These veggie burgers are the perfect balance of warm, hearty winter food and light, healthy spring flavors for this transitional time of year when our feet are cold but the sun is out.
I know I’ve been trying to keep this blog positive, but maybe we can’t always have positivity. Maybe it’s too naive, or disingenuous. We can aim for optimism, we can aim for strength. We can reach for that good idea that makes sense and does no harm.
Last week I had major oral surgery: 2 teeth pulled, then three bone grafts and four implants installed in my face. The easy thing to do is write a blog post about the smoothies I’ve been drinking, but that will be too easy (turmeric, spirulina, maca, coconut milk, frozen bananas, frozen blueberries, frozen kale or spinach, and a half scoop of protein powder). Yesterday, I went on my first bike ride since surgery, and I actually hit a few PRs, according to Strava (disclaimer, I often forget to turn on Strava so that data could be tainted). I wore my new Club Ride Drop Bib chamois, which was a literal game changer. I wish I had those shorts on the Great Divide Wow. I’ve been complaining about bib shorts for years, and had a few designs that only ever surfaced while getting drunkenly angry while lamenting with guy cycling friends at the bar, post-ride, about how annoying women’s cycling gear options in general are, and how we are a very large demographic that is not taken seriously. Due to a pro deal with Outdoor ProLink, I was finally able to test out one of the models that have come out over the past couple years. The design isn’t perfect (zippers, tight-fitting mesh spandex, and sticky sweaty thighs aren’t a perfect combination when trying to do a quick pee behind a bush in a county park), but it is definitely an appreciated start, the zippers stay up, and the shorts in general are comfortable and well-fitting.
I refuse to let fear get in the way of being a sanctuary.
I’ve been struggling to find meaning and positivity these past few months. Everything has been tinted with heartbreak, anger, resentment. I try to remember compassion, and it is only with daily meditation that I can break from the negative feelings. It has, however, manifested in efforts to support my own community, to hold compassion in a general sense for the environment and my neighbors. On Sunday, we saw the fruit of our organizing efforts as our Writers Resist event here in Santa Fe, New Mexico, was beyond capacity. There was standing room only, then no room at all, and crowds buzzed outside or went in the side door to give donations. We raised so much money for New Energy Economy and Esperanza Shelter for Battered Families that to state the numbers would be bragging. I talked briefly with an old mentor, Greg Glazner, a wonderful writer and kind heart who was always my cheerleader in college, who supported me as a writer and a person, and just a few sentences with him brought me to my sanity.
I’ve been home for a few weeks now. I’ve been trying to write about our trip, but haven’t been able to focus on what happened. We rode into Antelope Wells, New Mexico (which was really just a border crossing), and were picked up by Taylor’s boyfriend, who was coming down to pick her up anyway so they could start on their motorcycle trip back to Philadelphia. Meghan and I were dropped off in Las Cruces, where we hung out in a hotel, walked to Walmart and met up with Evan, and went to Applebee’s to cash in a gift certificate she’d been holding onto. In the hotel room, Meghan and I lay in our respective beds and talked about how it all felt like a dream from which we were now waking up. Not one of those real dreams that shudder us, take us out of our comfort of knowing real from imaginary and take a moment to realize that no, we did not murder a vampire and win a million dollars, but rather one of those distinctly fabricated dreams that display all of our hopes and fears and we wake up feeling more whole and yet torn apart, and completely separated from what took place in our sleepspace.
Today is our second rest day! We pushed through the Great Basin in two days, and road 80 miles from Wamsutter, Wyoming to Slater, Colorado, keeping our eyes on the prize of the wonderful cyclist oasis that is the Brush Mountain Lodge.
Please excuse typos of all sorts, im writing this from my phone with crappie Internet coverage.
I have a lot of stories on my mind lately, and a lot in draft as well. From going on an epic hike with a bum knee in a hail storm at Great Sand Dunes to getting lost on my bike on a mountain in Los Alamos and getting saved by a man wearing all purple, plus everything from moving into a new house to painting an 8-room law office in Albuquerque to the avoidable death of (yet another) friend, it’s been a busy, confusing, heartbreaking, heartswelling, monumental month. I have these stories lined up, like I said, but today I left for my morning walk with the dog ready to put them on the back burner and write a post about the importance of finding what in life will keep us going (for me it’s riding my bike, writing, and celebrating the physical challenges of the body [a reason I love boxing]); by the end of the walk, I was feeling a bit less depressed—isn’t that the goal, to always strive to feel just a bit less depressed than the moment before?—I was sick of thinking about that sort of thing. I still think it will be an important story to tell, but the story I want to tell right now is a story with forward motion, the story of preparing for my bike trip. Here’s a picture of all my gear:
There’s something about wind that makes me anxious. A good storm is one thing, but wind, even (or especially) without rain gets my pores opened and pupils dilated, and my thoughts are whirled around in the chaos.