Father Science Cops a Feel from Mother Nature and Ends Up on the Couch

There is no shortage of absurdity in realm of consumer marketing, but May brings to light a particular irony- buying foods that cause cancer to cure cancer. The most obvious offense is KFC’s new “buckets for the cure, ” which would be funny if it weren’t so sad, but you see it everywhere. At the Wawa, I indulged in a cup of coffee, and cradling the steaming cup was a cup protector with pink ribbons- as I walked by the doughnut case, there was a chocolate doughnut with pink ribbon sprinkles. Are you kidding me? I guess it’s all about “awareness, ” but let’s consider being aware that eating that crap will bring you closer to your grave. Instead of the American way of going overboard and fixing it with science, so much sickness could be prevented by living and eating in a balanced way.

This planet, and it’s inhabitants, from the plants and microorganisms, to those of us at the top of the food chain contain a vast amount natural potential and intelligence. This is evident in ecosystems all over the planet. From birds flying South for the Winter, to our bodies own ability to heal a paper cut, there are examples of Mother Nature’s natural ability to sustain life. The invisible orchestration of all of these events are deeply fascinating, and as humans, we just can’t help but be curious. That’s where the inventions of religion and science come in! Arguably, some good has come of it, but I can’t help but be reminded of the story of my brother, when he was four, jumping off of a garage roof to learn how to fly. Despite his intentions, gravity got the best of him. Of course, miracles of science helped him heal his broken arm, and that is one of those elegant instances where science and nature complement each other. Most of the time, they are pitted against each other.

Mother Nature is full of mysteries, illness is one of them. To those who have lost our mothers to illness, there is really nothing you can do but prevent the same from happening to others. I didn’t lose my mother to breast cancer, but to diabetes, and related cocnditions. Like cancer, diabetes can be genetic, although the activation of those genes are controlled by the actions and decisions we make for ourselves. My mother’s diabetes could have been prevented, and I have to say losing her has prompted me to look at my own actions, and how I treat myself. Some of these mysteries have been revealed to me, not from science, but from myself. Listening to my body and it’s signals, giving my body what it needs, these things aid homeostasis- our natural need for balance. Perhaps if we heeded our bodies’ advice, there would be a lot less cancer in the world. It’s not easy when you are up against food-like miracles of science, exploiting our natural cravings for fat, salt and sugar.

Father Science, purely smitten with Mother Nature does his best to understand her. But instead of delving deep enough to understand those mysteries, or locate the core of the imbalance, he takes her wisdom for granted and just tries to fix it. He brings home the bacon, spends late nights working, why isn’t she happy? Of course, she thinks if he would just listen once in a while, he would know! Instead, a rift forms, the silent treatment ensues, before you know it, divorce is on the table.

Our society has a fear of stillness, quiet insights, anything that might bring to light something in the dark. Better to gloss over the problems, spend your free time texting, watching T.V.  If you get upset, or bored, eat fried chicken, eat doughnuts, and hate yourself for it, but don’t focus in of the core imbalance in oneself,  it’s too daunting. This attitude has become amplified in all of these hollow ways to “cure” cancer. My husband used to work for a non-profit, I can say a lot of it is for show. I’m sure it’s the same thing with the pink ribbon sprinkles. We’ve made it possible to make a bad decision, but still feel like we are doing something. What we are really doing is fostering this perversion, this cancer. We are feeding our fears, our ignorance, our ills, and it’s killing us.

If you really want to honor those who have been lost to breast cancer this Mother’s Day, honor your Mother’s greatest achievement, which is creating life. Life springs from dark places and is nourished with love, respect, and having it’s needs met. Eat well, take care of yourself, that’s all any mother wants for her child, the very best.

So, no getting up from the table until you eat your vegetables!!

Nourish the Planet, Nourish Yourself

Ever since I was a little girl, when some one asked me what I wanted to do when I grew up, naturally, I said “I want to save the world!” I also wanted to be an astronaut, which is probably a more attainable goal than saving the world! It’s a daunting task, no less. But I have found we each have control of our own little microcosm. Each choice we make has an effect on our surroundings and the people we share our lives with, so I will impart to you some methods of saving the planet on your plate. That can be a part of my girlhood dream come true!

Here are a few things you can do today and any day:

Eat locally. When you are shopping, look for signs for produce that is local. This minimizes “food miles” or the distance the food has traveled to get there. A lot of produce is shipped from Chile, South Africa, Ecuador, etc. Look for country of origin labels (COOL) and see if you can get as close to home as possible. This supports the natural ecosystem of your area, local farmers, and also, the food will be fresher, therefore more nutrient dense. You can check out localharvest.org to find a CSA, or farmers market in your area (the season is right around the corner!) CSA’s are great for locavores, and lovers of delicious fresh food. I love the people at Landisdale Farm, very kind and helpful.

Eat Seasonally. This goes hand in hand with eating locally. Again, you are eating foods that are native to your personal ecosystem, and decreasing food miles. This time of year, fresh young greens are in full swing, sprouts, and asparagus. Berries are also late Spring and early Summer, and are ten times more delicious when eaten in season!

Go Organic. Folks hem and haw at the price of organic food, but do you know the hidden price of conventional food? I read research recently that tested the amount of toxins the average person carries- over 900!!! In a sample from the umbilical cord of a newborn the number was over 200. Before you even get started, you are bombarded with toxins. Some conventional foods carry up to 14 defferent pesticides, then are radiated, sprayed with preservative… what the heck is left after that?

The use of pesticides also contribute to the deterioration of marine life. A massive “dead zone” exists in the Gulf of Mexico. Life cannot thrive here, and this is primarily due to the run-off from the corn belt. These pesticides seep into the groundwater, down the Mississippi, and into the Gulf. This is an extreme example, but a common issue facing all tributaries, deltas, oceans, and the creatures that live there.

Do you know GMO? Organics as of yet do not allow for Genetically Modified foods. A growing issue is the cross-pollination of GMO crops to non-GMO crops. If you don’t know what a GMO is, don’t get me started, I’ll have to save it for another time! They are bad news. When you hear “Round-Up Ready” run in the other direction! GMO’s are not labeled. Processed foods containing soy, corn, sugar, white rice, papaya, and some squash are most likely genetically modified.

Support Sustainable Agriculture. Monoculture has had a dangerous effect on the soil. Without crop rotation, the minerals are completely depleted. Smaller organic farms respect the soil, use compost and have a variety of foods growing. Most rotate their crops, keeping the soil rich in nutrients, contributing to the health of the plants they grow. These plants pass on their wealth of nutrients to you, aren’t you lucky?

Where’s the Beef? Taking animals off of the traditional farm and putting them on vast feedlots, or chicken houses is harmful to the animals and to the surrounding land. On a small farm, animal waste can be used as fertilizer, but in these unnatural conditions, the waste just piles up. The growing dead zone in the once fertile Chesapeake Bay area is due to sewage from surrounding chicken farms. At a feedlot, cows stand knee deep in their own you-know-what, since there is no where for it to go. This is a public health issue, and again, completely destroys the surrounding ecosystem.

Some Americans eat animal products up to three times per day. Most people do just fine having them three days a week, if at all. Consider incorporating more vegetarian meals, this too will have an effect. If you choose animal products, look for grass fed beef or dairy, and pastured eggs and chicken. If you eat fish, avoid farmed fish have diet high in mercury (from “fish meal”) and GMO corn.

Grow Your Own. Nothing is more empowering than growing your own food. When I was a little girl, I remember getting herbs and lettuce from the garden. If you have children, this is hands on education for them. If you are a brown thumb, get some plants that have already gotten started, pick a sunny spot in the yard, or a window box.

If you’re curious about these subjects I think Food Inc. is a good introduction. Films about GMO’s include the “Future of Food”, or “The Truth According to Monsanto”. I like “Fresh” it’s the most cheerful of the lot, about sustainable Ag. I would recommend any of the books by Michael Pollan or Marion Nestle. Visit Carl at Life More Abundant, he has those books available. If you care about these issues, write to your local representatives and let them know!

Okay, are you hungry yet?

Recipes.

Morning smoothie
amounts depend greatly on personal taste and how many you are sharing with-
blend-
1 pint fresh strawberries
half cup baby spinach
reishi mushroom (northeast superfood!)
Tablespoon local raw honey
water or juice as needed

Lunch
This is quick, simple and yummy, just how I like ‘em!
saute-
purple onion, garlic until tender
Add as much Swiss Chard as you can handle
cook until just wilted
toss in about 1 C. cooked quinoa and sea salt, any other seasonings to taste.
Yum it all up with unrefined sesame oil

Dinner
Mixed Spring Greens with sprouts & vinaigrette
Mushroom pilaf with white beans and asparagus

I think the salad is pretty straightforward. If you make your own vinaigrette, use 3 parts oil to 1 part vinegar or lemon and season how you like. I use whatever is on hand. You can garnish with edible flowers- dandelion or violets grow in most back yards and are highly nutritious!

Pilaf-
You have soaked 1 C. brown rice for 1-8 hrs.

In a saucepan saute mushrooms, onion and garlic on low heat to infuse the Extra Virgin Olive Oil. Add fresh sage, and rosemary, careful not to burn. Slowly add in 1/2 C. WARM water, soaked rice, stir it all up and let it mingle. Add 1 1/2 C. water, cover and let cook 35 min.

In a fry pan, add about 1/2 water on medium heat. Peel tough bottom stalk of asparagus and add to pan.
Cover, let it get tender.
While doing this, rinse pre-cooked white beans, (or open the can and rinse for short-cut)
Add 3 Tbs. Extra Virgin Olive Oil
1 Tbs. White Wine vinegar
herbs d’ provence (sage, rosemary and lavender) in abundance
If you have any leafy greens on hand, add them in, and let wilt.
Add beans last, sea salt, pepper, or adjust seasoning if necessary.

Now didn’t that taste good?

Some Meatless Issues

I was tucking my girls into bed after a full day of yard selling, bracelet making, tag, races and whatever it is they do. They always save a little bit of fight for the sandman, never ready  for bed.  Bella fusses over where to put her pillow, which animal will keep her safe from snakes, while Maia flops about on the floor like a wet noodle, unable, for some reason, to actually stay IN her bed.  After hugs and kisses, and lights out, Maia frequently likes to talk.  All of the things that have been pent up in her head all day come spilling out, every worry, argument with a friend, and the questions.  I think the only reason I learn anything anymore is to answer the questions of a six year old, since she’s brought to my attention just how many things I did not have answers for.

For a long time, she has been curious about death, and things of a spiritual nature, Jason and I didn’t raise the girls any kind of way about that, but do our best to be helpful.  This all started when my Mother passed three years ago, she was three, and saw her almost every day of her life.

So tonight she asks me, “What does Mimi say?”

“When?”

“Now!  What does Mimi say right now?”

I sat down and closed my eyes and the words came out: “You are a bright shining star.  I see you sparkle from here!  Always let your light shine.”

By the way, I talk to my dead Mother, and she talks to me.  You might think it’s weird, but I promise not to judge you for it.

This of course made Maia giggle, and make her feel very happy.  She loves to talk about Mimi.  Then she starts to cry  (this is the cry of a highly sensitive, over-tired little girl, full of more emotion than she knows what to do with).  She says she is sad because animals always like Mimi, and they don’t like her as much.  Of course, I remind her of how much our pets love her, and how the doggies we meet always take to her.

She says, “but parrots don’t like me.”

I reminder of some of her positive acquaintances with parrots and other elegant birdies.

She says, ” When I grow up I want to be a flower lady (florist) and take care of the animals.”

I ask if she wants to be a Vet?  A Zoologist?

“No.”  She says.  “I don’t want to hurt them.  I don’t want to give them shots.  Zoos are mean.  All of the animals are in cages and they can’t go home.  People should be nice to animals, but they’re mean to them”

Then she says, “Mommy, I want be a vegetarian.”

“You do? You know that means no more chicken fingers, right?  No more bacon?”

“I know.  When we go out to eat I get a grilled cheese. Is cheese animal meat?  If I’m vegetarian can I still eat cheese?”  I go back in my mind and remember that she has been doing this, always getting grilled cheese instead of chicken fingers when someone is generous enough to bring my children into public and feed them.  Amazing.   I assured her that vegetarians eat cheese and eggs.

“Oh good!”  This is a huge relief for her.

I give her a great big squeezy hug and tell her she has a great big heart, and good night.

Although we are not quite a vegetarian in our household, meat doesn’t happen on a regular basis.  Weeks can go by without any.  If I get it, I always buy the highest quality, organic, pastured animals given their natural diet and a allowed to lead the life they were meant to.  When in season, I get them from the Farmer’s Market, and exchange money with the farmer himself.  On countless occasions, I will be found at Pathmark with two little girls in toe with endless pleadings of “mommy can we get…”  And of course, after I say no, I have to EXPLAIN myself.  (When someone figures out how to explain GMO’s to little kids, let me know!)  Naturally, over pleads of hot dogs, I have to say “No, I just can’t do it”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t want to spend my money on that”

“Why?”

“Well those animals didn’t get treated well”

“Why?”

“Because the companies have to make a lot of meat, and they care more about money than the animals.”

“Why?”

“So they can have lots of money.”

“Why would the farmers be mean?”

“It’s not the farmer’s fault, it’s the company.  You know how we don’t have a lot of money?”

“I know!” (eyeroll)

“Well I’m not giving it to THEM!”

“Ok, ok.”

I have these conversations all the time.  There is not much about the food system that I don’t know, but it becomes very difficult to talk about these weighty, often political, matters to my girls.  However, never underestimate a child’s ability to put the pieces together.  Over the course of time, I have answered quetions about the meat industry and how they mistreat the animals, exploit the workers and farmers, pollute the land, air,  and poison the population.  I know it’s cheaper to buy a Perdue chicken than the ones I get at the farmer’s market, and I know times are tight, and there is a family to feed, but I can’t bring myself to do it.  So I have found it is cheaper to eat vegetarian.

After my talk with Maia, I was proud of her for coming to this decision on her own.  Aside from ground beef in the school cafeteria, I’ve never told she couldn’t have those things.  There are plenty of people out there who feed my children, and in that case, they get what they want.  Truthfully, I’m not sure if she will stick to it.  We have also talked about how it can be hard to stick to rules because sometimes things taste good, and the rest of the world eats differently.  The important thing is that she decides for herself.  I have trouble lying to my kids, and I try not to be preachy.  I appreciate how impressionable she is, but I am seeing now the influence of the words and actions that happen inside of our household are stronger in her than that of the general public.

The Force is strong with this one.

Hanging in the Rafters

I have always considered myself, first and foremost, an artist. Everything I do, say, make, it is a creation of some sort, even if it is mundane. But art is also about shaking loose and making something that incites beauty or emotion or SOMETHING in the maker or the viewer. I do this in painting in drawing, feeling sparked and alive in the process of discovering the human form. I have had creative outlets lately, but it dawned on me that painted zero naked people last year. I have been fervently studying the human body and it’s mechanisms for healing, but ignoring the one thing that makes me feel most alive and purposeful.

I am ADD incarnate, always doing many things at once, not in any sort of official multi-tasking way. I made some things happen, but I could not keep up. I always had a few plates crashing to the floor. And then I would leave them there, too overwhelmed to clean them up. This past week something so marvelous happened, and I think it is related to other marvelous things- I cleaned my house. My husband tackled the seemingly insurmountable closet mess. I cleaned the parts that get no attention. I moved mountains of laundry. I threw out BAGS of old clothes, toys, things that, every time I look at them, I mutter to myself. I cleaned cobwebs, opened corners, let in the light.

Immediately following this whirlwind occurrence, which, like the New Year’s Eve Blue Moon, only happens every 19 years or so, I felt all this ROOM to DO something. Dragging out my oils seemed easy and possible. I looked at things with a new eye, seeing strokes, meandering lines and plays of color. Oh, my Goddess, it has been a long time. As a tribute to my old friend, I drew my kitty curled up, sketched Maia in her own little sphere of creativity.

This part of myself came from the moving corners of my house, moved through me and my hand, and it dawned on me that I need to do this all the time. I am an artist, first and foremost, and the greatest sense of joy and purpose is right now.

Kidnapped in Jersey with Cruel Shoes

This was a Wednesday in September, the day after Jason and I had received very important and scary notices regarding our mortgage.  I had a job interview in Hazlet, N.J., four trains and four hours from my home.  I kissed the heads of my daughters as they scooted off to school, and began my long and epic journey into the unknown.  No ipod, no book, just me and my moxie. Traveling to New Jersey (no offense to my Jersey friends! you guys are cool), always feels a bit like stepping into another dimension, one of those bad dreams where I am supposed to know where I am, but I don’t, and I MUST get somewhere, but there strange laws and rules that apply unbeknownst to me, and I need to run, but my legs are stuck in the mud, and I can’t move.  Or, you know when, in “Who Framed Roger Rabbit?” when that detective guy goes to Toontown?  It’s like that.  It’s it’s own little anomaly or wormhole or some damn thing, who knows.

Anyway, it wasn’t long after I left the house before I realized I was wearing Cruel Shoes.  The ones, that despite their cuteness, remind you of the downside of femaleness, that with vogueish beauty comes pain and blood.  So rather than the powerful stride of an Amazonian Goddess, I had more of a painful walk of shame going on, like maybe I hadn’t made it home after Happy Hour the night before as I hobbled and wobbled to the train.

In Trenton, I took them off.  Waiting for my next train, a fellow informed me that I wasn’t wearing my shoes.  I thanked him, because I love it when people inform me of the obvious.  He told not to step in or on anything, he didn’t want me to get hurt.  I thanked him again for the sound advice, and told him nothing could hurt as much as those God- forsaken instruments of torture.

In Rahway, my next stop, the Universe sent me an incredibly helpful man who prevented me from ending up who- knows- where.  I was thankful to him for teaching me the great secrets of the Rahway train station.  I will pass them onto you.  None of the trains are marked or announced.  You are supposed to just “know” like this guy did.  He told me “don’t take the first train that comes, take the one right after,” which saved me from ending up back in Trenton.   Lesson: Know what time you train comes, and ask somebody who is already on the train where it’s going, or stand right by the door until you hear an announcement.  DON’T sit down and get comfortable!

Anyway, I made it to the interview.  No, actually, what I made it to was a pitch to a pyramid scheme.  I can’t believe I tried to walk normally into this office to hear about some network costing some insult in dollars every month to get commission on what I already do for myself anyway.  I was polite and bright and charming, but really I was fuming.  I wanted to throw my shoes at her and scream at her that I wanted to keep my house, dammit, and why could this not have been done over the phone!!??  A job is supposed to be something wher YOU pay ME!!

I stepped out of the office complex and stared out at the box mall landscape.  I had no money for a taxi to get back to the station.  And there are no sidewalks, nobody walks in New Jersey.  I watched the woman I just spoke with drive off in her Land Rover gabbing on her cell phone with her nails and her hairdo. Ugh.

The clouds parted for me as my friend Dina, who lived nearby, called to see how things went and if I needed a lift to the train station.  I wanted to fall to my knees and kiss the phone.  I was trying to walk on this fucking grassy knoll, and I was ready to curl up and sleep there rather than bear the mile walk ahead.

Apparently, standing in a TD Bank parking lot warrants much concern, as I was repeatedly asked if I was okay, or did I need to call somebody.  This, however, is better than waiting for the bus in Fishtown, where I was usually mistaken for a hooker. (Note: I don’t look like a hooker.  Not even a Fishtown hooker).

I missed my train by a moment, of course at the time I didn’t know it was my train, because both sides of the tracks look the same, nothing was clearly marked, and I was not “in the know” about these things.  This was okay, because Dina and I chatted and I met her cutie-pie daughter, and this was by far the bright spot in my day.  We heard the ding dong of an oncoming train and raced to catch it.  I made an awkward dash right in front the train and those thingies that come down at the intersection.  I was as close as I could get to running, only to have the door slide shut in my face.  It pulls away, and I am left hobbling in frustration and confusion. Dina is gone.  But it is okay, because it wasn’t my train.  Too confused to laugh or cry, I channeled Patsy from Absolutely Fabulous, or maybe that scene in Fear and Loathing when they take ether, I think that’s what I looked like.  It was getting very hard to walk.

On the other side of the platform was this lady who was seeing a show on Broadway,  or “Brwadwayee.”  She had helmet hair and talons, as if headed to battle, and one of those really big shiny noisy purses, that cried “look at me, if you dare, I am so faaabulously expensive, I hold things that you will never know.” Despite that stuff, she was nice, and apparently didn’t get out too often.  She told me I should get my license, and a car.  ”I know, ” I sighed in that “it’s a long story” way.  The train came and I settled into it’s gentle cradle, took my shoes off, and began dreaming of dinner.  I hadn’t eaten all day, which was not the proper Health Counselor thing to do, but I had no money, and there was nothing portable at home.  I ate the last nectarine for breakfast.  It felt good to be hungry, though, as I had been retching the night before as a result of bad news and nerves.  Anyway, I was just glad to be in a comfortable seat.  I enjoyed the view as we rode over a sprawling bay dotted with sailboats and specks of afternoon sun.

Back at Rahway, to get to the other side, one must go down many steps, though an underpass, and up a smelly pee-filled elevator.  waiting for the train to Trenton, I overheard a woman talking about how she was heading to Trenton to get her hair done, which seemed incongruous, but at least I had someone to follow.  If she got on the train, so would I.  A train comes, she gets on, I get on, and get comfortable.  The train sits at the station for a few moments, and then I see her on the platform again.   I frantically tap the guy in front of me, and scared the shit out of him, as he was clearly lost in his tunage.

“Is this train going to Trenton?!”

“Uh…. I don’t know?   Uh…. Amboy?, South Amboy?”

I race for the door, again, it slides shut in my face.  I throw my shoes and bag at the door.  ”Fuuuuck!!”   I breathe heavily for a moment and compose myself.  Now a deep breathe. It’s a setback, not the end of the world, everything happens for a reason….

I go to find a conductor.  At the end of the car is a definite kuufuffle and it was the conductor, arguing with a very drunk man about his ticket.  I collapse into a nearby seat.  There’s a lot garbles and “tough guy” talk happening, and they are very close to getting physical.  The argument is so petty I won’t reproduce it.  But it is getting close to fists, and the next stop is coming.

“Excuse me…”

The noise continues

“Excuse me!”

The doors open.

“I’m on the wrong train I have to get to Trenton!!”

“Oh!”  The conductor’s reality cleared for a moment.  ”Don’t get off here sweetheart, the northbound train won’t stop here, get off at the next stop.”   This also seemed to remove some of the tension in the car.  I am pissed that he called me sweetheart and everything else, but grateful I did not get off there.  I might still be there, with a shelter made out of an abandoned trash can and brush from the nearby woods.

I get off and wait awhile and board the train back to whence I came.  At Rahway, I again traverse down the excessive stairs, through the gloomy underpass, and into the smelly pee elevator.  I return to the same platform, for third at last time that day, and ever, if I am lucky.

The rest of my ride is long, but blissfully uneventful.  I remember actually feeling a small leap of joy in my heart when I saw a SEPTA train.  Ah, SEPTA.  Refreshingly predictable compared to NJTransit. I had never  been so excited to step foot in Glenolden, and step foot I did, as I carried my shoes, in the rain, in hopes to get home before the girls’ went to bed.  I didn’t get to see them though, it was 8:30, and I had been gone close to thirteen hours.  I don’t remember what happened after that.  I remember wanting to throw my shoes in the trash, but knew I wouldn’t have money for new ones.

I decided if the day was not going to be wasted, let me at least write about it.  Otherwise, I can’t say  I have any life lessons out of this other than staying the hell out of Rahway, but that if I do return there, hopefully there will be a very pleasant Mexican man in a corner somewhere, waiting to show me the way.  And dressing for comfort reigns supreme, I don’t care what anybody says.

xox

The Vick Thing

Unless you are living under a rock, you might have heard that the Eagles have recently signed Michael Vick.   As a Philadelphian, and a human, initially I was pretty disgusted, but then I don’t care about football or put a lot of trust in the NFL to make ethical decisions.  However this has brought up several incredibly interesting issues.  In this case I will focus on what I know best, and what is potentially quite controversial: animal rights.  I will credit my marvelous husband for bringing up this point. 

Jason, my husband, works his weekend nights in Outback Steakhouse.  The guys in the kitchen were all talking about Michael Vick, and how he shouldn’t be allowed to play, and they’ll never watch the Eagles again, while grilling steaks, chicken, fish, bacon, and putting cheese on top.  This may be out on a limb, but I’m pretty sure Outback Steakhouse doesn’t get organic, grass-fed, farmer-owned, certified humane meat. The meat comes from factory farms.  When Eagles fans pay and arm and a leg to go see an Eagles game and buy a hot dog, or nachos with stuff on it, that meat and dairy come from a factory farm.  Imagine how bad a factory farm really is.  It’s actually about 10 times worse. 

I know this is a sensitive issue, and this is a process I went through myself.  Education definitely shook me out of complacency and I realized this is something I really care about.  I won’t go too deep, but I will invite you to look into this.  Factory farms are gut-wrenchingly cruel to the animals for their entire life.  They never see the light of day, they live in filth, have useless parts of their bodies removed, some never learn to walk. They are fed GM foods and not permitted their natural diet, they are abused pointlessly.  This does not necessarily exclude organic meat either.  Although it is better in some respects, the animals are still factory farmed.

Jason explored this with his co-workers, a lot of them said meat is necessary for survival.  In truth, most people require about 10-15% of their diet to be protein, and maybe half of that or less to be animal protein.  In fact, if you eat the USDA recommended amount of meat, you will most likely get cancer.  Factory farms are also the #1 or #2 environmental air/water pollution source, depending who you talk to.

Jason and I both eat meat, we didn’t want to give that up!  So we found a fabulous vendor at our local Farmer’s Market that raises every animal they way it would live in nature, and there are a growing number of  small farms doing so.  It’s a much more delicious, healthy, and sustainable way to go.  If you are interested in doing the same, you can find a vendor at localharvest.org.

Anyway, Michael Vick did some bad stuff and caused a lot of controversy,  and I’m not defending him. However, this forces us to look at the person we are judging and maybe see ourselves reflected somewhere.  We humans love a good stone throwing, so this could also a lesson in forgiveness, I suppose. If you take a moment, it is also an opportunity for personal growth.  I invite you put your money where your mouth is and consider supporting farms that raise their animals humanely.  While we’re at it, if all Americans cut the meat habit in half, it would have a profound effect on national health, the economy (by supporting local business) and the environment.

xox

The Culinary McGuyver

This was last week. It is my role, in my house, to provide some sort of meal for all of these people in my house in the evening hour.  However, for this to occur on a daily basis, one needs to get creative.  I long for the days when I would say to myself, “I feel like what-have-you” and go out and get fresh ingredients to make the best what-have-you ever, better than your Momma’s, and have everyone sit around the table and shower me with compliments while rubbing their full bellies.  This was good stuff.  Quite glorious. But the scene has changed.  

These are now the days of overturning couch cushions for change and going to the bank to take out the last three dollars and get some staple, like brown rice or beans or something.  I love rice and beans, but making it interesting every night has posed a formidable challenge.  Thankfully, I am a trained ninja, an amorphous entity that can adapt to these things. An artist by birthright, I can turn anything into something

So this day last week, that’s what this was about.  We had run out of fresh food, except for our bounty of potatoes and peppers from the Farmer’s market.  There was no money, of course.  So about an hour before the husband gets home, I was opening and closing cabinets, the refrigerator, then doing it again and again.  Here was the exceptionally delicious thing I made.  And did I mention I ran out of olive oil?  So I hope you like butter!

Homefries with peppers-

On a low heat, melt about a 2-3 tbs. butter in cast iron skillet

slice up potatoes small and cook them down for what seems like forever, then add the peppers and cook till just right.

with Nut burgers (sans roll, but they are probably better with one)

grind equal parts sunflower seeds and walnuts (about 3/4 C. each)

fold in leftover brown rice (1 1/2 C.)

add tomato paste till you get a good consistency (about 3 tsp.)

add spices- sea salt, oregano, cumin, pepper, crushed red pepper, or whatever!

chill those suckers, and fry them in butter.

top with a slice of raw onion and mustard.

The family LOVED it.

Day 2, the day before pay day.

I fried (in butter) some last bits of peppers and onions and mixed in some refried beans, seasoned with cumin, paprika, sea salt and pepper.

Instead on tortillas, I used the bean mixture to top of latkes

3 grated potatoes

1 egg

3 t. whole wheat flour

1 t. salt

and thyme, garlic, onion, enough to taste it.

(don’t let this stand)

This was unusually delicious.

It also proves my point that butter makes anything taste good, just keep the heat low.

Tonight I made a delicious potato soup with these funny leaves, I forget what the heck they’re called, so I will get back to you on that one!  But it was a simple soup-

saute onion, and garlic in olive oil

add 5 cups broth (I make my own)

add leaf kombu

ad 3 big yukon gold potatoes, cook til tender-

add greens- these were beautiful, looked like lily pads, and had a mild flowery flavor

add sea salt to taste

and handful parmesan 

garnish with edible flowers

I had these gorgeous sexy orange flowers, again, I forget what they’re called, I will report back later.

I remember growing up in the south there was this show called “Cookin’ Cheap” on a cable access channel, and it was so funny!  These good ole’ boys would fry up anything!   So it can be done, and while I don’t condone using butter so exclusively, it’s good to be resourceful.  My circumstances have forced me to rely on my strengths, and it’s good to they’re there.  Our creativity thrives most when there is a challenge at hand.  We could buckle under the pressure, or rise to the challenge, and the challenges never go away.  Thankfully, neither do strength or creativity. Oh, and why is that? Because I’m so fucking healthy.  The dollar menu doesn’t sell strength and creativity, just remember that.

xox

Cut the Cord

My daughter just noticed today that we no longer have cable.  I actually got rid of it last week, and instead of telling them, I’ve initiated many crafts, and playing outside, and the occasional DVD.  Maybe I lie when I say “occasional.”   Bella has seen Wallace and Gromit’s Curse of the Were Rabbit, more times than I can count at this point, and while I do think too much T.V. is a bad thing, there is an exception when my sanity is involved.  So if Mommy has any hope of getting her work done, eating without interruption, or cleaning up after said numerous craft projects, then, by all means, watch Wallace and Gromit’s Curse of the Were rabbit and leave me to my duties.

But I digress.  I love not having cable.  Since not having it, Jason and I spend our nights talking to each other, reading, discussing philosophical matters, and the ways of the universe, discussing ourselves, each other, and our children.  I remember now, the we are both intelligent people capable of our own intellectual stimulation!  This is so much better than Law & Order, any of them.  Can I also mention that Jason and I actually fall asleep next to each other in bed now? He would always stay up later than me watching T.V. and fall asleep on the couch.  With his work schedule, we see each other seldom as it is, and now I feel like this core bit of intimacy has been restored.  

I have a great marriage, but when it is not great, it is because we are not in synch.  When we’re not in synch it’s because we’ve made no effort to connect in even simple ways during our “busy” lives.  ”Busy” is a dirty word.  It’s kind of meaningless, like “nice or “fine.”  We’re all so nice and busy and fine, but sort of miserable underneath it if there is nothing real.   If we can’t be each others’ touchstone, then I become a little bit of a lost puppy/ android Mommy who gets sick of doing the dishes all the time.  Some smart ass may point out that I would actually have to do dishes to be sick of doing them, but that’s not true, since looking at a pile of dishes is equally exhausting.  

I think television can bring us together in a way when we all sit and watch a great movie, or the Simpson’s.  We all laugh together, and enjoy our time together.  But the television mostly has a very dark purpose.  Media and advertising is just nauseating, based on the idea that if you see or hear something enough times, it must be true.  Our body reacts emotionally to what we are watching, and with small children, they are not able to filter information as effectively as most functional adults.  Maia was entranced by Willie Mays and his gleaming mustache, and would tell me, “Mom, you need to get that!”  I told her “no, it’s all lies! They’re all just lying to you to get your money!”  It’s an important lesson for a doe-eyed six year old. 

The T.V. also took us apart from each other.  Sometimes we, as a family, could be in the same room, but a million miles away from each other, as we all were gently hypnotized.  For a tired, unfocused person, this is a very bad cycle to fall into, because it’s easy.  It’s the same with junk food.  It’s easy,  addictive, and does more harm than good without you even noticing it.  In the greater picture, it makes me think of how easily we can sell our souls in this country.  Work in a cube, eat some KFC, and watch the new episode of Paris Hilton’s new BFF or whatever.  Our lives can become so dull that we crave excitement from easily accessible outside sources.  

Of course, it doesn’t have to be like this.  We realize that our dreams can be a reality, that we have nothing to fear (but fear itself). We don’t need to waste our energies in complacency, but realize our power as individuals to create positive change in our own lives.  We can care about things, like what we put into our bodies, and what we do with them.  We can desire the very best not accept any less.  The less we numb ourselves with junk, we will reveal within ourselves boundless creativity, joy, and abilities that have since lain dormant.  In our house, the T.V. was the energy sucker, but it could be anything.  What’s sucking your energy? Cut the cord and give life to something new.

6 years.

Six years ago today, on the first day of her sweet life, I nearly lost my daughter.   The events surrounding my pregnancy, labor, and her infancy highlight precisely what is right and wrong, innovative and outmoded about our current medical system.  If you thought squatting behind a bush was scary, try having the most meaningful thing you will do in your life be taken completely out of your hands and put into the hands of a broken system.  

Jason and I were engaged, but not expecting to get pregnant.  Like most first-time parents we were scared, excited, confused, but we knew it would work out somehow.  I worked as an artists’ model at the time and had no insurance or maternity leave, or anything fancy like that, so I had to get medicare.  Applying for medicare or any other public welfare service, by the way, was enough to make me go postal, but I’ll save that for another time!  

My prenatal care was not bad.  I went to a woman’s care clinic at Drexel University in Philadelphia, and mostly saw nurse practitioners, who  were kind and sympathetic, and happily answered my questions.  I have to say that nurses and nurse practitioners do not get enough credit.  They work hard, and they did not insult my intelligence, like the doctors did.  I lost those connections I made, however, once my pregnancy got got bumped to “high risk” and had to see a doctor at the Hospital.  I was told over and over that this would be top notch care, and I would be taken care of.  Suddenly, we were vaulted into this other world.  The clinic I went to was very personal.  We all got to know each other,  we patients watched each other’s bellies grow, and watched the older brothers and sisters play.  The people there were interested in educating the patients, many of which were teenagers or young, uneducated women.  The hospital, on the other hand, was creepy and clinical, but “state of the art.”  And we had no choice but to go there.

So, I would get hooked up to things, have tests done, nobody really told me what any of it was about.  The doctor would give me a long list of things to be concerned about, like brain damage, poor heart health, and others that were less serious.  It was really scary, I didn’t know what was going on, and nobody really knew what to expect.  Some things had been determined, but what did it add up to?  Nobody knew.  I would probably have to have a C-section, but I thought I would like to avoid it if possible.  Through out this time, I could only take care of myself, and hope for the best.

Oh, and this was great- I had to take a birthing class that involved watching a video, and being told about vaginal birth vs. cesarian.  This was for 3 hours.  With insurance, I could have gotten some proper, fancy lamaze classes or something, but I didn’t have money, so I wasn’t good enough for that.  I also learned, on the hospital tour, that I wasn’t allowed to use any of the big bouncy ball things, or rockers, or any of the other goodies for anyone who had a midwife, or whose insurance allowed.  I remember crying that day, because I knew I would not get the birth that I wanted for myself and my baby.  Nobody really understood.  She would be born one way or the other, I should be grateful I didn’t have to squat behind a bush.

Okay, fine.  Buck up, kiddo, this is the miracle of life we’re talking about.  Okay.  I could handle this.

July 5, 2003, I my water broke.  I had no contractions, but I had to go straight to the hospital to avoid any infection.  The weather was wild, windy, thunderous, and torrential.  Is that foreshadowing?  It might be. Anyway, I got to the hospital and was immediately strapped to a bed, and monitored out the wazoo.  I really had the urge to move, and I know that walking, etc. can help to bring on contractions.  But I wasn’t allowed to do that.  I wasn’t allowed to get up to take a walk, go the bathroom, sit in a chair.  I had to lay strapped to that damn bed for 27 hours so I could be monitored.  I’m a little bitter about that.

 I wasn’t yet having contractions.  They waited all of two hours and decided I needed to have some contractions.  So they  hooked me up to an I.V.  (I believe it was picotin, but I don’t remember) and induced labor.  Then the contractions weren’t coming fast enough so they gave me more.  Before I knew it, my middle tightened, wrenched in pain.  There you go, people!  Here’s your contractions!  I know life doesn’t always happen like it would in a textbook, but, labor is a process.  It starts gentle and mild, and progresses.  I think it would be more easily handled that way because the mother is being eased into the process.  Maybe it’s just me?  Apparently, I was the only one who thought of this in the delivery room.  That didn’t really matter, though, for some reason.  I kept saying “I just want to take a little walk” and being told no, I must be monitored.  

So this went on.  I turned into a bitch, it was totally one of those things you see in the movies.  I even yelled at my Mom.  The pain was excruciating, but my body hadn’t caught up to the level of contractions, I was hardly dilated, and the baby was way up in there.  I was screaming for drugs, I’ll admit it!  But I wasn’t allowed drugs, because I wasn’t dilated enough.  I was fully in “me against them” mode.  I took my crap off so I could stand up and feel my ass again, but the nurses caught me and ran in.  I was ready to defenestrate somebody, when the doctor said I was dilated enough for an epidural. This was thrilling!  Finally, this quackery is working to my advantage!  Except I had a student administer the shot.  Not only did it not take, but it gave me the shakes.  So just so you can picture this- ungodly pain in my abdomen, shaking uncontrollably and not allowed to move.  My hair at this point was on giant knot. All of these residents and doctors came in asking inane questions, and about the complications with the pregnancy.  I guess charts are for losers.  The cool doctors don’t look at charts or ask the Dad-to-be.  Ask the crazed woman strapped to the bed yelling at her mother.

Finally, after more epidurals that didn’t work I got a “spinal.” I don’t remember what it was but it worked.  One nurse told me I shouldn’t be completely numb so I could know when to push. I saw her point, but told her to fuck off.  This was the road I was on. If I were allowed to have my body work at it’s natural rhythm, sure, but it was too late for that.  I just want point out, that I am not mean or rude to people, but this was a very frustrating situation, and these are the sort of things that happen you you are stripped of your power.

So after 27 hours of this nonsense, she wasn’t coming, and I had to have a C-section. At that point I hadn’t slept, eaten, or had a drink in over a day, so I was game, not that it was a choice.  All of the doctors and nurses that did the procedure were wonderful, and knew I had been through a lot.

July 6, 2003, at 3:15 P.M., Maia Grace is born.  I got to see her, and Jason got to hold her.  she was big and healthy, so it seemed, but she began gagging on some fluid, and she was whisked away to the nursery.  

Time passed, visitors came and went, I didn’t get to see my baby.  I told the nurse I wanted to breastfeed, and to bring her when she got hungry.  I finally got to hold her that night, and she tried nursing for a while, but started coughing and stopped.  Then she wouldn’t open her mouth. I tried burping her, and she wouldn’t burp.  I had a great nurse, sitting with me, and she said, they wanted her back in the nursery, but that I should keep her as long as everything seems fine.  So I did.  I hadn’t slept for two days, but I clutched her and stared at her, grateful that she was in my arms at last.  All of it was worth it.  I was finally so exhausted, that I couldn’t hold her anymore, and the nurse took her back to the nursery, and I drifted off to strange dreams.

The next day, I woke up and thought about it, shouldn’t she have gotten hungry by now?  I’m guessing it was about ten in the morning, and I hadn’t seen Maia, nor had any of the staff found out what was going on.  Or at least they hadn’t told me.  I finally got a visit from a doctor, and here’s what happened.  They were concerned that Maia had not been eating, so someone had force fed her a bottle of formula.  She choked, they continued to feed her.  She turned blue, and couldn’t breathe.  They had to resuscitate.  They did tests.  They did an ultra-sound reveling the problem- a tracheal esophageal fistula (TEF), meaning her  esophagus did not connect to her stomach. Her lungs had filled with the formula, and she was lucky to be alive, and lucky to not have pneumonia.  All of this happened with out my knowledge, I’m sure they just wanted to keep me from freaking out, but I freaked out anyway.  

Maia was immediately transfered to a Children’s Hospital and operated on the next day.  Today she is running around with her friends and little sister, playing jump rope and singing Cyndi Lauper.  They were amazed at how quickly she recovered from her surgery and has been a poster child of good health ever since.

My conclusions are this- there are good people out there in the health care industry, I know some of them, too.  I think the best ones respect their patients and listen to them.  I know my own body better than anyone else, even if I didn’t go to med school.  Medical technology saved my daughter’s life, and fifty years ago, she would have had to starve to death, but I got treated like a lab rat, and didn’t appreciate it.  And when you ain’t got no money, honey, you have no choice in this system.  The decisions are made for you.  And by the way, my diet was impeccable during my pregnancy.  If it hadn’t been- I can’t even imagine.

This is one of the reasons I became a Health Counselor.  Technology is great, and necessary, but people are where the quality comes in. Patients deserve respect, and choice.  Care takers need to listen, and make decisions based on the individual.  There is a better way that is more affordable, and empowers the individual to take their health into their own hands.  And the human body needs to be respected- it’s rhythms, and it’s ability to heal itself.  Imagine that.

Livin’ Easy