Hahahaha.... joke's on us! That little grey mouse we'd only caught glimpses of is actually a silver-grey mole!
And what a healthy coat he has! Well, I guess he should, since he's been living off salmon and free-range chicken cat food.
Last night we were sitting at the table solving all the world's problems when I noticed a grey nose sticking out from under the fridge. "There's the mouse," I said, with what I thought was a remarkable grasp of the obvious.
The slow, fat cat came over and took an interest, crouching into the pounce position. Then, here came the little critter out from under the kitchen counter toward the cat dishes. The cat did nothing. And I said, "hey... that's not a mouse. It's a mole."
To which Hubby replied, "yes it is. And apparently the cat is keeping it for a pet."
"We should call it Digger," I said, helpfully.
"I should get a REAL mouse trap," said Hubby. "And I like Driller better," he added. We watched the mole and the cat for awhile longer, then our daughter came into the room. We told her what was going on.
"I like Digger better," she said, adding her two cents.
"Sorry Dear," I said to Hubby. "You're out-voted."
"Again," he observed.
Meanwhile the mole came out to sniff at a bottle that was sitting on the floor near the sink. The cat watched it, but didn't seem to want to pounce. The mole ducked back under the counter unit and came out a minute later at the cat dishes again. It took another piece. All together it came out 4 or 5 times for a bit of dinner, but before it was done, the cat lost interest and just wandered away.
A mole. We have a mole named Digger living in our kitchen. I wonder what it's fate will be. Hubby was wondering if moles and mice co-exist. "Maybe," he pondered, "if we leave it alone, the mice will stay away."
Heh... my kitchen is turning into some sort of bizarre zoo. :p
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Thursday, November 18, 2010
The Cats, the Mouse and the Dust Bunny
Ok, so here’s the whole sordid story:
Awhile back we put in a new kitchen counter. At first Hubby and I thought we could do this ourselves. We were trying to change the taps and got stuck, so we put them back on. Or so we thought. But then there was this big bang and first one, then another geyser spewed forth from where the knobs used to be. (The knobs were now bouncing around in the kitchen.)
Our daughter heard all this from her room, said to herself, “oh my God, they’re plumbing!” and promptly hid under her covers.
Hubby and I decided we really ought to get help, so we called on a handy man type fella. Together he and hubby took out the old outfit and put in the new counter. While they were doing this they took out a few extra pipes that were just there, doin’ nothin’. This left holes in the floor under the new counter. We don’t have a basement. Underneath the kitchen is a crawl space. A crawl space into which tiny wildlife types generally move when the weather turns cold. You know, like mice for instance.
I thought everything was under control when they were putting in the counter. I went out to pick up a few things. I left the MEN to look after things. Which is to say, no one thought to plug up the holes in the kitchen floor from the extraneous pipes BEFORE putting in the new counter. Yep. So here come the li’l miceys with their tiny suitcases just as soon as that autumn breeze blows a little cold. Into the crawl space under the kitchen they squeeze. They look up.
Ok, excuse me a minute while I work on this WRITTEN INVITATION to the tiny creatures to move into the house proper. *sigh*
So we see evidence that there are mice in the kitchen. No, no... this will not do. We have cats. We have steel wool with which to plug those holes. Better late than never, right?
Longer story
, shorter:
There are two cats. They sleep a lot. *yawn* You want us to catch what?? One cat just happens to be standing by her food dish when the mouse peeps out from under the counter. She takes a swipe at it. She misses; it scurries back under. She shrugs, scratches her ear, goes in search of a comfy place to flop.
Awhile back we put in a new kitchen counter. At first Hubby and I thought we could do this ourselves. We were trying to change the taps and got stuck, so we put them back on. Or so we thought. But then there was this big bang and first one, then another geyser spewed forth from where the knobs used to be. (The knobs were now bouncing around in the kitchen.)
Our daughter heard all this from her room, said to herself, “oh my God, they’re plumbing!” and promptly hid under her covers.
Hubby and I decided we really ought to get help, so we called on a handy man type fella. Together he and hubby took out the old outfit and put in the new counter. While they were doing this they took out a few extra pipes that were just there, doin’ nothin’. This left holes in the floor under the new counter. We don’t have a basement. Underneath the kitchen is a crawl space. A crawl space into which tiny wildlife types generally move when the weather turns cold. You know, like mice for instance.
I thought everything was under control when they were putting in the counter. I went out to pick up a few things. I left the MEN to look after things. Which is to say, no one thought to plug up the holes in the kitchen floor from the extraneous pipes BEFORE putting in the new counter. Yep. So here come the li’l miceys with their tiny suitcases just as soon as that autumn breeze blows a little cold. Into the crawl space under the kitchen they squeeze. They look up.
Ok, excuse me a minute while I work on this WRITTEN INVITATION to the tiny creatures to move into the house proper. *sigh*
So we see evidence that there are mice in the kitchen. No, no... this will not do. We have cats. We have steel wool with which to plug those holes. Better late than never, right?
Longer story
, shorter:There are two cats. They sleep a lot. *yawn* You want us to catch what?? One cat just happens to be standing by her food dish when the mouse peeps out from under the counter. She takes a swipe at it. She misses; it scurries back under. She shrugs, scratches her ear, goes in search of a comfy place to flop.
Irony: the mouse seems to be thriving on little pieces of cat food. My life is fraught with little ironies.
It's a little grey mouse. He seems to be alone. Hubby plugged up the holes, apparently trapping the lone, adventuresome mouse on this side of the holes. (Mouse: “Hey! Who locked the doors??”) Hubby put out a “humane” trap. The mouse PLAYS with it. Like the guy who bungee jumps for kicks, this mouse routinely goes into the “humane” trap and wrestles around for awhile. He is NEVER in there when Hubby checks the trap.
There’s an elusive dust bunny under my couch. I’ve gone after it with a broom. I’ve gone after it with a duster. I’ve gone after it with a vacuum. It’s a dancing dust bunny and it dances around under there out the way of any weapon I bring to the battle. I wrestle with it. It wins.
So last night, I was sitting here, by the fire, using this computer, the cats were sleeping contentedly, the dog was snoring beside me, and I heard noises. It occurred to me that maybe the dust bunny was trying to catch the mouse. Now, you can say what you want, but I think they were actually dancing. I really do. While the fire crackled on one side of me and the animals all slept, the mouse and dust bunny were tripping the light fantastic in the dark corners of my wee house. I know it. *sigh*
There’s an elusive dust bunny under my couch. I’ve gone after it with a broom. I’ve gone after it with a duster. I’ve gone after it with a vacuum. It’s a dancing dust bunny and it dances around under there out the way of any weapon I bring to the battle. I wrestle with it. It wins.
So last night, I was sitting here, by the fire, using this computer, the cats were sleeping contentedly, the dog was snoring beside me, and I heard noises. It occurred to me that maybe the dust bunny was trying to catch the mouse. Now, you can say what you want, but I think they were actually dancing. I really do. While the fire crackled on one side of me and the animals all slept, the mouse and dust bunny were tripping the light fantastic in the dark corners of my wee house. I know it. *sigh*
Thursday, November 4, 2010
This is Will
Handsome, freckle-faced, almost always smiling, talented, youthful. He’ll always be youthful. Will played the fiddle, piano, wind instruments. He loved music. Seems whatever instrument he attempted he could play. His talent was just natural. Will’s dad and uncle were in the army, so when his country became embroiled in a conflict, Will wanted to join the army too. Problem was, he was only 17. That was too young. But Will was determined, so he ran away and tried to join under an assumed name by lying about his age. He was caught, fortunately, and returned home.
But his mom was frightened. She worried about him running away again and maybe getting away with joining up under another name, and then, if something bad happened, she might never know what became of him. He really wanted to join up, so she signed her permission on the condition that he was admitted to the bugle corp, which was supposed to be kept behind the lines.
And so he went. Wounded in France, he was transferred to an army hospital in England. He was able to send a few letters to his mom with the help of the nurses there. The mayor of a city near his home heard about him and raised money to send his mom overseas to be with him. But even as she packed for the trip, she received news that Will had succumbed to his injuries.
I don’t like war. I guess no one really does, except maybe despots and power mongers. We now try to teach our kids that problems aren’t solved with violence. We discourage them from fighting for things in the school yard, in the back yard, or anywhere. We don’t even let Mom and Dad whack the kids anymore, because corporal discipline is no way to properly raise a child. Even the measured blow of a loving parent on the bum to make a point is a no-no.... because violence doesn’t solve anything. And yet, in amazingly hypocritical governmental policy for dealing with other countries and their policies, we still send young people to war to fight and die for political reasons.
Will died in the “war to end all wars,” or the first world war. He was a bugler with a Canadian drum and bugle corp and was wounded in the head with a piece of shrapnel in a small town in France. He was 17 and ½ years old when he died. He is buried in a military cemetery in England. If he had not been killed in a war, who knows what innovation to style, recording or instrumentation this young man might have contributed to the music industry? And perhaps if he’d had kids, one of them might have inherited his talent and made great strides in music too.
Will was my uncle. I never knew him. Hell, my mom, who was his sister, never knew him. I have his fiddle. On Remembrance Day (Veterans' Day in the U.S.) I will remember my Uncle Will who went overseas to help in the political struggle that was supposed to end conflict. And I will salute my dad, who probably died younger than he should have because he went overseas in the big war after that ~ for four years. I don’t like that we are so primitive as a species that we still have wars, but despite what we tell our children, we still do. So on November 11th I will pay homage to the sacrifices of the men and women who have given so much to preserve our freedoms. I do this not just because of their sacrifice, but because of ours. Yes, we have freedoms for which I am grateful. But I can’t help wondering how different, how much better, our world and our way of life might have been if all those vibrant, talented young people who gave their lives in conflict, hadn’t had to.
Imagine. Just imagine.
But his mom was frightened. She worried about him running away again and maybe getting away with joining up under another name, and then, if something bad happened, she might never know what became of him. He really wanted to join up, so she signed her permission on the condition that he was admitted to the bugle corp, which was supposed to be kept behind the lines.
And so he went. Wounded in France, he was transferred to an army hospital in England. He was able to send a few letters to his mom with the help of the nurses there. The mayor of a city near his home heard about him and raised money to send his mom overseas to be with him. But even as she packed for the trip, she received news that Will had succumbed to his injuries.
I don’t like war. I guess no one really does, except maybe despots and power mongers. We now try to teach our kids that problems aren’t solved with violence. We discourage them from fighting for things in the school yard, in the back yard, or anywhere. We don’t even let Mom and Dad whack the kids anymore, because corporal discipline is no way to properly raise a child. Even the measured blow of a loving parent on the bum to make a point is a no-no.... because violence doesn’t solve anything. And yet, in amazingly hypocritical governmental policy for dealing with other countries and their policies, we still send young people to war to fight and die for political reasons.
Will died in the “war to end all wars,” or the first world war. He was a bugler with a Canadian drum and bugle corp and was wounded in the head with a piece of shrapnel in a small town in France. He was 17 and ½ years old when he died. He is buried in a military cemetery in England. If he had not been killed in a war, who knows what innovation to style, recording or instrumentation this young man might have contributed to the music industry? And perhaps if he’d had kids, one of them might have inherited his talent and made great strides in music too.
Will was my uncle. I never knew him. Hell, my mom, who was his sister, never knew him. I have his fiddle. On Remembrance Day (Veterans' Day in the U.S.) I will remember my Uncle Will who went overseas to help in the political struggle that was supposed to end conflict. And I will salute my dad, who probably died younger than he should have because he went overseas in the big war after that ~ for four years. I don’t like that we are so primitive as a species that we still have wars, but despite what we tell our children, we still do. So on November 11th I will pay homage to the sacrifices of the men and women who have given so much to preserve our freedoms. I do this not just because of their sacrifice, but because of ours. Yes, we have freedoms for which I am grateful. But I can’t help wondering how different, how much better, our world and our way of life might have been if all those vibrant, talented young people who gave their lives in conflict, hadn’t had to.
Imagine. Just imagine.
The Legend of Rock Soup Examined
It’s a great story, about how this wandering peasant came into a village hoping for some handouts. He was hungry, he was willing to work, but he needed some sustenance first. But the houses... the humble wee houses... were all locked up tight, their occupants keeping to themselves, protecting what little they had from everyone else.
They were all poor themselves. Each of these households only had so much, they had no intention of sharing. None of them had enough to share, they thought. So the wanderer picked up a rock and called out to the villagers, proposing to light a fire in the square and make a soup out of this rock. It was to be a big pot of soup they could all share. The villagers watched this crazy man from their windows as he somehow assembled a fire, a large old pot which he filled with water from the river, and then added his rock. One by one they came out of their houses to watch this crazy man. Each brought some small thing they could afford to show him what was really needed to make a healthy soup. One came with a carrot, one an onion, one a potato, one some cabbage, etc. Before long, the rock soup began to resemble a real soup, giving off the delicious odour of a nutritional meal. As it cooked, neighbours got acquainted and shared their stories, and when the soup was ready, everyone got a meal from the pot, including the resourceful wanderer.
Of course, it’s a story of community. None of us is an island and all that. And indeed, there are some great places online to share nuggets of our experience, knowledge, acquired wisdom, as well as great sites to learn new things and toss around ideas, and blogs to read about what others are experiencing. Many are focussed on one aspect of one thing, such as health, but if it’s where you need to be, that’s great. Some are more general in their scope, and are also free. Physically ill from the gluten in my diet and very depressed from it as well, I went to several sites this past Spring, and it was on the health sites that I discovered what might be my problem. I removed gluten from my diet and began to feel better. I took vitamin D and Omega 3 and began to pick up mentally and emotionally as well. I found ideas at one site and began a renewed exploration of self, where I was at and where I was headed. It was here I discovered the legend of Rock Soup.
The owner of this site is well versed in legend, learning, philosophy and life. He put out some very thought-provoking ideas in videos as well as posts that helped get my brain working again. The only problem I had with this site, was that there was no one of my age and experience to talk with. This man was gathering quite the following of young people. Now don’t get me wrong... I have nothing against young people. They are refreshing and often have approaches and ideas that keep the aging mind alive. Out of the mouths of babes and all that. But a sprinkling of older folk would be nice on such sites too... sort of for balance.
Also, I can't help noticing that the internet is not the money-making glam marketplace some think it ought to be. A lot of sites start out free and wind up trying to make their buck up front because people just aren’t buying the products advertised. Others earn their keep by getting visitors to at least click on an ad. But do they? Too many internet users are like me, I suspect. I will not pay to toss around ideas and I do not buy what others tell me I need. Cheap? Ok. C'mon, rabid consumerism just isn’t sustainable. So I decide for myself what I need, thanks. I have only ever paid for one site: enchantedlearning.com. It’s a nominal fee to access a plethora of educational materials that would cost substantially more in a trendy education store. It was a very worthwhile fee in other words, and I paid it gladly.
So, as helpful as any chat site might be, I'm just not paying for one. I will bring a carrot to the soup, a nugget of what I have learned, I will bring something to share and take away a small bowl of soup, but I will not pay for the privilege. I have been casting around, looking for art sites and have found a group of quilling artists I can relate to, as well as other ways to keep in touch with others, while leaving myself enough time to pursue improved health, my writing, my art, my projects, my life. And if I have to go back to hiding inside my humble home because everyone wants money, I guess I can always dust off my library card ~ a less personal form of community. I have something to give while I’m on here, but it isn’t money. Here’s a valid question to ponder: if every one of those villagers makes their own soup and is trying to sell it door-to-door, who’s going to do the buying?
Mmmmmm.... good soup. Please pass the salt.
They were all poor themselves. Each of these households only had so much, they had no intention of sharing. None of them had enough to share, they thought. So the wanderer picked up a rock and called out to the villagers, proposing to light a fire in the square and make a soup out of this rock. It was to be a big pot of soup they could all share. The villagers watched this crazy man from their windows as he somehow assembled a fire, a large old pot which he filled with water from the river, and then added his rock. One by one they came out of their houses to watch this crazy man. Each brought some small thing they could afford to show him what was really needed to make a healthy soup. One came with a carrot, one an onion, one a potato, one some cabbage, etc. Before long, the rock soup began to resemble a real soup, giving off the delicious odour of a nutritional meal. As it cooked, neighbours got acquainted and shared their stories, and when the soup was ready, everyone got a meal from the pot, including the resourceful wanderer.
Of course, it’s a story of community. None of us is an island and all that. And indeed, there are some great places online to share nuggets of our experience, knowledge, acquired wisdom, as well as great sites to learn new things and toss around ideas, and blogs to read about what others are experiencing. Many are focussed on one aspect of one thing, such as health, but if it’s where you need to be, that’s great. Some are more general in their scope, and are also free. Physically ill from the gluten in my diet and very depressed from it as well, I went to several sites this past Spring, and it was on the health sites that I discovered what might be my problem. I removed gluten from my diet and began to feel better. I took vitamin D and Omega 3 and began to pick up mentally and emotionally as well. I found ideas at one site and began a renewed exploration of self, where I was at and where I was headed. It was here I discovered the legend of Rock Soup.The owner of this site is well versed in legend, learning, philosophy and life. He put out some very thought-provoking ideas in videos as well as posts that helped get my brain working again. The only problem I had with this site, was that there was no one of my age and experience to talk with. This man was gathering quite the following of young people. Now don’t get me wrong... I have nothing against young people. They are refreshing and often have approaches and ideas that keep the aging mind alive. Out of the mouths of babes and all that. But a sprinkling of older folk would be nice on such sites too... sort of for balance.
Also, I can't help noticing that the internet is not the money-making glam marketplace some think it ought to be. A lot of sites start out free and wind up trying to make their buck up front because people just aren’t buying the products advertised. Others earn their keep by getting visitors to at least click on an ad. But do they? Too many internet users are like me, I suspect. I will not pay to toss around ideas and I do not buy what others tell me I need. Cheap? Ok. C'mon, rabid consumerism just isn’t sustainable. So I decide for myself what I need, thanks. I have only ever paid for one site: enchantedlearning.com. It’s a nominal fee to access a plethora of educational materials that would cost substantially more in a trendy education store. It was a very worthwhile fee in other words, and I paid it gladly.
So, as helpful as any chat site might be, I'm just not paying for one. I will bring a carrot to the soup, a nugget of what I have learned, I will bring something to share and take away a small bowl of soup, but I will not pay for the privilege. I have been casting around, looking for art sites and have found a group of quilling artists I can relate to, as well as other ways to keep in touch with others, while leaving myself enough time to pursue improved health, my writing, my art, my projects, my life. And if I have to go back to hiding inside my humble home because everyone wants money, I guess I can always dust off my library card ~ a less personal form of community. I have something to give while I’m on here, but it isn’t money. Here’s a valid question to ponder: if every one of those villagers makes their own soup and is trying to sell it door-to-door, who’s going to do the buying?
Mmmmmm.... good soup. Please pass the salt.
Monday, October 4, 2010
A Costume Exchange ~ Really?
I understand the concept of food banks, winter coat exchanges, even prom dress exchanges. These things help those less fortunate in a society that seems increasingly geared to leaving people behind. But this past week I heard a new one: there on the morning news show was a woman and her interviewer talking in earnest about this new effort for the poor..... a Hallowe'en costume exchange. Um.... really? Wait.... REALLY?
Ok, wait. I agree we have to give those less fortunate a break sometimes and help them out. I've been there and the kindness of others can really make a difference. And I'm all for recycling of any kind. But a costume exchange? Has it really come to this? C'mon!
In my day we didn't even BUY costumes. My dad burned an old dried out wine cork once to make char to put on my face for that fake 5 o'clock shadow, then an old beat up hat of his and an old jacket, and out I went as a hobo, an old pillow case for the goodies I collected. One teen boy came around our place with those wax wrappers out of bread bags pinned all over him. I guess he was supposed to be a loaf of bread? A bakery? I don't know. In fact, we didn't actually know what a lot of the kids were supposed to be, but they all got candy. It wasn't some sort of requirement to be dressed in a fancy store-bought rendition of a politic figure or a movie character to be given a treat. You didn't even have to be a "little" kid to get a treat.
I remember our first year in a new community, Mom hadn't known how much candy to buy for Hallowe'en and she was running out. My friend and I, about 15 at the time, threw on some silly stuff out of the closet, went a few streets over and collected some candy. Then we came home and gave it to Mom to give out. Hey... hey... we didn't want our windows soaped or our house toilet-papered. Recycled candy works. (Yes, the next year she bought LOTS more candy.)
Sure we bought a few things for my daughter's Hallowe'en experiences... a foam nose and funny hair among them, and one year a witch's hat. But these were drug or dollar store items used to enhance something out of the closet to make her look funny, and they were used over and over again, by one or another of us, for something.
OK, time to take stock: some canned goods for the food bank; winter coat that's a bit worn, but it's still got life and it's too big for me now and I'm never going to go there again, right? Heh... hope not. So I'll wash it up and take it to the winter coat exchange. Red foam nose. Hmmm... not much bounce left in it. I dunno. Maybe not. Feel bad. I mean, I guess things are pretty bad out there. A charity costume exchange? Really?
Ok, wait. I agree we have to give those less fortunate a break sometimes and help them out. I've been there and the kindness of others can really make a difference. And I'm all for recycling of any kind. But a costume exchange? Has it really come to this? C'mon!
In my day we didn't even BUY costumes. My dad burned an old dried out wine cork once to make char to put on my face for that fake 5 o'clock shadow, then an old beat up hat of his and an old jacket, and out I went as a hobo, an old pillow case for the goodies I collected. One teen boy came around our place with those wax wrappers out of bread bags pinned all over him. I guess he was supposed to be a loaf of bread? A bakery? I don't know. In fact, we didn't actually know what a lot of the kids were supposed to be, but they all got candy. It wasn't some sort of requirement to be dressed in a fancy store-bought rendition of a politic figure or a movie character to be given a treat. You didn't even have to be a "little" kid to get a treat.
I remember our first year in a new community, Mom hadn't known how much candy to buy for Hallowe'en and she was running out. My friend and I, about 15 at the time, threw on some silly stuff out of the closet, went a few streets over and collected some candy. Then we came home and gave it to Mom to give out. Hey... hey... we didn't want our windows soaped or our house toilet-papered. Recycled candy works. (Yes, the next year she bought LOTS more candy.)
Sure we bought a few things for my daughter's Hallowe'en experiences... a foam nose and funny hair among them, and one year a witch's hat. But these were drug or dollar store items used to enhance something out of the closet to make her look funny, and they were used over and over again, by one or another of us, for something.
OK, time to take stock: some canned goods for the food bank; winter coat that's a bit worn, but it's still got life and it's too big for me now and I'm never going to go there again, right? Heh... hope not. So I'll wash it up and take it to the winter coat exchange. Red foam nose. Hmmm... not much bounce left in it. I dunno. Maybe not. Feel bad. I mean, I guess things are pretty bad out there. A charity costume exchange? Really?
Thursday, September 23, 2010
The Reluctant Vegan
Ack ~ I've been struggling for weeks trying to figure out what's still bothering me. For years I've eliminated white wheat, meat and dairy from my diet because of colitis. Lots of fibre was an important element in anything I ate. Since spring I also had to stop having gluten. No biggy really, once I figured out what the problem was. I love brown rice pasta. I do miss bread though. A lot of gluten-free alternatives available where I shop have improved over the years, but not the bread. It's icky.
The family still eats meat, and to keep them healthy, I buy locally grown natural, organic and free-range meats and poultry. There's also an elk farm nearby and they love the spicey elk pepperettes for snacks. I also use ground elk in chili and spaghetti sauce. (Spaghetti sauce... I remember that.) Elk has a lot less fat than beef, so it helps keep that bad cholesterol down. I can also get bison burgers at a farm not too far away. They can have gluten, so it's whole grain bread, rolls and pastas for them. But Butterfly is also dairy-free because of Leaky-gut Syndrome. She can have goat milk cheese though ~ in moderation. And being of more adventurous nature than the ol' man, she'll try different foods, so she'll have vegetarian meals regularly, making her meal options more varied and quite healthy.
But for months I've been dairy, meat, gluten-free.... vegan, except for eggs. A good source of protein, I'd have egg salad on a brown rice cake for breakfast, and a hard boiled egg in the evening. This was a stinky, but yummy, 70 calory snack that got me through the night, but also, having protein at these two points in the day helps balance out that blood sugar. Coming from a diabetic lineage, I keep an eye on my blood sugar and eat accordingly. Colitis and Celiac disease is plenty, thanks... don't need to be diabetic too.
But, back to the beginning, something has still been bothering me and despite the fact that I didn't want to lose eggs, it seems my body just doesn't want them. *sigh* And so I go kicking and screaming into the world of the full-fledged vegan. For the past two mornings I had that brown rice cake spread generously with sunflower seed butter, and I put some crabapple jelly on top just because I can. (Yes, it's homemade.) Breakfast is still good (she says grudgingly).
My lunch won't change much. No more potato and egg salad, but I'm about to go roast a red pepper for my red pepper humus (recipe here somewhere... even though I can't spell). I think while I'm at it, and to help keep the house warm, I'll just roast up a bulb of garlic too. :) Then I'm going to cook about 3/4 cup of brown rice macaroni and make pasta salad with large black olives and home grown tomatoes to go with a plate of raw veggies and humus. Must go out and pick some fresh basil and sweet marjoram for the pasta salad too. Ok, there's a bunch of stuff I can't have, but I'm in no danger of starving.
So yeah, I go only reluctantly into the life of a vegan, but if I'm tempted to feel sorry for myself, I just think about those people in parts of the world where the principal food is... say... maize. And what if they can't have maize? What if they don't have agriculture nearby that grows other healthy foods? And what if they don't have a big store nearby with a health food section chock full of food alternatives? And what if they couldn't afford them even if there was?
Feh... gotta go roast that red pepper. And the garlic! Warm the house and have yum!
If you feel bad for me and want to make me feel better, click on one of these links and get involved:
https://www.shopunicef.ca/ec/Portal.aspx?LN=EN
http://plancanada.ca/
I feel better now. :)
The family still eats meat, and to keep them healthy, I buy locally grown natural, organic and free-range meats and poultry. There's also an elk farm nearby and they love the spicey elk pepperettes for snacks. I also use ground elk in chili and spaghetti sauce. (Spaghetti sauce... I remember that.) Elk has a lot less fat than beef, so it helps keep that bad cholesterol down. I can also get bison burgers at a farm not too far away. They can have gluten, so it's whole grain bread, rolls and pastas for them. But Butterfly is also dairy-free because of Leaky-gut Syndrome. She can have goat milk cheese though ~ in moderation. And being of more adventurous nature than the ol' man, she'll try different foods, so she'll have vegetarian meals regularly, making her meal options more varied and quite healthy.
But for months I've been dairy, meat, gluten-free.... vegan, except for eggs. A good source of protein, I'd have egg salad on a brown rice cake for breakfast, and a hard boiled egg in the evening. This was a stinky, but yummy, 70 calory snack that got me through the night, but also, having protein at these two points in the day helps balance out that blood sugar. Coming from a diabetic lineage, I keep an eye on my blood sugar and eat accordingly. Colitis and Celiac disease is plenty, thanks... don't need to be diabetic too.
But, back to the beginning, something has still been bothering me and despite the fact that I didn't want to lose eggs, it seems my body just doesn't want them. *sigh* And so I go kicking and screaming into the world of the full-fledged vegan. For the past two mornings I had that brown rice cake spread generously with sunflower seed butter, and I put some crabapple jelly on top just because I can. (Yes, it's homemade.) Breakfast is still good (she says grudgingly).
My lunch won't change much. No more potato and egg salad, but I'm about to go roast a red pepper for my red pepper humus (recipe here somewhere... even though I can't spell). I think while I'm at it, and to help keep the house warm, I'll just roast up a bulb of garlic too. :) Then I'm going to cook about 3/4 cup of brown rice macaroni and make pasta salad with large black olives and home grown tomatoes to go with a plate of raw veggies and humus. Must go out and pick some fresh basil and sweet marjoram for the pasta salad too. Ok, there's a bunch of stuff I can't have, but I'm in no danger of starving.
So yeah, I go only reluctantly into the life of a vegan, but if I'm tempted to feel sorry for myself, I just think about those people in parts of the world where the principal food is... say... maize. And what if they can't have maize? What if they don't have agriculture nearby that grows other healthy foods? And what if they don't have a big store nearby with a health food section chock full of food alternatives? And what if they couldn't afford them even if there was?
Feh... gotta go roast that red pepper. And the garlic! Warm the house and have yum!
If you feel bad for me and want to make me feel better, click on one of these links and get involved:
https://www.shopunicef.ca/ec/Portal.aspx?LN=EN
http://plancanada.ca/
I feel better now. :)
Monday, September 13, 2010
True Human Beauty and Cliches
I was much younger and living in what seems now like another lifetime, when I learned the truth about human beauty. There are no pictures with this blog post, because I'm going to try to paint you a word picture, or two:
The students in the photographic college where I worked had been given an assignment to use their cameras to create an artistic nude. The resulting photos were used to construct a mid-term art show. I took the time to go see what the students had created.
Of course, there was photo after photo of pretty girls on the wall. There were some interesting poses, some partial nudes where the human body was made to look like some sort of landscape. Some of these were inspired and very artistic. Then, there amongst the pretty, young, mostly white women, was this older, very overweight, black woman, photographed in a frontal pose, sitting on the floor, leaning on one hand, her huge breasts hanging low like large sacks of dried peas. At first I was perplexed by the student's choice of model. She seemed incongruous amid all the pretty girls.
Then it clicked. Of course she was going to stand out ~ that was at least part of the idea. All the other photos could well have been of the same model for all I was aware. This photo was certainly going to get more attention than the others. It's the one that made me look again. And when I did, I saw something quite unexpected that I hadn't noticed at first glance ~ her eyes. This woman's eyes shone from the photo. They were so expressive, revealing her very life ~ her hardships and triumphs, her sorrows and joys, her hard work, her disappointments and heartbreaks, and the depth of love in her soul. It was all there in that photograph, and in that moment, I suddenly realized what human beauty was really all about. It had nothing to do with the pretty girls. True beauty is all about what is inside us. It was a lesson that certainly helped shape my view of life over the years.
This brings me to what I've learned about cliches. We hear them when we are young until we become quite bored with them. We yawn or wave a dismissive hand when someone speaks them. Calling something cliched is not intended as a compliment. When pondering this lesson about human beauty later, that cliche about beauty being only skin deep seemed limited and misguided forever after. Another about the eyes being windows to the soul took on fresh and profound meaning for me. I realized that many cliches became cliches to begin with because they contain a glimmer of truth, or at least something to make us think. It isn't enough to hear them. One must understand a few things about life before they have much meaning. If there was anything cliched in a bad way about that student art show, it was all the pretty girls. Regardless of the pose, the use of pretty models was merely predictable.
This happened 30 years ago, and now when I look at how our society has developed, I'm seeing this shallow rendition of skin-deep beauty take up more and more of our consciousness, with ads enticing us to hang on tenaciously to our youth by getting our breasts lifted or our kissers fixed, or "news" about what this beautiful person is doing, and which beautiful stars split up or got caught high/drunk/raving/cheating ~ all of this "news" taking the place of world events on our news channels. The world, far from becoming more beautiful, is becoming increasingly shallow, with the true beauty of humanity buried deeper and deeper in human tragedy, such as earthquakes, hurricanes and other hardships that scarcely interrupt news of who's been put in rehab lately. It makes me feel grateful, and privileged, for having even seen that photograph by an inspired young student. I never even thanked him or her for the lesson in beauty. So, if you're out there, thank you. When I got up this morning, I peeled off my jammy shirt, threw it into the laundry and walked into the bathroom naked. There in the mirror was an older woman, her breasts hanging low like sacks of dried peas.... but in her eyes, a life very much lived. I might have missed that and felt sorry myself, but for that photograph so long ago. Thanks again.
The students in the photographic college where I worked had been given an assignment to use their cameras to create an artistic nude. The resulting photos were used to construct a mid-term art show. I took the time to go see what the students had created.
Of course, there was photo after photo of pretty girls on the wall. There were some interesting poses, some partial nudes where the human body was made to look like some sort of landscape. Some of these were inspired and very artistic. Then, there amongst the pretty, young, mostly white women, was this older, very overweight, black woman, photographed in a frontal pose, sitting on the floor, leaning on one hand, her huge breasts hanging low like large sacks of dried peas. At first I was perplexed by the student's choice of model. She seemed incongruous amid all the pretty girls.
Then it clicked. Of course she was going to stand out ~ that was at least part of the idea. All the other photos could well have been of the same model for all I was aware. This photo was certainly going to get more attention than the others. It's the one that made me look again. And when I did, I saw something quite unexpected that I hadn't noticed at first glance ~ her eyes. This woman's eyes shone from the photo. They were so expressive, revealing her very life ~ her hardships and triumphs, her sorrows and joys, her hard work, her disappointments and heartbreaks, and the depth of love in her soul. It was all there in that photograph, and in that moment, I suddenly realized what human beauty was really all about. It had nothing to do with the pretty girls. True beauty is all about what is inside us. It was a lesson that certainly helped shape my view of life over the years.
This brings me to what I've learned about cliches. We hear them when we are young until we become quite bored with them. We yawn or wave a dismissive hand when someone speaks them. Calling something cliched is not intended as a compliment. When pondering this lesson about human beauty later, that cliche about beauty being only skin deep seemed limited and misguided forever after. Another about the eyes being windows to the soul took on fresh and profound meaning for me. I realized that many cliches became cliches to begin with because they contain a glimmer of truth, or at least something to make us think. It isn't enough to hear them. One must understand a few things about life before they have much meaning. If there was anything cliched in a bad way about that student art show, it was all the pretty girls. Regardless of the pose, the use of pretty models was merely predictable.
This happened 30 years ago, and now when I look at how our society has developed, I'm seeing this shallow rendition of skin-deep beauty take up more and more of our consciousness, with ads enticing us to hang on tenaciously to our youth by getting our breasts lifted or our kissers fixed, or "news" about what this beautiful person is doing, and which beautiful stars split up or got caught high/drunk/raving/cheating ~ all of this "news" taking the place of world events on our news channels. The world, far from becoming more beautiful, is becoming increasingly shallow, with the true beauty of humanity buried deeper and deeper in human tragedy, such as earthquakes, hurricanes and other hardships that scarcely interrupt news of who's been put in rehab lately. It makes me feel grateful, and privileged, for having even seen that photograph by an inspired young student. I never even thanked him or her for the lesson in beauty. So, if you're out there, thank you. When I got up this morning, I peeled off my jammy shirt, threw it into the laundry and walked into the bathroom naked. There in the mirror was an older woman, her breasts hanging low like sacks of dried peas.... but in her eyes, a life very much lived. I might have missed that and felt sorry myself, but for that photograph so long ago. Thanks again.
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