September 22, 2012
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Sitting on the Couch: Day 10
My body is comfortable with rice and beans. The first week of detox had some ups and downs, but that was normal. The two times I didn’t feel well since that were when I put lemon Kool-Aid to flavor my tea (processed sugar), and when I ate the cake crumbles that were on the plate after we celebrated our birthday parties (day 8, I do confess. I cheated. I didn’t even mix in rice with the cake crumbles). My body didn’t like the processed sugar or flour, and told me so. And now I am sensitive enough to notice it.
Breakfast rice and beans omelet was fantastic. My dad taught me that just about everything tastes good in a good omelet. Even better were the little peppers (I am not sure what kind) that I found for sale at the open market—stir together for instant goodness!
I wanted fruit, any way possible. I tried mangos with rice and coconut milk. Not so great. But leftover coconut rice made into a smoothie with a banana and cinnamon? Score! That has great potential. Rice, blended. Hmmm. Other dessert ideas: brownies made with beans: http://www.5dollardinners.com/2010/04/pams-365-day-rice-beans-challenge.html. Too bad I don’t like chocolate.
(I don’t have a picture of Sylvia. But I did do more than just sit on the couch today…this was at the trashdump)
Sylvia. I wonder why it is me sitting on the couch watching a movie while she is cleaning the floor. We are both women. We both were born and live and breathe. We both have dreams and loved ones and people that irritate us.
Sylvia cooks for the International school. She is an artist with food. She sings like an angel while doing it. She married her Negao—tall, dark, and handsome. She had a beautiful baby boy. And everything she does is with grace.
She turned to go, after cleaning our apartment for six hours, and took out a tube of lipstick. “Where are you going with those pretty lips?” I asked. Just back home to her children, she says, but the lipstick gives her something extra. Something extra—that is Sylvia.
He left her for another. When she was pregnant with their second child. Without her job at the school she would have been homeless. She works hard all week, but ends are still short. She asks if we can please have her come clean our apartment on Saturday—the money is necessary. And I sit on the couch and watch a movie while she is cleaning the floor.
I wonder if she remembers the dreams she used to have, before survival and one day at a time became her life. She picks up the hair straightener that is in my trashcan (it died yesterday). She asks if she can have it—perhaps her friend can fix it. Of course I say. “But what about you?” I turn red as I confess that I will simply bring a new one back after Christmas. We both sigh. We are both women.
