Tri-ing To Read, Here.

Ok. This is another book review post, but I felt as though I’ve been neglecting telling you about my workouts as of late, so I’m going to do a quick re-cap with where I’ve been in this arena recently. Right now I’m taking it a bit easy, mostly playing with my kids, and chasing them around the park. I’m working back into a walking program to rest areas requiring healing. I do, however, have a long-term goal.

It’s a sprint-distance tri. 15k bicycle, 3.1 mi run (5K) and a 1/2 mile open-water swim. I am good-to-go with the swimming and the running. I could hit those distances half-asleep while doing a keg stand. (Though that is highly ill-advised.) It’s that third bit. That bit on the two wheels.  Jesus, Mary, and all of the Saints, I’m terrified.  (Is it Saints or saints? Any hagiographers read my blog?) I don’t have a fear of riding, so much as a total-and-utter fear of crashing and dying. I’m a New Yorker. Do you have any idea how many white-painted bicycles dot street corners to memorialize the death of a bicyclist? MORE THAN A FEW.  The crazy thing is that I am friends with MANY triathletes. I am friends with honest-to-gods IRONMEN/WOMEN. My sibling equivalent does a century ride every year to raise $$ for MS. The man? Bicycles were his PRIMARY-FORM of transport all through his teens, and most of his twenties. Here is my history with bicyles. In bullet-points.

• I learn to ride between ages 7-9
• It was a yellow bicycle with a banana seat
• my sister spray-painted my bicycle red
• the banana seat remained
• I wore no helmet, ever.
• I fell off said bicycle coming down the hill near my house. It hurt.
• I fell into a ditch near my house. This too, was painful
• I got a new 10-speed huffy when I was tenish.
• It was pink
• I fell off of the Huffy in the woods behind my brother’s friend’s house. It hurt.
• There was no poison ivy, but there was a raspberry bush.
• It was like falling into the vagina dentata of thorny bushes–bloody and full of teeth
• My desire to ride upon two wheels was castrated.
• I no longer had biking balls.

My siblings routinely made fun of my bicycling abilities, though their own injuries made mine look tame in comparison. Namely, my older sister put her teeth through her lip. That had to hurt. But I could not ride without hands, or apparently, without injury. I was strictly a “hands on the bars, ride the brake” rider. Apparently that latter bit is muy malo. I lay the blame for the majority of my injuries on fear and ADHD. A potent combination. I was constantly gripping the brakes, and constantly distracted. You can see how that could go terribly wrong.

So now I’ve been set up by a viking and a highlander to do this tri. I may use training wheels. There’s a possibility of using a Flintstone’s style motorcycle, all wide-stone wheels and foot propulsion. A pink Big Wheels is also under consideration. One thing I can tell you is that I WILL NOT BE CLIPPING IN. I “clip-in” at spin. At spin, if I fall off, I fall onto a mat. I am covered in shame, and perhaps the sweat of the rider next to me, but not blood and viscera.

So it is written, so it shall be.

575 words. Gif break? Gif break.

I like this option.

Onto the sexy. And by sexy, I mean words on pages.

But I was just getting to the good part.

I’ve read several books in the past week that I’ve really liked. None so much as this one:

To be 100% Honest, The first 20-40 pages, I wasn’t truly into it, so I put it down, read The Book of Life (which we know I adored) And then I had a bit of reader’s hangover/ennui. After a few days, I picked up Landline again, and really set-in for a readathon.

Ohallofthefucks was my initial hesitation stupid.  I found myself absorbed in a sea of beautiful prose. I was overcome with a hesitation to continue, lest it end too soon. Yet, I couldn’t stop myself from burning through page after page like a vengeful Savanarola. The story pulled upon every heartstring in my soul’s violin, and wrenched from it a brutal concerto of elation and melancholy.  I once again found myself tweeting passages to a friend who also read the book. I was overwhelmed with the desire to simply “share” in the experience of it.

*tweeted to @JustLeahFelts

So, what’s it about?

From the blurb:

Georgie McCool knows her marriage is in trouble. That it’s been in trouble for a long time. She still loves her husband, Neal, and Neal still loves her, deeply — but that almost seems beside the point now.

Maybe that was always beside the point.

Two days before they’re supposed to visit Neal’s family in Omaha for Christmas, Georgie tells Neal that she can’t go. She’s a TV writer, and something’s come up on her show; she has to stay in Los Angeles. She knows that Neal will be upset with her — Neal is always a little upset with Georgie — but she doesn’t expect to him to pack up the kids and go home without her.

When her husband and the kids leave for the airport, Georgie wonders if she’s finally done it. If she’s ruined everything.

That night, Georgie discovers a way to communicate with Neal in the past. It’s not time travel, not exactly, but she feels like she’s been given an opportunity to fix her marriage before it starts . . .

Is that what she’s supposed to do?

Or would Georgie and Neal be better off if their marriage never happened?

There’s really nothing to add to that without revealing plot points that would decrease one’s pleasure in reading the story.

In Landline, Rainbow Rowell manages to effortlessly blend magical realism into an all-too-real plot with devastatingly real characters. Her world-building and character growth will rightly shut the mouths of any critic wary of reading a book penned by a woman who was previously most-known for her Young Adult novels. (Which are also quite amazing.) One will spend a good portion of the book with their heart in their throat, and tissues against their eyes and nose.

Five.Huge.Stars.

Now? The recipe I promised you on Monday.

Chocolate Almond Spread. AKA non-sketch ingredient vegan Nutella.

Vegan Chocolate Almond Spread

Vegan Chocolate Almond Spread

by Cat Bowen

Prep Time: 10 minutes

Keywords: blender appetizer condiment side snack dessert dairy-free gluten-free kosher paleo soy-free vegan vegetarian

Ingredients

• 1 cup roasted, salted, almonds
• 2 oz of your favorite vegan dark chocolate bar (newman’s or endangered species are my favorite.)
• 1 oz coconut oil, liquid state
• 1 tsp vanilla extract
• 1 tbsp cocoa powder
• 1 tbsp coconut milk (full-fat from the can)

Instructions

melt the chocolate bar

combine with remaining ingredients

blend in food pro

if needed, add a bit more melted choc or oil to smooth out.

Sapere Aude

As I type this, I have my children watching Cosmos on Netflix. It’s an hour of keeping the kids lulled by the sweet, dulcet tones of Neil DeGrasse Tyson and his love of logic and science. I want my kids to be dreamers. I want them to question everything. I want them to question me, you, their teachers, everyone and everything. Every time they don’t find an answer, I want them to dig deeper, search harder, and seek to find. Nullius in Verba.

The place I take the kids most-often in the winter months is the American Museum of Natural History, and the Hayden Planetarium. They love strolling the halls of Science and paleontology, marine life and folk art. They ask question after question about who and what came first, and where it is we’re headed. My son could spend hours in the planetarium, simply mesmerized by the grandeur of the cosmos which is so difficult to see in NYC, with all of its light pollution. “What’s beyond our galaxy, Mama? What happens if you throw a magnet in a black hole? Could Zeus make lightning on Jupiter?” He may or may not have seen me watch a silly documentary called Chariots of the Gods on Netflix. Aliens+gods+pyramids+beer and a sofa=awesome night at home.

I remember watching the original Cosmos with Carl Sagan in reruns on PBS as a kid. I was instantly enamored by his easy manner and fervent passion. He also had some boss blazer and turtleneck combinations. He remained important to me even through my turbulent teenaged battle between where and how my faith and science could fit together. I was taught that evolution was a joke, that we aren’t a changing universe. I was taught this in spite of the fact that I could SEE evolution. I could SEE changes in the universe. Somewhere, deep inside my mind, lived the quiet words of Carl Sagan, just waiting to be given an ear, and a fistful of curiosity. I am so grateful for that.

Now? My kids have ample opportunities to question, to seek, to know. The can go to the museum, or the library, or even just an iPad. They can watch Into the Universe with Stephen Hawking  and then scroll through the Science News and Discoveries App, and see what correlates.

We are lucky to live in an era that between My Little Pony and Transformers, there is NGD and Hawking, open and accessible at the press of button.

On a compleeeetely different note, you know I’ve been training for my first triathlon. You also know I’ve been terrified of riding bicycles. Lately, I’ve been doing REALLY well on the bike. Yes, I’ve fallen, but it WASN’T THAT BAD. I mean, I’m a klutz. I’ve fallen HARD just by walking! So it wasn’t really that bad. I didn’t break both arms, my cheekbone, and grind my teeth! So…WINNING! (I fell down the stairs at fifteen and did just that. You know, WALKING.)

Anyway, I typically like to listen to audiobooks when I cook, but because I’ve been baking and cooking up a storm for triathlon fuel, I’ve been watching documentaries on my tablet. Biking and running documentaries. By the dozen. Yesterday, while making the recipe featured on today’s blog, I watched Rising from Ashes on Netflix, and was immediately inspired and immediately felt like an asshole for eating batter while watching a documentary featuring bicyclists who overcame GENOCIDE to keep on riding.

Yup, asshole party of one.

I got over it by watching Run for Your Life: The Fred Lebow Story on Netflix after the biking movie. I felt SMUG. I like SMUG. Smug is a comfy duvet of self-aggrandizement. The whole thing reminded me of the fact that unlike Boston, my marathon allowed women runners THE VERY FIRST YEAR. (so she got sick and couldn’t run. WHO CARES?!?!?!) Proving once and for all, NYC kicks Boston’s ass in all things, not just city layout and baseball. BOOM!

Now? Food for your Face.

Almond Banana Power Balls

all-natural, nutrient dense, happy balls of yum.

Almond Banana Power Balls

by Cat Bowen

Prep Time: 15 minutes

Cook Time: 10 minutes

Keywords: bake appetizer bread breakfast dessert snack vegetarian soy-free kosher gluten-free dairy-free

Ingredients (1 dozen balls)

• 1 cup almonds
• 1 1/3 cup whole-grain oats
• 1 egg
• 1 very ripe banana
• 1 tsp cinnamon
• 1 tsp baking powder
• 3 tbsp honey

Instructions

Preheat oven to 350F

grind together nuts and oats in a food pro

when smooth-ish add in remaining ingredients

stick in freezer for 10 minutes

scoop onto greased baking sheet

bake for ten minutes or until golden brown

There’s So Much In This World We Can Learn

Today marks eleven years since we lost one of the most loving and inspirational voices of our time: Mr Rogers. I remember watching episode after episode of “Mr Rogers’ Neighborhood” while eating my rice and milk. (rice, milk, and honey was one of my favorite breakfasts.) I loved his lessons about confidence, peace, and love. I was fascinated by his love of books, as it was so similar to my own, and his vast collection of awesome zip-up cardigans.

He truly made you believe you were capable of anything you put your mind to, and he made it fun to learn. He let you know that learning was something to be done everyday, and that it made you better. He even talked about EXERCISE. Way before it was cool. He talked about how important it is to move your body every day. He had breakdancers and ballerinas and gym teachers on his show kids that loving the vessel you’re given is as important as what you do with it! This was back before Cookie Monster ever saw a vegetable! Living by example!!!

Unfortunately, we no longer have his genius and love and peaceful personality in our everyday lives. Fortunately, PBS has turned one of his most-beloved characters into a cartoon that shares his spirit of learning and love. “Daniel Tiger’s Neighborhood.” My kids are obsessed. My Peanut knows how to find it on Netflix, and always insists on its being played. She likes to watch it while she’s  having her snack. I hoped his love of hoodies would encourage her to maybe not watch it in the nude. So far, no such luck. All snacks and netflixing are still done while naked.

As most of you know, I’m a member of the Netflix Stream Team, wherein I blog about my Netflix experience every month. Every month they give us ideas about what they suggest our theme should be. A recent theme being: “watch while you workout.” Well, I do, occasionally, “Watch While I Workout,” but more likely, my kids are watching while I workout! My daughter is INCREDIBLY shy, and my son has Sensory Perception Disorder, so a lot of the time, the gym childcare just isn’t an option because of crowding, etc..However, if I let them have my tablet in childcare, (in an otterbox because I’m not dumb) they can watch Netflix streaming in a safe environment, while I workout. I just turn on Netflix Kids, and I know they won’t be inadvertently watching “Shaun of the Dead” again. –This happened. I fell asleep on the sofa, and woke to my son watching “Shaun of the Dead” on HBO On-Demand. Parenting Fail. 

As a mother of a child with special needs, I can’t tell you how comforting it is to see my son on the childcare monitor, happily sitting and behaving perfectly in the childcare center. I’m not going to lie, it has made him quite popular in the gym. Also, I should be 100% honest: I may or may not watch “Arrow” streaming on the ‘flix (as none of the cool kids call it) on my phone to get through static exercise, because….

Don’t act like you don’t want to get sweaty with him. Just don’t lie to yourself or me like that. (stream time, around 42 minutes. PERFECT for a run or the elliptical, just don’t slip in a puddle of your own drool, that’d be embarrassing.)

I would bake him cake. He could show me how good his aim really is. 

Banana Peanut Butter Cup Bread

by Cat Bowen

Prep Time: 10 minutes

Cook Time: 45 minutes

Ingredients (1 loaf)

• 2 over ripe bananas
• 1/2 cup natural peanut butter (the kind with 2 ingredients)
• 2 eggs or chia eggs
• 6 oz plain greek yogurt (or soy yogurt. NOT coconut milk yogurt)
• 1/2 cup maple syrup
• 1 tsp vanilla extract
• 1/2 cup DARK cocoa powder
• 1 cup whole wheat flour
• 1 tsp baking soda
• 1/2 tsp baking powder
• 1/2 tsp salt

Instructions

preheat oven to 350F and grease a 9″ loaf pan

with a mixer, beat bananas into a paste

add other wet ingredients (the order makes no nevermind as you’re working with bananas and yogurt)

sift in dry

mix on minute

pour into loaf pan

bake approximately 45 minutes or until skewer inserted in the center comes out clean.

eat the heck out of it.

I’d Rather Make Out With Sherlock than a Chihuahua

There truly aren’t enough pictures of dogs in wigs on the internet. Granted, there are entire tumblrs dedicated to the coiffeured canines, (I know if you add “ed” to a French word it’s not the past tense. I’m making shit up.) but still.

Back to my point. I also need more babies in wigs pictures. I have no idea why I find them so outrageously hysterical, but I do. I mean, it’s not Elaine Stritch dropping the F bomb on morning television while dressed as a very fancy Yetti disguising itself as Jackie O, but what is?

When I’m that age, I really want to be as cool as she is. She.is.bitchin. Fuck authenticity and “being who you are” posts. I’m tired of them. I’ve written a few myself. Screw me, I want to be that lady. So many blogs are trying to tell me how to be the best version of myself I can be, instead of being really helpful, by teaching me how to be Elaine Stritch.

Moving on: Meditation–do you do it?

Here’s a sentence never ever meant to be on a humor-food-I-workout-or-I-succumb-to-insanity blog:

While I was in my 10th Century Latin Liturgy class, studying the Visigothic Minuscule, I thought of the perfect way to partition my time. (I know, right? Because time management means so much when one is comparing types of script in illuminated manuscripts!)

Here’s my non-class/no auditions or jobs/perfect day off breakdown:

• 4hrs of reading–scholarly and for pleasure. This is low compared to some of my classmates. I swear, science is easier for my brain, but Comp Lit sings inside me.
• 4hrs kidskidskidskids (reading to them, playing, cleaning with them, watching them play while I listen to audiobooks and watch Sherlock–kids require a lot of cleansing and even more Benedict Cumberbatch)
• 1.5hrs workout
• 1hr food prep/kitchen cleaning
• at LEAST one hour with just me and ze man. activities not listed here. (backgammon should be involved…and…more exercise.)
• 2 hours writing
• 30 minutes personal stuff (shower/makeup/teeth)
• 30 minutes hair. (I have a mane of unruly curls)
• 1.5 hr tv (pref with the man, but inevitably some Kathy Lee and Hoda)
• 8 hours of SLEEP

I like lists. I like time management.  I feel like my particular breed of crazy requires closely-watched time management. I also feel like a rigid schedule goes very against my type-B personality. Fortunately, the man is reasonably type-Aish, and can corral my navel-gazing and shiny things distractions. (though, I’ve told him time and time again..pun intended…that gazing into HIS navel only takes up more of my time, and should be reserved for birthdays and anniversaries) I’m going to hell and my parents are horrified, btw. 

Here’s what my perfect day would look like:

readingkidsupreadingteethbrushingshowersemioptionalifbookisgoodmorekidswafflesgoldengirlsbenedictreadingwritingrunwhileaudiobookingreadweightwhilelisteningtoskrillxorshowtuneswinewritingkidsfoodwinereadteanakedreadbed.

all without spaces. just like my brain. Yes, my brain really does look and feel that disorganized and confused. That’s what ADHD does. Especially at the level from which I suffer. Fortunately, when I can compartmentalize, it’s a bit more manageable. Hence the lists.

My shrink (not to be confused with my psychopharmacologist whom I shall refer to henceforth as “Dr DrugMe”) tells me to meditate. He’s ALWAYS telling me to meditate. He knows I have SEVERE ADHD. He says just the act of trying to meditate will help. I hatehatehate doing things or trying things where I continually fail. It’s not even like I can use the excuse about the definition of insanity, because, HELLO!! Already crazy! Every time I *try* to meditate I hear Yoda in my head:”There is only do, or do not, there is no ‘try.'”

So I wiggle, I bounce, and I cannot focus on a damned thing. Not ANYTHING other than “well this is just about the dumbest ever.” I can focus while running. I can think while in motion. I cannot.cannot.cannot. sit still. I have had a few successful bits of guided meditation, but sometimes feel like I’m being hypnotized. I don’t want to bark like a dog or make out with my hand on-stage. If I wasn’t vulnerable to the power of suggestion, I’d never have started smoking at age 13 (or quit at 21) and I’d probably still be a virgin. At least until I read my first bodice-ripper. Because, duh. Ok, so maybe that’s not the intention of guided meditation, but my overactive imagination is pretty much sure that the spandex-clad yogi wants me to join his cult. We’d all wear white, and be in a heterogenous polygamous house and only eat raw foods and doritos. Our white clothes would have orange patches.

And he tells me to keep trying. I’ve watched the meditation videos from calmest hyper person I know, Bex. And nothing. Still can’t sit still. I tried something unconventional. I’ve taken to listening to her smooth meditations while running. I get it’s not the way she designed it, but as long as I’m on a straightaway or on a treadmill/elliptical, I’m good. The Navajo (my personal zen Buddha) was on the res for a while and I was without his calming influence. I was without someone to center my runs. Not anymore! Though, I wish I could combine Bex’s instructions (no pretending to be a chihuahua that I know of) and the lilting and somber tones of the Navajo’s musical cadence and chanting.

Someone get on that. (I’m looking for a remix, Bex and Navajo!!)

So I told my shrink this, and he says it’s fine! Good, even. I then swore a blue streak and told him thanks for nothing! He laughed at me and told me he’d talk to me again next week. Here’s my tip for all of my fellow crazy mother truckers: sometimes it’s the spirit of the idea more than the letter of its instruction. Finding a balance inside a disordered mind is an art. We just happen to be more Picasso and less Renoir.

Now to the food. Because cooking is meditative if you do it right, and food heals.

Whole Roasted Cauliflower Satay-Style

(thai it, you’ll like it. Unless you’re Jenn. She hates sesame.and puppies.and kittens that play piano.or just sesame.)

Whole Roasted Cauliflower-Satay Style

by Cat Bowen

Prep Time: 15 minutes

Cook Time: 25 minutes

Keywords: roast appetizer side snack vegan

Ingredients (serves 4)

• one large head of cauliflower (I used purple for color)
• 2 tbsp chopped garlic
• 1 tbsp grated ginger
• juice of one half of one large lime
• 3 tbsp low-sodium soy sauce
• 1/3 cup pb
• 2 tbsp rice wine vinegar
• 1 tbsp sesame oil
• 2 tbsp sriracha sauce (less or more as desired)
• 1/2 tsp ground, toasted, sichuan peppercorn (you can do without, but it’s so good)
• 2 tbsp boiling water

Instructions

Preheat oven to 375F

combine water and peanut butter (all natural is easiest, but not required)

stir

combine all other ingredients, save cauliflower in a bowl

smear cauliflower with a third of the mix

place on cookie sheet

bake 10 minutes, smear another third on

bake 10 more minutes, smear final third on it

bake five more minutes

slice and serve. (even good served cold)