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Sweet Surrender
(posted June 28, 2010)
WHEN I WAS a young woman I held my dreams in fists clenched with fury and determination. I will have this; I will. The passage of time has provided the wisdom and experience to loosen my fingers, like the unfurling of a rosebud. My fierce will-fullness has burned itself out. In its place is sweet surrender. There is such peacefulness in living with open, empty hands. No longer grasping for everything, or anything.
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Falling off the Wagon
(posted June 15, 2010)
I’D LIKED TO be able to tell you I became a vegetarian 15 years ago for ethical, humane or even environmental reasons. But that wouldn’t be true. I became a vegetarian spontaneously. Without warning. If I were describing it as a car accident, I would say I was broadsided.
I remember the day clearly: I arrived home late Sunday evening after a weekend workshop. Greg had thoughtfully prepared baked chicken. He proudly watched as I cut a bite-sized morsel and lifted it to my mouth on a fork. My stomach suddenly lunged in protest and I quickly dropped the fork and pushed away my plate.
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When Greg asked what was wrong I said, “I think I just became a vegetarian.” He asked why and I answered truthfully: I didn’t know. I simply knew eating meat, any meat, would make me ill. I made a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and ate it in stunned silence.
The next day it was the same, and the next. I could not tolerate the smell or taste of meat, poultry, eggs or fish. As a spontaneous vegetarian, I had no idea how to eat balanced meals. I had no vegetarian recipes. I had no vegetarian friends to consult. I had no computer for accessing information. I scrambled around to find magazines and cookbooks. That was in 1995.
It didn’t take long to acquire the nutritional knowledge I lacked. I assumed I would be a vegetarian the rest of my life. But this past winter I fell off the wagon. And, once again, it happened unexpectedly.
First I noticed something odd: I was craving meat. Not lean chicken or broiled fish. I wanted to sink my teeth into thick, juicy ribs dripping with BBQ sauce. No matter how much I ate of my favorite meatless recipes, I did not feel full. So I visited a local organic farm and purchased chicken, pork roast and those ribs I had been fantasizing about.
Oh, oh, oh! I can’t begin to put into words how delicious those ribs tasted. I picked the bones clean and had to stop myself from licking the plate.
I related these events to a friend who is a naturopath. She seemed unsurprised. You lost your intrinsic factor, she said. Lost my what?
This is my interpretation of her explanation. The intrinsic factor (IF) is a protein in the stomach essential to the metabolism of vitamin B12. Everyone needs it. But here's the catch: It can only be maintained by consuming animal meat. If a person stops eating meat the stomach can continue to produce IF, sometimes for up to 20 years. Once the IF is gone health problems develop, usually starting with anemia. My friend went on to say this is why many vegetarians start eating meat again.
I never read anything about this in my vegetarian magazines or heard vegetarians (I know plenty of them now) talk about it. Perhaps they are unaware of the ticking clock and, like me, fall off the wagon without understanding why. But there I was. My intrinsic factor had run out of gas leaving me stranded on the side of the road craving meat.
How long will I tolerate eating meat again? Time will tell. But I’ve discovered an unexpected benefit: I’m back in the kitchen cooking up delicious new recipes. Greg is thrilled because we now eat the same food. And, truthfully, so am I.
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Seeing the World through the Eyes of a Child
(posted June 9, 2010)
I SLATHERED BOTH my grandkids from head to toe with fruit scented SPF50 lotion. Justin pulled on his brand new Sponge Bob swim goggles, stepped to the edge of the pool and stretched his arms over his head. I counted out loud and on three he dove in. Surfacing moments later he shouted, "They work! I really can see underwater."
I quickly slid an orange 'swimmie' onto each of Jayla's arms. Like the true sissies we are, she and I waded into the water one baby step at a time. Once immerged, she shouted my name and excitedly pointed to her feet. Standing on her tippy-toes, she was finally tall enough to touch the bottom. We both hooted with joy.
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My grandkids and I spent the entire afternoon doing the doggie paddle, splashing each other and racing from one side of the pool to the other. Each time Justin or I ventured too close to the deep water Jayla shouted, "Watch out! You're in the drowning end." That's what she called the deep end of the pool: the drowning end. Apparently, her mother had been trying to impress her with the dangers of the deep water. I'd say the lesson stuck.
When Justin's and Jayla's eyes began drooping from fatigue, I climbed out of the pool and cobbled together a quick dinner. We devoured gooey pizza under the shade of the umbrella on the patio and licked our fingers when we finished. There's something magical about eating wearing a soggy swimsuit wrapped in a beach towel. Everything just seems to taste better.
Then I loaded the kids into my car for the drive home. Jayla was starting to doze off in her car seat when the sun broke through the clouds and splashed across her face. I heard her whisper, "Hello, Mr. Sun. We swam in the pool today." When I asked who she was talking to Jayla replied, "The sun. He was behind the clouds all afternoon and couldn't see us. I wanted to make sure he knew we went swimming."
Ahhh, there's nothing sweeter than seeing the world through the eyes of a four-year-old child.
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Give a little bit of Heart and Soul
(posted June 2, 2010)
CHECKLIST IN HAND I hopped into my car and headed toward Beechmont Ave. I was eager to finish the boring task of running errands. But sometimes life has something different in mind. Something much nicer.
My first stop was a doctor’s office to pick-up a prescription for my brother. I walked up to the reception window and set my purse on the counter. The nurse efficiently shuffled through her file and quickly handed me the piece of paper. I thanked her, grabbed my purse and turned to leave. The sudden smile on her face stopped me.
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Sweet Dreams, watercolor
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“Is that one of those hand painted purses from India?” She pointed at my handbag. I told her it was. Her smile broadened. She said she had wanted one for some time but was concerned the bag might not hold up well. I explained that mine was three-years old and, as she could see, still in perfect shape. She nodded, her eyes bright, and said she was going to order the handbag as soon as she got off work. I felt a warm sense of gratitude at having been able to dispel her concerns.
As I walked out the door to the building I was approached by two middle-aged women, their faces etched with concern. Could I tell them how to get to State Rd? They were late for a doctor’s appointment and completely lost driving in ‘the city.’ I assured them they were close to their destination and could easily reach it in 5 minutes. Then I gave them directions. They thanked me profusely and jumped into their car. I stood back as they drove by and waved.
In the space of five minutes my hurry-up approach to running errands had been interrupted. Once? Maybe a coincidence. Twice? Not a chance. I recognized the familiar tapping of the Universe on my heart. “Wake up,” it whispered.
I climbed into my car, started the engine, and turned on the radio. The lyrics of a favorite song filled the air: “Won't you even try to…give a little bit of heart and soul. Give a little bit of love to grow.” I drew a deep breath and cleared my head. Be present, I reminded myself.
My next stop was a small shop. I placed my armload of goods on the counter and the owner came over to ring up my purchases. Recognizing me from my picture alongside the column I previously wrote in Whole Living Journal, she asked how I was enjoying my retirement. Her words caught me by surprise. I don’t consider myself retired but, rather, on sabbatical. Maybe they’re the same thing. Like I said, I haven’t given it much thought.
I said I was thoroughly enjoying the change and was just beginning to feel, after two years, like I have settled into it. I thought her question was simply friendly chitchat. But then she began a heartfelt explanation about wanting to retire but feeling torn by loyalty to her customers and employees, and of her fear of stepping away from what was comfortable and familiar.
She trusted the Universe would send her a sign or an answer but was feeling frustrated. She had been waiting for several years and, she explained, she wasn’t getting any younger.
She went on to say she had followed my magazine column and related to my musings about changing careers several times. She said she felt I would understand her situation. She was right; I did understand.
She knew I didn’t have a magical solution for her dilemma. She wasn’t asking for one. In my heart I knew she simply wanted to be heard. To have someone acknowledge her innermost thoughts and fears. So that's what I did, listen. When she finished sharing her story relief washed over her face.
I left the store feeling as though I was the one who had been honored and acknowledged that afternoon. The Universe had provided me with three opportunities to feel uplifted and connected. Part of the greater whole. I had been in a hurry to finish running my errands. But sometimes life has something different in mind. Something much nicer.
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