days.

Reason One
My first yoga injury has been going on for months now: a bum right hammy. That is, I overstretched my hamstring right where it attaches to my ischial tuberosity (thanks, anatomy class!). Initially, I ignored it--I was going to get my ass into the deepest uttanasana possible, the ache deep in my upper thigh be damned. It only hurt when I did super intense forwards folds, so I considered the pain something to be worked through, pushed through. Of course, this led to even more ache and yuckiness, to the point where I not only felt it throughout class, but outside of class, too. 


Clearly, this was not something I could push through.


I've been taking it easy with my right side, but MAN, IT'S HARD. It's hard not being able to go into my deep forward folds without pain. It's hard not being able to put the crown of my head on the ground in prasarita padottanasana. It's hard getting frustrated in the middle of class because I can't do something I could a few painless months ago. My ego wants it so bad!

All that yoga talk about how destructive ego is really does have basis. It was ego that reasoned pushing through pain was better than listening to my body, and now it's ego that gets upset with me every time I recognize it's time to back off or not go to my edge. So I'm using this frustrating recovery period as practice being patient and compassionate to myself and my bum hammy, two things I've never been good at. Gotta start somewhere, though.


In other Yoga Hurts news, I have not had these many bruises since my roller derby days! They're all over my legs, arms and shoulders, and I think it has something to do with this:

B.K. in parsva bakasana (side crow)

That's what I've been trying to accomplish. Though I sometimes get some airtime, I usually end up like this face-planting kitten.

Still cute.

Reason Two:
I have so many plans, so many ideas, so much I want to get done that my skin itches with anticipation! Aadil Palkhivala was at Moksha a few weeks ago and I was lucky enough to attend a talk on dharma he was giving. First of all, his energy is effing enchanting. He's calm, steady and powerful--a total embodiment of stira and sukha, stability and ease. He challenged us to write down ten things we're grateful for in the morning, and ten things we're grateful for at night for a month, promising our lives would be transformed.

Now, I only did it for 20, but I get it: by transforming yourself into someone who recognizes the gifts that surround you and how blessed you are, you make space for more gifts and blessings--they're attracted to you! Now that sounds ridiculous and self-helpy...but totally true.



Another cool gal who gets it, man:

"You can’t make magic unless your heart is full of love. Similarly, when you make space for beauty, your brain works better. Ideas flow thick & fast; genius, eureka moments become a regular occurrence; & that smile on your face makes you look ever so gorgeous!" Gala Darling

I feel like this is Ganesha's jam, you know? Like he's all about this mindset, because this is what will remove your obstacles.

Now for something completely different:

The Death's Head Hawkmoth is at the top. He is no friend to Miss A. Mellifera; he sneaks into hives and sips honey through his stout proboscis, the asshole.


Sometimes I feel like this paper girl:

 

Borgesian, no?

Here we go again.

David Cappaert, Michigan State University, Bugwood.org

Look at this little apis mellifera. She looks like she's up to trouble. Honey-making trouble.


True to form, something shiny has caught my eye and now I'm completely obsessed. This time, it's honeybees, and they are friggin' delightful. I can't seem to get my greedy little paws on enough reading material, pictures and recipes. Must. Live on. Bee farm.


Along with my fascination with bees has come an intense desire to acquire all different kinds of honey. It certainly doesn't help that I'm in the middle of The Honey Trail: In Pursuit of Liquid Gold and Vanishing Bees by Grace Pundyk, who travels to the world's honey-producing hubs and describes in luscious detail the rare honeys she comes across. She writes that Yemeni sidr honey is a mouthgasm. But this super rare, God-sent (according to the beekeepers) is an astounding $300 USD for one pound. Three hundo for a mouthgasm would make me feel like a trick that just got turned.


So begins my Google search for rare honeys using Pundyk's book as a guide. She explicitly states that there really is no regulation on honey when it comes to country of origin. What's being sold can be anything from mega-produced Chinese honey (the largest honey producer in the world) to crap imitation honey-derived sweetner. Obviously I'm a little wary of buying the exotic stuff online from could-be honey conmen. But man oh man, to get wildly different honeys next to each other and taste them side-by-side...dream come true.

Tasmanian Leatherwood Honey via Taylor's Market

Even the packaging is magnificent. I'd fork over the cash just for the can alone.


Eventually, my bee obsession is leading me toward the UK, just outside Cambridge, to be specific. A commercial beekeeper I found via HelpX will need someone to help out come Spring, and hopefully I can stay, learn and beekeep for a few months. I've been needing to get out of the city for a while, so I think this is just what I would need. There are also some beekeepers in New Zealand that need help starting November for the winter (lucky them and their opposite seasons!), but I need to finish my yoga certification before I go anywhere. Six more months!

German is a dirty language.

Wanted:





"I want to say that I'll never leave you. And when you are sad, I'll give you a little alcohol to warm up your heart. xo."

If I wore this and you happened to be around, and it would totally be true.

Guilty Pleasures.

Minus the guilt.

Boys with tattoos and asymmetrical hair singing euro party dance hits.



Milk, milk, lemonade. I mean, just lemonade. Sure, it has tons of sugar and definitely not GI-friendly, but Christ, I'm all about it right now. Last night was a very sweet and lovely walk to Mario's on Taylor for a bit of a late-night frozen lemonade snack (the blue raspberry was a bit sweet--I like my lemonade really tart). This afternoon, brunch at Vella involved a tall glass of cherry lemonade. I'm sort of inspired to concoct my own recipe for a pink/strawberry-flavored one, probably with Splenda instead of sugar. And I love filling a glass with crushed ice and topping it off with light lemonade from a mix. Then I sit on my front porch on humid evenings and watch the Mexican toddlers on my block play in the street. Cuidado!


Wearing handkerchiefs and silk scarves tied around my neck like a gangster cowboy, or ala Urban Outfitters. Yeah, I jumped on the douche-y bandwagon and am driving that thing to town. Love it.


Grandma Coral lip color. These are a part of Smashbox's Desert Chic collection. The very top color is a hot tube of super sheer coral goodness, even though it looks red in the picture. I've always been afraid of wearing coral, but I tried it on the other day at work and got tons of compliments. It's a bit shimmery, but not frosted, and therefore not entirely grandma-esque.

I want to be naked all the fuckin time. Heat waves are only sexy in theory. The apartment doesn't have air conditioning, and I'm too poor at this point to want to spend the money on the actual unit (heh...unit.) and then the subsequent energy bills. I've been wearing lots of pretty, airy dresses because nothing is more agonizing than wearing jeans in this weather. Today's relative coolness has been a welcomed change. I wanted to organize a skinny dipping outing last summer, which never happened. It definitely will this summer, though.


Spending the hours awake at night in hot, sweaty agony has had only one positive outcome: I pass the time playing Rune Factory. Little Elliot is up to level 72! Also, four of the nine village girls have ten hearts for him, the sluts.

That's all!

P.S.
These are decadent and gorgeous!

I've started a super secret side project (!!!). I'm making it a point to work on it every day, and I'll post a link (like anyone reads this anymore) as soon as I think it's ready to officially launch. I've also met a graphic designer to help with the logo, real life tags, and site design. And since he's banging my roommate, he's giving me a discount. Fabulous!

I've been in silly moods lately. I got into a huge yelling fight with a bus driver who wouldn't let me transfer, but then on a different bus, this guy talking on his cell phone told his friend a story that was cracking me up. So it all balances out.

Time for

love!


Sylvia Ji is incredible- I feel like this woman paints my soul. I'd love for something of hers to be a future sleeve of mine.



I'm reading The Orchid Thief, and it's taking forever to get through. There really isn't plot, and there's no driving force propelling the book forward. It's like reading a book version of a documentary on orchids. I want to get one of my own, but they're notoriously hard to take care of. They remind me of M, who I bet is also hard to take care of.



Lately, I've been missing fall. There's something sleepy and cozy about it, like curling up with cool blankets. I miss the smell of leaves. I miss cider and Halloween. And taffy apples. I want to be a Thriller zombie this year, or Calavera Catrina and paint my face like one of Sylvia Ji's paintings.



I've wanted to wear Burberry scents for ages, but they always end up smelling really spicy on me. Beat, though, still has that spicy, woodiness to it, but settles down nice and sweet. It makes me wanna rock out to The Fratellis on a warm but drizzly London day in a wonderful scarf , dago tee and my galoshes.



Feeding my wanderlust. Let's run away to Spain... no one will have to know.



When I showed my mom the tattoo on my arm after getting it done, she just sort of shook her head and said something about how I'll look in my wedding dress. But brides with tattoos are hot. While some bitches want to get down to a certain weight for their wedding day, I'll make it a point to get my half-sleeve done before then.



Weeping saints.

Also: Shows and making fun of other bands, writing pages and pages, breaking in wedges, makeup gratis, freeing yourself of negative influences, pink lemonade, pups at outdoor festivals, sliced mangoes and avocados, bad movie marathons.

Why is everyone pregnant? Fuck.

Well, you know. Not everyone. But tis the season, I guess, for a plethora of women tottering around with big bellies, stretch marks and swollen ankles.

They make me nervous. I feel like they should be sitting down, like I should call them a cab, like they should be hospitalized because any moment they're just going to burst and get placenta all over the place. It makes me think about being pregnant, having a little parasitic little entity in your abdomen, like an alien, moving independently- little bumps and nudges from inside your body... ugh. Frankly, the whole thing terrifies me.

The other day I was helping a very pregnant woman pick out mascara. She was holding a tube by Bourjois and one by Stila, and swearing that one of these stupid mascaras helped her eyelashes grow. She said she had run out of it a while ago, and since then her eyelashes had once again become thin.

"Look," I said. "Anything that says it will grow your eyelashes or eyebrows, won't. It's impossible. They're lying." I explained to her that waterproof mascara is chemically-altered and may cause eyelashes to fall out and not grow back, so the best thing to keep this from happening is to use something natural and tar-free. Then she said something that completely caught me off-guard.

"Maybe it's because I'm pregnant." And she looked like she was going to cry.

"Oh," I said. "I don't know anything about that."

I feel even worse for the women, heavy with child, already pushing a stroller with an infant buckled in and holding the hand of a screaming two-year-old. Why would they do that to themselves?