Glutenous

Before I worked out that gluten is not my friend, I was 20+ kilos heavier, tired all the time, constantly feeling like I was coming down with a cold, achy, prone to mouth ulcers and experienced frequent abdominal pains (I shan't go into detail regarding the bowel movements, but they weren't optimal). However, that was normal, so it seemed okay.

Now I know better, but I also know that I can get away with *small* amounts of things I shouldn't eat. The only problem is, I rarely know if I've eaten too much until several hours later. Then the discomfort that used to be "normal" becomes quite noticeable and somwehat inconvenient.

So when I'm going to go somewhere where I know I'll want to eat many things I shouldn't be eating, I'm faced with a bit of an awkward choice:

A) I could try to stick to a "good" diet as much as possible, splurge occasionally, then pay for the splurge with accute discomfort, OR

B) I can just eat stuff I shouldn't eat all the time, and try to zone out chronic discomfort. (In preparation for this, I start eating wheaten things a few weeks in advance, so I'm good and "normalised" before I go. It's delicious, but I feel like crap.)

I've done both in the past. They both suck. But I wasn't going to go to Europe and not eat the pretzels in Germany or the pizza in Italy. And I'm not going to go to the UK and not eat the pasties in Cornwall.

Pedestrian

I sometimes wonder about the pedestrians in this town. Apart from the fact that most of them can't walk in a straight line to save themselves, they act like they've never seen a bike before in their lives.

When you ring your bell coming up behind them (to warn them that randomly wandering from one side of the path to the other is temporarily a bad idea), they get this look come over them as if they're thinking:

"A bell? I'm almost sure I heard a bell. But what could possibly make that sound? Why am I hearing a bell on a bike path?"

And they slow down and start drifting across the path in the direction a bike is most likely to pass them.

And then get get incredibly startled, and sometimes downright cranky, when a bike "suddenly" overtakes them.

It's bizarre. I know they know it's a bike path, because everyone in town calls all of the off-street paths "bike paths". And that does indicate that bikes might use the path. Also, bikes use the paths all the time, and when they overtake people without using a bell, they shake their fists at the bikes and mutter things about "use your *bleeping* bell, you bleeping beep!" under their breath.

Or really loudly.

But when you do use a bell to give them plenty of warning, I'd say about half the pedestrians I encounter are just thoroughly confused.

The remaining half is split between people who seem offended that you would have the audacity to ding a bell at them (but they look like the kind of people who would be offended by the fact that you exist and are on a bike), and people who step neatly to one side, let you pass, and then go back to wandering aimlessly across the path.

I like the last group. They're pretty neat. Occasionally, one of them will even give you a cheery wave and say "thanks!" for giving them the heads-up. Those are my favourite people.

I've just ridden to work for the first time from my new place, by the way, and while I still have a few kinks to work out with the route, and will have to work with a few more hills than I'm used to, I'd say the experience is O.K.

Which is good, because one of the reasons why I bought this house was because it's close enough to ride to work.

A bad day, by all accounts

Yesterday was not a good day for my cat. It started with someone locking her in a room while strange men walking in and out of the house making noises - and when she was let out half the furniture had disappeared.

Then someone came back and vacuumed the area where the furniture once was.

Then someone tried to put her in a box to take her to the vet (she knew) - and then that someone got really cranky that she (the cat) clawed her way up over her shoulder and down her back to escape from the dreaded box, and chased her around the house yelling at her for a bit.

And then she still ended up in the box, and was taken to the vet.

She hadn't forgiven me by the time I had to leave.

Mind you, those scratch marks hurt for hours, so I hadn't forgiven her either.

Things given

I've recently bought a house (Yay! Finally!) and I'm in the process of moving all of my many, many, many belongings into the darn thing. It turns out I have a lot of stuff. Some of it isn't even mine.

Actually, quite a lot of it isn't mine. It turns out that my family has been waiting for this opportunity for years, and have been holding on to various things with the ultimate goal of "one day giving it to Sharon".

This is nice... I guess. Only it means that I'm stuck with a slight dilemma: What do you do when you have something that is perfectly good, does exactly what you need it to do, and was given to you by someone you love and respect... but isn't what you want?

Many years ago, when I was a child, my mother and grandmother collected a dinner set for me. It was a promotional thing by some grocery store, and shopping trip by shopping trip they collected an entire 8 piece set of plates, saucers, cups and the like. It's an okay set. The bowls are too small for cereal, but okay for dessert. That's really my only legitimate complaint.

Only it's really boring. If you had put me in a room of place settings and said "pick one you like", I probably wouldn't even notice this set was in the room.

What I would do, given the choice, would be to run around the room and pick six or eight different patterns (with actual patterns) and get a complete single setting in each (dinner plate, bread-and-butter, saucer, bowl, teacup...). Then I'd keep myself amused for months by flitting between the different patterns every time I ate something.

I'd like a whole bunch of different interesting patters. Like this one I saw in a shop a few weeks ago:

You may notice it's not white.

Personally, white plates aren't my cup of tea - they're not what I'd choose for myself. But now I have a perfectly good white dinner set (a whole 8 settings' worth) that was lovingly collected for me (by two people whom I love and admire), and diligently kept aside for me for decades. Literally, decades. There's a lot of love in those boring plates.

My mother also decided to celebrate the purchase of my new house by buying me a new cutlery set, meaning the set I've had in storage for years (and was kind of hoping to use one day) is now redundant.

I feel ungrateful and churlish for complaining about these things. I have something that I need, that I didn't even have to pay for. There's nothing wrong with any of it. Heck, the cutlery set is better than the one I brought back with me from Tasmania.

It's just not really "mine", you know?

Buddhist philosophy would say my problem is wanting stuff. If I didn't want something with a pattern (or a bunch of patterns, as the case may be), then I would realise that I have everything I need and much more besides. And then I would look at my plates and utensils and realise that it's foolish to think anything could ever really be "mine" anyway. Solomon would probably agree with that.

But still... I want the pretty plates. But I don't need any plates. Aren't I lucky to have such pointless problems?

As for the stuff my uncle has been keeping for me, well that's a whole 'nother post.