If I had to eat oyster stew, I’d be thin as a rail. Everything about oysters as a food choice disgusts me: the color, the consistency, the surface sheen, the ooiey-gooey-ishness of them that seems to cry, “HELP, I LOST MY SHELL.” They approximate the nightmare version of the Wicked Witch of the West after she melted. So skip the oysters and pass the pain de mie. I am a woman after Julia’s heart when it comes to eggs, butter, and flour.
But now, at my Best Middle-Aged _________ (fill in the blank) stage of my life, my medical chart includes hypertension and obese which is enough to send any middle-aged American woman’s blood pressure through the roof.
(Fuck digital medical records that let you see what your doctors actually say about you. Okay, forgive the f-bomb. It slipped. But they don’t use words like chubby or rotund or Rubenesque. They use the O word. And not the good O word.)
I’ve undertaken this Live Like Julia week with a fervor. Ironically, it means that I’m applying my passion and focus to making healthy choices (a euphemism that almost begs for another f-bomb) to improve my digital medical record–I mean, my health–instead of cooking the rich, delectable delights from Julia’s cookbooks.
Like everybody (or maybe it’s only the bodies I know) I like to have things the moment I want them.
Not so much how life works.
I’ve read “Rule #9: Make the World Your Oyster (Stew)” like, fifteen times in the last week. Since I’ve committed to stop overthinking things in my own head, I’m trying to get into Julia’s, or at least Julia-as-channeled-by-Karen. Tonight I got fifteen pages in before I found the gold nugget.
Karbo writes, “This recipe (Pain Francais) is seventeen pages long.” It took Julia and M. Paul Beck, two hundred and eighty-four pounds of white flour to develop the recipe.
The pearl for today?
Take your time.
Take as long as you need.
Take as long as it takes to get it right.
I didn’t build this pasty white baguette of a body overnight and it’s going to take some big-ass effort, some bad-ass attitude, and some serious-ass Julia Child’s perseveration to improve conditions resulting from years of neglect.
My favorite position for my feet is shown above. This is why reading is such a delight. Feet up, brain engaged, dog snuggled.
Tomorrow morning I’m going to tuck those toes into a pair of New Balance tennies and walk the path I’ve decided to walk. I’m going to take as much time as it takes.
And thanks, Karen Karbo, for issuing an invitation to #LiveLikeJulia.