What Exactly Is Raw Honey About?

I have been asking myself this question ever since my coworker started eating spoonfuls of honey instead of pastries.  Eating spoonfuls of honey is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen, s I went out and bought myself some honey to keep at home.  Since buying local is an Oregonian habit, I grabbed the only Portland honey on the shelf (Wessels Family Honey).  The fact that it was “raw” didn’t even register with me until I got it home and filled up a spoon.

It tastes just like regular honey, maybe a little bit nuttier, if that’s possible.  So why should I care that it’s raw unless I was on one of those crazy raw foods diets that I’ll never understand?

To Google!

Raw honey is honey that hasn’t been heated/pasteurized before it hits the shelf.  Supposedly, when honey is heated it loses the yeast and enzymes that make your body produce vitamins and minerals (or something like that).  The heating process is meant to prevent your honey from fermenting and is also supposed to slow the crystallization process. There isn’t a uniform definition for “raw” honey so I’m not sure what’s inside my cute little bear container.  All I really care about is how delicious it tastes in my oatmeal.

Underslept

After six hours of sleep and a very late night, my body decided it was ready to wake up despite the pleadings of my fuzzy brain.  By “decided to get up” I mean “decided to keep me awake but not give me the energy to climb out of the bed”.  Caffeinating is refusing to aid me in this dilemma.  In fact, the more coffee I drink, the sleepier I get.  WHY, body.  why.

It’s a good thing this pub coffee is delicious.

 

 

Hiatus

After a nice break filled with familial drama and altogether too much rain, I’ve been urged to resume blogging.  I couldn’t say exactly why I stopped, except that all I’ve thought about in the last month are love and Hawaii ( though you could argue that I’ve thought of little else for the last six months, in fact).  Though it sounds like a fitting theme for a novel or some poetry, it didn’t seem right to blog about.

I finally broke the news to my parents that I plan on moving to Hawaii in June.  To say “finally” is a misrepresentation in that I broke that news to myself only a month ago.  Though I’ve brought this topic up in the past, my family isn’t pleased, to say the very least.  Like a coward, I’ve been keeping myself from them in the hopes that they’ll come around and let me keep my things in their garage while I’m away.

To wile away the time, I’ve occupied myself with the consuming task of reading all the things I’ve been putting off.  I started with Snowcrash and then immediately latched on to Still Life With Woodpecker by Tom Robbins.  Perhaps I’m being vain (or altogether too hard on myself) by saying that I feel exactly like the princess in that book;  She’s crazy, lovestruck, and wildly impractical, not to mention her rivetingly raw sex. There were moments when I wanted to buy two more copies of that book just so I could wallpaper my room with it.

Now I’ve moved on to Love in the Time of Cholera by Gabriel Garcia Marquez.  I didn’t know that love stories could still be written like this one.  Soul consuming, heart devouring, life altering love just doesn’t come around in literature anymore unless it’s married to drug addiction and the seedy underbelly of society.  The backdrop of old world traditions and a prose devoted to poetry make Florentino Ariza pop off the pages for me.  He recalls a type of love that was never socially acceptable to indulge in, but which has disappeared almost entirely from our career minded culture.

Other than nourishing my heart with the words of lovestruck writers, my world has been consumed by little else than long baths, serving coffee, and cardio workouts.  That’s all she wrote, I guess.

New Book!

Finished Snow Crash this morning.  The resolution had me laughing and manically pawing through the final thirty pages just to find out what happened next.  I can’t wait for Boyfriend to wake up from his nap so we can talk about it in far more detail than anyone should discuss anything.

My new book is Still Life With Woodpecker by Tom Robbins.  So far it’s just about as weird as it could be, but I’m entertained.  It should be a wacky journey.  And did I mention it’s got Hawaii in it? Yeah.  Sold.

Mix Tape

The power button goes dark and the music starts.  It sweeps me up and makes me sad; no one has made me a mix tape before.  The clumsy sharpied letters make me smile.

If I could put the notes here and sing you the melody, I might, but you wouldn’t feel the way I’m feeling now.  Dead tired from a day on my feet and a restless morning, I look forward to the these songs at night.

It’s time for tea and sleep.

Greek Yogurt

Every time I go to the grocery store I see these cute, trendy chicks buying Greek yogurt.  The whiny little kid inside me says, I wanna be a cute trendy chick! so I bought some.

Deliiicious.

I bought the vanilla instead of plain because it was a treat, dammit.  By the time I finished it’s creamy delicious goodness, I began to wonder exactly how bad for me it was because it’s always the cute trendy chicks who manage to scarf burgers and fries and never get fatter than a stiletto heel.

This article made me feel better, kinda:  YOGURT!

Big Artwork Happened

And it happened all over my floor and pants.  I guess before I start the little artworks, I should finish the big painting I started two weeks ago.  But since it’s SO HUGE it’s taking SO LONG to finish

Unfortunately, I think I did more harm than good today.  I got all the naked canvas bits covered in oil pastel, though, so that’s something.

Tiny Artworks

When I art, I do it big.  Really big.  As big as I possibly can.  Give me a fifteen by fifty foot wall to paint on, and I’ll go to town on it (manically, every other week, as is my fickle fashion).

Lately, I’ve had this TOTALLY WEIRD inclination to draw really tiny things.  I want to make lots of tiny artworks . . . and then cover them in glitter, but I’m a little better at controlling that impulse.  Or at least throwing the glitter on more reasonable things like my toenails.

So, since today is my Friday, I’m going to take it easy, get some reading done, and watch some good ol’ mindless television.  BUT TOMORROW! Tomorrow I will get out the dreaded pen-and-ink combo and get to work on the bitty drawings.

Cutting Back

I tried to cut my blog posts back to one a week, but *someone* wouldn’t let me.  Something about 90% of everything written being crap and expanding the sample size so that 10% is a bigger selection.  Or something.

Anyway, here I am.  Writing my post for the night.

My fever has finally abated and I’m making a bit more sense out of the nonfiction I’ve been wading through.  Angry feminists can be very trying with a temperature.

Maybe it’s all this sleep, or all the work, but I’m a springtime, romantic mess.  All I want is romance novels, long lonely walks, and some handiwork to keep me busy.  Finishing my newest (biggest!) painting is definitely on the horizon.