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Sooo Juicy!

Sooo Juicy!

It’s almost the end of my three day vitality juice fast and I’ve made nine juices in three days, nine different juicing experiences. Making juice is definitely an experience. I started making juice, oh, just about two weeks ago so I am clearly an expert. Just kidding. In fact, it’s been kind of comical how quickly I’ve had to learn on my feet through this whole fasting experience. Here, I share with you some of the things I’ve picked up through sheer trial and error in case you feel up for the delightful challenge of a juice fast or if you just want to add some of the nutritious benefits of nature’s internal body scrub to your life.

1. A little goes a long way. I quickly figured out after making my shopping list, using the 3 Days to Vitality book by Pamela Serure as a guide, and bringing my groceries home that I would have enough fruits and veggies to last for way more than 3 days of juice. Now, as a person who drank fresh juice before the fast and plans to keep making it after, that was good news. But if you’re really only planning on juicing for the days of your fast, keep in mind that less is more and no one likes ‘spoiled produce guilt’ because you just didn’t get to them in time.

2. Caress your fruit. I’ve noticed grapes love nothing better than to be submerged in a basin of lukewarm water and popped from the vine while receiving a nice rub to get the dirt off. She’s delusional from three days of drinking all her meals, you say. But I promise you, part of the fun is getting in there and getting personal with your food. Feeling the fuzziness of the skin of an organic peach under your fingertips. Connecting with the flesh of a peeled beet, knowing that the pigment will stain your hands for two days. Learning just the right angle to remove the skin and eyes of a pineapple while leaving as much of the flesh on as possible – I’m still not great at that one lol. Handling the food slowly and deliberately, with a sense of appreciation, definitely makes me feel more connected to our Earth and grateful for its sustenance.

3. Glass bottles make your juice look sexy. Once you make all that juice, it’s gonna need somewhere to go. Rare is the occasion that you will finish all you juice in one sitting. There will be leftovers. And you will be thankful for those when you are craving the greasiest bacon cheeseburger you can think of – or maybe that’s just me lol. Save up your glass bottles beforehand from your spaghetti sauce, coconut oil, celtic sea salt, guacamole, etc. Different shapes and sizes make it more fun. You’ll be avoiding storing your juice in plastics that leak bpa into your food and you’ll be helping protect our planet with your personal recycling efforts.

4. Juice it and Blend it. You need a juicer and a blender. The juicer cleverly removes all the pulp leaving behind an easily drinkable substance, which is great for items like kale and cabbage. But there will be times, like for your morning or lunch drink when you may want something a little denser for that “full” – I’m definitely not craving Mickey D’s right now – feeling. For this, you’ll need your blender to liquify, for example, some pineapple peach papaya goodness. The mash up is fantastic and you can chew each sip to savor it.

5. Green juice is not just for the Irish. It’s green, it’s mucky, it’s gross for some if us to even think about, me included. But it has a surprisingly refreshing and light taste, less swamp juice and more sporty boost Mehcad Brooks style *swoon*…I digress… As I was saying, just think of all that yummy chlorophyll going down. Add some spirulina in there for an extra algae bonus. And it’s the closest thing you’ll get to drinking sunshine.

Hope this was helpful. Let me know if you try it and how it goes for you. Now off to juice my tenth and final drink. You guessed it, the Mean Green.

 

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Where are you from?

Queens. No, I mean where are you from from? America.  I mean, like, where is your family from? Oh, you wanna know my chemical makeup…

Lamu, Kenya

In my lifetime so far, I have been african american, afro caribbean, black latina, boriqueña/dominicana, butter rican pecan/brazilian.  I have been all those things and many more, including my personal favorite: the check box on government forms that reads ‘african american (non hispanic),’ after which I proceed to also check the hispanic box on the same form, take that Uncle Sam!  I have called myself many things and tried to fit, more and less comfortably, into many boxes depending on my personal politics at given moments.  But who am I really?

I was recently in a workshop called writing through asanas (yoga postures) with the amazing Michele Medina.  And after 10 minutes of down dog (yes, we held each posture for 10 minutes), she asked us to consider the question: where are you from? In my notebook I wrote:

I am from a place of love.  I was born out of love, light, hope, laughter. I am from a hollowed out place in an old beautiful tree, protected by the earth and the spirits.  I am from a continuum of energy, love and light, which I neither created nor destroyed, neither began nor ended. I exist within it and it contains me perfectly, provides all my sustenance.  I am complete within it.

Imagine giving that answer to someone who really wants to know why your hair is curly like that (and no, it’s not a weave, and please stop putting fingers in my head to check for tracks) even though you “look black.” And why your hips seem to know that salsa rhythm so well.  And why you speak Spanish with such a “good accent.”  I should try giving that response just for tiffs and giggles.

But seriously, we – my brothers and I – are from so many places that it does boggle the mind and makes it very difficult to give a simple and concise answer in passing conversation.  With us, you have to really want to know and then dedicate the time to listen to the full answer.  My wonderful Dad was born in Puerto Rico to my Puerto Rican abuelita and my Brazilian avô (he may have actually been from Surinam, directly north of Brazil, we’re not a hundred percent sure).  My amazing Mom was born in Aruba and raised in Trinidad by her St. Vincent mom and Dominican father.  When I went to Aruba, a Dutch colony, with my grandmother to celebrate her 80th birthday a couple years back, I met my oldest living relative on that side of the family.  You would think she’d be speaking in Papiamento, the mix of Dutch, Portuguese and English with vocabulary influences from African and Arawak languages, preferred by the locals.  But no, she only wanted to speak in Spanish from her native Dominican Republic, although she did do all her own translation into English for those in the room who couldn’t understand, pretty impressive for a 93-year-old.

So, that’s the skinny.  We’re from all over.  And there haven’t been any boxes created yet that actually fit us, so in the meantime we’re busy creating our own.  I wonder what I will come up with next… Someone dear to me recently suggested morena as a possibility.  I am also loosely considering human, maybe even superhuman =)

Loíza, Puerto Rico

 
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Posted by on May 22, 2011 in Identity

 

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