The Junkie

I love food. And food loves me. At least, I assume it must because it stays around so long...on my waist, on my hips...well, you get the idea.

At the root of my love affair is the deep seated association of food as a cure. Not just for hunger, but for depression and stress. Food is also a reward. A means of sharing a meal or celebrating a special occasion. It's something that keeps my hands busy while I watch TV.

As a child, food was rationed. There were six of us kids. We each got one pork chop, one scoop of mashed potatoes, one serving of vegetables and one brownie for dessert. On shopping day, we each got a candy bar.

Then there were the years my husband and I lived in Virginia. On occasion, we would designate a junk food dinner night. On a day when we were both stressed from work, we'd come home, head for the Safeway and pick up our favorite junk foods. Chips, dip, pop, a Sara Lee cake, and my personal vice, Malomars. Alas, we do not abuse ourselves this way anymore, but I imagine the damage has already been done.

These days, our bad foods are limited to chocolate pretzels and the occasional milk shake. My husband's health is an issue. He simply can't eat all that junk anymore. And I am trying to stay away from it myself. This is a lot easier at home, where I don't keep things like donuts and chips. But at work, the environment of stress begs to be soothed by chocolate bars and Fritos. They call to me in dulcet tones from the gleaming vending machines in the cafeteria. It's a daily battle. Me vs. Food. If I were you, I would not put odds on me.  It's not that I don't eat healthy foods. It's just that once I'm done eating the fruit, I sabotage my efforts with a handful of Raisinets.

Someday, I hope to be able to walk through the grocery store, oblivious to the fragrant baked goods, the tantalizing snacks and that wicked temptress also known as the candy aisle. In the meantime, I'll just continue my strategy of forsaking fatty foods one day at a time and visualizing myself as a non-foodie. Slim and healthy. The envy of all my cronies.

Sigh.

Pass me a carrot stick, will you? And don't forget the dip!

Do Overs

It is no surprise to anyone that I am a tree hugger. I say it loud and proud. I love trees, animals, big open skies, oceans, fields, mountains. Mother Nature and I are on a first name basis. So I really hate to see people defacing the things I love. Cigarette butts, fast food wrappers, styrofoam cups all leave ugly scars on our landscape.

Another thing I cannot abide is the fact that recycling is made so easy, yet people still throw things away. I see folks all the time tossing bottles and cans in the trash, while the recycling bin sits just a few feet away. Are they being lazy or stupid or both?

Anyhow, this blog is about me, not about them. And recycling is what I do.

Paper, cardboard, bottles and cans all make their way into the recycling bin at our house. We started a compost heap in the back yard for kitchen scraps and yard waste. And we've discovered that if we put broken items for garbage pick-up on the tree lawn the night before, many times they will be gone before the collection occurs. There are lots of people out there who have discovered recycling can be profitable. Including the charities who collect old clothing and household goods. They either sell the items or recycle them to make money for their organizations.

Some of my favorite haunts are rummage sales and garage sales. I've gotten a lot of cool stuff second hand. You find things there you won't find in the stores (or on TV). Then we have EBay and Half Price Books, which area very dangerous places for us. As book lovers, we also frequent book sales. Conversely, we donate a lot of books.

The object of the game is to send as little as possible to the city dump.

Then there is spiritual recycling. I believe in some form of reincarnation. I'm not sure of the actual mechanics, but I'm pretty sure I've been here a bunch of times before. I once went to be hypnotized and experience past life regression so I could explore this topic. Not all of what I experienced felt right, but enough of it did to shed light on my life and why I feel the way I do about certain things. I've also gone to a psychic who gave me a rundown on my past lives. Much of what she said resonated, too. Reincarnation makes a lot of sense to me. Who can possibly get it all right the first time? Or even the fiftheenth?

Will I come back as a cat? Maybe. I like cats. But I suspect I'll just come back as another flawed human being, embracing the earth that I love and, as always,  seeking peace, love and the perfect chocolate.

Time Enough at Last

There's an old Twilight Zone episode. It's about a man who loves to read. His shrew of a wife ruins his books out of spite and his boss reprimands him for reading during his work time as a teller in a bank. On his lunch hour, he sneaks downstairs to the vault to read. One day, there is a nuclear explosion. He emerges from the vault to discover he is the only living thing around. In his travels, he discovers the public library, where he gathers and sorts pile after pile of books. But as he reaches to pick up one that has fallen, his glasses slip off his nose and break. He is blind without his glasses. The final shot is of the man weeping in frustration because he had "time enough at last."

In our house, we both love and hate this episode. As avid readers, we can image the joy of endless time to read, and the desperation of not being able to do so.

Life is so fragile. You go along, thinking you'll wander the earth forever, the first person ever to be immortal. You don't want to think about dying. So you build this illusion in your mind of endless tomorrows. You pile up your books, and you tell yourself you'll read them tomorrow, when you have time. But will you have time, or will it run out on you?

So, here we are at carpe diem. Today is a day to be seized. Take a book from the stack, open it up, and dive in.Who knows what lies languishing, waiting to be discovered?

Judge Not

Soccer Mom...Blue Collar Worker...High-Level Executive...Waiter...Student. We all have labels that appear over our heads. They cue others on our background, our job, or what neighborhood we live in. It's all right there on our label, and others treat us accordingly.

For all of the noise about being politically correct, they can't remove the prejudices that we all carry with us. The best you can do is censor your thoughts before you say or do something stupid.

Many years ago, I was working in a retail jewelry store. It was Christmas time. A man walked in with his young daughter. He was disheveled, his clothes were dirty. It looked like he'd just gotten off work at the plant. I approached him to see how I could help. He said he was looking for a Christmas present for his wife. After looking around a bit and consulting with his daughter, he decided on a pair of diamond earrings. They were a couple hundred dollars. I was concerned that he'd be able to pay for them. But he reached in his pocket and pulled out a wad of bills. He handed them to me and said, very sheepishly, "Can you count out the money for me?" I took his money and, like a bank teller, counted out by 20's until the amount was reached,  gave him his change, and said I was sure his wife was going to be really happy on Christmas morning. His smile transformed his face. He thanked me, took his little girl's hand, and headed for home.

That's why it doesn't pay to judge.

Also, many of the crimes committed are by guys in suits. Remember Enron? Lehman Brothers?

Keeping the Faith

I would describe myself as an Unorthodox Christian, but I'm not even sure I'm a Christian. So I'll just stick with "Unorthodox."

Roman Catholicism was the flavor of faith I was born into. I attended six years of parochial school and, at the insistence of my parents, occupied a pew at mass every Sunday. Between marriages, I lapsed, but picked it up again post-annulment and pre-baby. (My husband wanted us to raise our child in the church.) When my son came of age, I began to drift away once again. I found myself going through the motions. I liked the atmosphere of church, the peaceful quiet, the comforting smells, the angels on the ceiling and the stained glass windows. But I just didn't feel much of anything during the service. A few months ago when I was having one of those early morning drills where my brain wouldn't shut off, I dragged myself out of bed and went to mass at 6 am. Kind of like trying on an old pair of shoes to see if they still fit. They didn't.

It's not that I don't believe that spirituality is critical in one's life. I'm just not sure what form that spirituality should take for me. 

So, what do I believe? That rather than being an external force, God exists within each of us. I believe we are all part of the same vibe, so when we hurt someone else, we are really hurting ourselves. Conversely, just a little kindness on everyone's part goes a long way toward healing the world. I believe everyone has a right to be happy, no matter how they look or whom they love. I believe those who have gone before us still live in our hearts, and they will talk to us if only we will listen. I believe there is a lot more going on than we will ever tap into. But  I am going to try. Because I believe that elusive whatever-it-is is worth it.

I don't expect others to believe the same way I do. My wish would be that everyone find peace in their own lives, no matter what God and/or Goddesses drive (or don't drive) their faith. I hate to drag out the old chestnut about life being too short. But, of course, it is.

And finding shoes that fit is really what it's all about.