The days are becoming significantly longer, it is less than two weeks before the clocks go forward and less than three weeks before spring officially arrives. All things considered it has been quite a tolerable winter.

Pah! I am taking a beach vacation anyway. I tried to fight the good fight this year, spending a lot of time in front of my lightbox and resolving to be stoic, giving the credit card a much needed break. Who have I been fooling? I need the sun like I need air, water and chocolate. I am the furthest thing from a brave little soldier. I am not brave at all. I have been a monster and for the health and welfare of all, I am carting myself away from this frozen grey tundra and embracing a week of sun, surf and margaritas.

The Sweetie will be spared for a week and will not have to witness me clearing my sinuses with my neti pot on a nightly basis. I will not give him the death stare or burst into inexplicable tears. I won’t wear flannel pajamas for a week, or wear my bathrobe over my clothes or sleep with the hot water bottle. I won’t have fantasies about snapping people’s limbs in half. I will be a salsa-eating benevolent version of myself rather than the spaghetti sandwich eating curmudgeon I have become over the past few months. Surely that is a worthy cause for racking up the credit card bill.

My yogi friend is the healthiest girl I know. She doesn’t drink, doesn’t smoke, she’s a vegan and lover of all things organic and herbal. She loves vegetables. In fact, she craves vegetables.

When visiting my friend she has been known to exclaim, “Hey! Do you want a sundae? I can fix us a sundae!” I was excited the first time she offered until I discovered that her version of a sundae involves frozen soy yogurt, dried fruit, and if she is feeling really decadent, a few carob chips.

Because life is completely random and strange, my healthiest friend has been diagnosed with breast cancer. The night before her lumpectomy we went for a platter of stir fried vegetables, bok choy and fried rice determined to eat as much and as late into the night as possible, since she wasn’t allowed to eat after midnight. She is fighting nausea from her chemo treatments with acupuncture and Chinese herbs. She has found the cutest cloche hats with felted flowers to keep her very well shaped head warm until her hair grows back. She is a force to be reckoned with and will kick breast cancer in the ass with her tiny fierce yogi feet.

To help her through the sucky times I have been searching for vegan healthy snacks I can make for her. I found a recipe for no-bake chocolate chip “cookies”. Where is the butter? And copious amounts of sugar? Where are the chocolate chips for that matter? Basically they are healthy ingredients squished together with a bit of honey. In spite of myself I had to admit that they weren’t that bad. Even The Sweetie conceded they’d taste like cookies if you hadn’t had a real cookie in a long long time.

On behalf of my dear yogi friend I will overcome my healthy food phobia and mix these babies up whenever she craves them. I will try to refrain from making snide comments about the carob chips. I may even offer to make her a “sundae”.

No Bake Chocolate Chip Cookies

(from Clean Eating Magazine-yes, such a magazine actually exists. I am definitely more of the dirty eating variety myself)

Throw 1 1/4 cup raisins and 1/2 cup dates in the food processor and chop into small pieces. Add 2 cups oats, 4 tbsp honey or agave (because everybody has agave kicking around their kitchen), 2 tsp cinnamon and a pinch of salt. Mix that up in the food processor, then put it in a bowl and add 1/2 cup carob chips. Roll this healthy mash into a ball, smush a little and chill so that it is firmer. Presto, “cookies”…

I found this amazing spoof of The Shining. I remember being traumatized by the movie when I first saw it. I will never look at hotel hallways and Big Wheels in the same way again. I am someone who should never watch scary movies because I can never fully shake them. It is comforting, then, to see a pastoral, warm and fuzzy spin on the horror that was Jack Nicholson in The Shining. If only there were a way to make formulaic romantic comedies more palatable and less horrifying.