Tag Archives: Squink

I do not crave Squirrel Poop!

I crave PEANUT BUTTER!!!!!!!!!

For the past 5 weeks I have consumed at least 10 jars of peanut butter. At least 10 JARS! This is crazy.

It is like one of those insane cravings that can’t be sated. It has to be smooth – or as they say in peanut butter parlance – “creamy”.

Yes, I tried to curb the insatiable craving by buying a jar of the crunchy (or chunky) stuff. It merely slowed down the intake, but not enough to think it was effective. It was actually a catalyst for a dangerous turn in this craving period. I had to eat it with chocolate. Yummy combo yes, but not when you are a super dark dark chocolate lover and find that combination is heinous….so you run out and buy some crappy milk chocolate to make it palatable. And even if you return to the no sugar added creamy peanut butter your love, the taste for hints of milk chocolate remains.  So, I elevated the experience buy snagging some of  my son’s Lindt’s.

Only to find the creaminess of their center the absolutely perfect complement to the spoonfuls of peanut butter that I have been shoveling ion my mouth. It was heaven, though there is a lot more guilt from digging in to my son’s stash of favorite chocolates.

Creamy peanut butter, it is really awesome.

“Who uses crunchy peanut butter?” he asked the room. “You might as well eat squirrel shit.”
~ Michael Thomas Ford, The Road Home

I am not sure about the source of the craving, but the all-knowing Google gave me the impression that this is not an isolated thing, that there are many people out there with a hankerin’ for the thing I most currently consider a nectar of the gods.

There is a possibility that I am in desperate need of something that my body has been missing, much like the fierce beef carnivore I would become back in the days when I actually got my period. The interesting thing now, since I don’t get a bloody period, but do get a hormonal one is that I still crave beef, just not with as fierce a drive.

Ewww, gross.

Let us get back to peanut butter.  Creamy peanut butter!!!

It is insane, I am carrying around jars of peanut butter with me, I make runs to the grocery store when I polish a jar off. I have bought big jars, and normal jars. I eat it straight out of the jar.

My husband must think I am crazy, but even he has helped me give in to this madness by running to the store late at night to help keep me in stock.

It has to be plain or chocolate, no bread, no jelly… just peanut butter. and lately some chocolate is nice (but not required). Preferably off a spoon, but a knife or fork will do.

At least one site says that it helps fight stress. Maybe so. It makes sense, the past year has been stressful in a novel way. If peanut butter saves me through it, it is indeed the fruit of the gods… and gloriously explains my 30 pound weight gain.

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Pizza units – 30/40

Existe una distancia incalculable
que no se mide en horas ni en pulgadas
ni en millas ni en semestres ni en tamaños
lejos y cerca son casi lo mismo
y es la frágil distancia del amor
en ese territorio que es del alma
la nostalgia está lejos y nos mide
el tacto es un placer de cercanías
en extraños azares sin embargo
la nostalgia del tacto se inaugura
y entonces la distancia es sólo un punto el punto del amor ese infalible.
~ Distancia- Mario Benedetti

A very, very loose translation:

There is an incalculable distance that is unable to be measured in hours and not in inches or miles or semesters or sizes that are far and near and yet about the same distance and the fragile of love in that territory which is the soul ‘s longing We measured distance, touch is a pleasure to nearby strangers chances and yet nostalgic a touch that opens and then the distance is only a point of point love that is infallible.
~ Distance-Mario Benedetti

When my son was about 4 he created a unit of measure he called “Pizza Units”.  So set was he in this measurement that he informed me that I was 17 pizza units tall. The other marvels of pizza units is that it was not just a way to measure length or distance. It also measure the ephemeral and eternal aspects of our lives, it could measure things like love. My love was “infinity pizza units, plus 1”.

My son has a distinction of being a first generation American as well as a sixth generation Arizonan. And in spite of his American birth, it was clear to me that in spite  of his practical and American birthplace, it is as if through  something far more magical that he was able to capture the gentle spirit of the enchanted lands that raised his mother and there is something in that for which I am tremendously grateful.