What Happened When I Time Traveled

 

I woke up Saturday under the covers to a china plate perfectly balanced on my stomach. On the plate, there were bits of cashews, ramen noodles, and what looked like dehydrated chipotle mayo in the shape of a sad face. 

I don't even like cashews; why are they sleeping with me? I thought. 

William was not in the bed. 

     Going into the living room, there were deflated Happy Birthday balloons draped over the sofa. A flower vase on the kitchen counter, that had daisies in it, was filled with merlot wine instead of water. A tool set for serious woodworking was on the coffee table, open.
      Pictures not there before were hung in the living room, lopsided. And a pumpkin born with green booger bumps that used to live by the front door was sitting in William's arm chair--with a steak knife stabbed into its neck. It was like a bachelor party from Motel 6 had taken place in our Tiny Home. 

I must be time traveling. 

 

I found William in the office, asleep on the extra large dog bed beneath the desk. I poked him with the tip of my foot, "Get up." 

"Mhmm..." 

"Get up," I said again. 

"Don't need life insurance right now." He mumbled with closed eyes, then wrapped the dog blanket over his shoulders and snuggled into the concrete wall. 

Pre-Party Decorations

While brewing coffee, I got a flashback of the time I accidentally locked myself in the human-sized freezer at my commercial commissary (where ABC goods are stored). During those three minutes of panic, I promised myself I would never take life for granted. Yet, here William and I were, with greasy hangovers that felt like the inside of a day-old pizza box. 

     The next few days that followed, I put William and myself on a soup cleanse. I denied him all his earthly pleasures and kept reminding him, we did the crime now we do the time. My thinking was that the purity of homemade soup would erase the demon footprints high school-grade whisky had imprinted on our livers. 

William Freezing on Soup Cleanse

My mother, a devout Catholic, who fasts every Tuesday and Friday, suggested I join her for a day of fasting. On my own religious journey, I am in the process of converting to Catholicism, however, I have never felt a religious calling to partake in fasting with her. Last week though my ego saw it as an opportunity to negate the party aftermath. 

     While fasting, up until the afternoon, the hunger didn't bother me so much as losing every-day things I give myself without thought: coffee cream, morning gummy bears while checking emails, hummus and chips before lunch. As Tuesday is ABCs delivery day, I reached for my car almonds only to remember, I couldn't have them.
     That is when the reality of my commitment set in. Self-inflicted deprivation does something funny; it makes you consider all the ways you exist with comforts to avoid discomfort. Like an itchy sweater when you're cold, a simple sandwich when you're hungry, bubbly water when you're thirsty. Whatever I need, when I need it, is ready for me. 

After finishing up deliveries, I made a stop at Lift Chocolate in Boulder to look at items for Christmas on the website. Owner Brandon has a small shop near the front of his factory. Truffles decorate the walls the way designer shoes decorate Nordstroms. "Pick some," he said. He sent me home with six beautiful truffles filled with Belgian marzipan, key-lime filling, orange bourbon glaze, etc. They rode home with me in the front seat. 

Eat me, the marzipan heart said inside the gold box. 

You aren't talking to me. You're a tempered milk-chocolate piece of sugar. 

I won't tell the other truffles, just eat me.  

The marzipan heart continued to psychologically gaslight me until I reached home and hid him in the closet. I was starving, exhausted, and angry. I messaged my mother what the point of all this suffering was for. She replied with Proverbs 4:7 The beginning of wisdom is: acquire wisdom; and with all your acquiring, get understanding. 

I stayed up late that night reading. The bag of truffles moved to my bedside table. At 12:01 AM, I unwrapped the marzipan heart. You know how sunsets all look the same, until you take a moment to actually look at them; eating that truffle was was like that. 
     It all made sense. The wisdom I gained from that day of fasting gave me a deeper understanding to the products ABC sells. Most of our customers suffer from Celiac, are intolerant to certain foods, or maintain certain eating habits out of belief or lifestyle choices.  
     The vendors on this site offer our customers a way back to those comforts they once knew. Like Sweet Escapes Pastries pizza crusts; customers who are gluten-intolerant have emailed Cole and myself saying, "It tastes like we remember it." 

 

At 12:05 AM-ish, William was approaching the snoring stage of sleep. "Hey," I whispered at him. "Try a truffle."

I put an oval one, with velvet blue shimmer, under his nose. 

     He just turned away from me in a way that took most of the comforter with him, and mumbled, "s-t-o-p...selling...me insurance."

 


~Hannah King, Owner 

ABC Provisions: feel good about what you're eating

 


2 comments


  • Malina

    This wonderful story was my intro to your blog! In March, I water fasted for 7 days, and it was a great experience for me too. It showed me how emotional my eating was – not eating for my body but for issues and stress. No time travel though!


  • Martha Wild King

    Hannah thank you so for making my day brighter. What wonderful laughs I had from reading your latest blog!


Leave a comment

Please note, comments must be approved before they are published