A miracle has happened to me. Yes, a flat out miracle. I’ve found a diet that WORKS for me. Believe me, no one is more shocked. I’ve been on lots of different diets, most of them somewhat half-hearted. Mostly, my theory has been exercise to death and then eat what you want. That worked for a while until body parts started breaking. Knees, wrist, hip, feet. You name it, I’ve had pain there. And medication.

But the moment I started empty nesting, I began shifting my eating habits. Not out of intention but laziness. Yup. LAZY. That’s me. I hate cooking. Let me restate that. I HATE, DESPISE, DETEST and LOATHE cooking. So, I began eating fruits and vegetables because they required no cooking. My husband is a gem in that he will make a sandwich for himself or happily pick up semi-fast food on his way home. So, if I don’t want to cook, I don’t have to. And guess what? I didn’t want to.

So I began eating what I later learned was called a RAW DIET. All live food. Fruits, nuts, and veggies. And it turns out, it’s one of California’s newest diet crazes. Who knew I was being trendy? I thought I was lazy.

Well, this January I ended up going 100% raw. The reasons for this change are myriad, but it comes down to the energy work I do in my spare time. Everything has a vibrational rate. The higher the rate, the easier energy healing goes. Living foods have the highest rate. Dead foods have low rates. Ergo, eat living/raw food. Plus (added benefit), live foods tend to be alkaline (basic) as opposed to acidic. Diseases including cancer have a hard time living in alkaline environments. Since raw food reduces body acidity, it can have enormous health benefits.

In any event, I went raw. I bought a blender and have a smoothie for breakfast, huge salad at lunch, and whatever I feel like in the evening. Oh, and nuts all day long. (I LOVE NUTS!) I can eat all I want, whenever I want. But I’m not nearly as hungry, and the weight has been coming off. About 2 lbs a week which is a steady, safe pace. Plus, my energy work is better than ever. By a huge margin! Caffeine and dairy were the hardest to give up, but I really haven’t missed them that much.

Here’s my problem. This is supposed to be a LIFE STYLE choice, not a temporary diet. I’m doing fine because I’m sitting at home, writing my newest novel and going no where. Easy to not eat pasta and cheesecake because no one is offering it to me. What do I do when I travel? What about when a friend asks me out to lunch? My good writing reward was usually a lunch out with Elizabeth Hoyt at the end of the week. That’s gone now too. Do I really want to eat salad every day? That’s no fun when there’s chocolate mousse in the offering.

So…my question to you is what have you done when dieting AND dining out? Does the diet go out the window? Or do you typically find a compromise? And what about conferences? A week away on rubber chicken? Forget the diet, that gives me the heebie jeebies just thinking about it!

And apparently squash do it, too. Who knew? My mother, that’s who. I should backtrack and tell you that my husband planted a vegetable garden this spring. His first. All by himself, which is astonishing since he hates yard work. Me, I’m a verified plant killer, so I told him he was on his own with the planting and the tilling and the weeding, but I would be happy to cook and prepare any of the garden’s bounty. To my shock, plants are growing. A couple of weeks ago, I told my mom that the squash had started blossoming.

“Do you have any bees?” she asked.
“What? No.”
“Then you’ll have to help your squash have sex.”

Okay. These are not words I expect to hear from my mother. However, as is usually the case, she is right. By the way, do not Google “squash sex.” The results are not helpful.

After adjusting my search string, I learn that there are male and female blossoms and that if there are no bees, yes, they need help with pollination. Oh, yeah, they only bloom once. That’s right, they get one shot to make a baby squash, and that one shot takes place between 8:00 a.m. and 3:00 p.m. So they’re incompetent and picky. Since my husband’s at work then, I am the squash’s only hope for romance. I don’t even like squash.

Outside, I stare at the garden and figure out that there are a lot more females than males, which must be some kind of male squash fantasy. I can see the little squash babies all ready to grow, and know that if I can’t get the males to man up, the unfertilized babies will shrivel and die.

I shall not fail you, my squash sisters.

Early the next morning, I go to the garden with my paintbrush and perform intimate acts with strange squash blossoms. I match make. No kinky brother/sister stuff. And I check all the males—are they strong and handsome? Reliable? Employed? Does their pollen deserve to live on? I am emotionally invested in the lives of the squash.

For three days, I run a squash bordello. On the fourth, I interrupted a bee. I was so startled, I actually apologized to it.

Now, the bees have taken over, and a couple of days after that, the first squash, hand-pollinated by me, were born. They tasted great.

So . . . who read this and Googled “squash sex?”