Body Changes, Whole Food Plant Based Lifestyle

I Would Like to Vuy a Bowel, Pat

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For ages, my friend Joey’s standard greeting was, “Hey! How you doing? How’s your bowels?” I have no clue why, that was just Joey. He was sort of a cross between Barney Fife and Kramer – always a little edgy, always a little off the cuff and always funny. Anyway, as I’ve been transitioning my menu choices, I’ve been thinking a lot more about Joey’s greeting.

Because, friends, let me tell you, my intestines have never been happier!

Without going into all the gory details, I’ll just tell you that as a child, I was intimately familiar with the taste of Fletcher’s Castoria. I often had a difficult time going to the bathroom and it’s something that has followed me into adulthood. IBS attacks when taking clients to lunch plagued me during my days in sales!

Not on a whole food, plant-based diet, though!

When I was going through the Big Reduction, I made sure that at least 75% of my meal was fruits or vegetables. And that made a huge difference in my system. Incidents of stomach upset and tear gas production decreased dramatically and I was thrilled! However, as I’ve shifted away from all animal protein, those incidents have decreased even further (as long as I stay away from soy).

While none of the Forks Over Knives books has specifically mentioned decreased digestive complaints as a result of following the lifestyle, in my experience, constipation, diarrhea, bloating, and excessive and biohazardous gas production are all gone!

It’s a really nice change.

Thought Patterns

What It Is

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On Friday, I said that I believe that my adventure in changing my menu to one full of whole, plant-based foods will be more fun if I just accept the foods for what they are rather than trying to make them be something else. Cashew and almond milk frozen desserts are better than ice cream to me; but, no amount of wishing is going to make vegan lasagna taste like my Nannie’s with its pounds of meat and cheese. If I try to compare the two, the vegan version is going to come up WAY short. Every. Single. Time.

As I thought more on the subject, I concluded that this may actually be the key to genuine contentedness – accepting things for what they are, I mean, although lasagna is a good route, too.

Looking back, I believe that the times of my life when I’ve been the most discontent and the angriest were when things weren’t going the way I had envisioned. I had this idea of what I wanted and I kept trying (unsuccessfully) to make my reality fit the ideal. Obviously, this endeavor was doomed to failure from the start and I found myself constantly annoyed by the failure.

I never wanted to be a single mom. I wanted the whole picture book family thing with a houseful of children. There were times in my son’s life when I was angry that I didn’t have that. Fussy, teething baby? Guess who’s going to soothe him. Nasty diaper? Guess who’s turn it is to change him? Cub Scout camping trip? Guess who’s sleeping on the ground. As a single parent of either gender, it’s always your turn. You’re always the one up to bat and in the batter’s box. You don’t get a break and it can be frustrating. In addition, my dad and I made great memories growing up and I wanted my son to have those same kinds of memories. I was often angry that he didn’t and wouldn’t.

However…..

It would be nothing short of a lie to say that I parented alone. My family were great.  My parents, my sister, my niece, my cousin Jeanna, my aunt Judy, both of my aunts Barbara and many, many friends were there for him and for me. And, because there were so many of them, he got so many more perspectives. Before his second birthday, he’d been to four countries on three continents. He has lived all over the country and has survived one of the biggest natural disasters in the history of the US.  As he told me recently, “We’ve been through the shit together, Mom” Even with my wasted energy, we had plenty of adventures and made lots of great memories along the way.

Looking back, the only thing I would change would be my own attitude. I would fret less about what we didn’t have and enjoy more what we did. I would have built a few more blanket tents in the living room and a few more bonfires in the yard. I would have been (and resolve to be) more content with what it is, which is a great and wonderful life.

Food, Whole Food Plant Based Lifestyle

It Tastes Just Like…..

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No. No, it doesn’t.

That Skinny Shake (blend: 3/4 cup Almond Milk, about 15 ice cubes, 1/2 tsp Vanilla, 1-2 Tbsp unsweetened Cocoa powder, 1/3 of a Banana) that’s supposed to taste just like a Frosty? It doesn’t. It’s entirely possible that it was operator error and that I just messed it up – you know, on account of how complicated the recipe is and all. I know that mine had some chunky ice pieces in it since I have just a regular blender and not one of those Ninja blender things – or even a regular Ninja. I’m pretty sure you need one or the other to get the ice cubes crunched down small enough. So, in my experience, you know what tastes like a Frosty? A Frosty!

And I’m sure you’ve seen the faux soft serve recipe where you take bananas you’ve frozen in pieces and put them in a blender or food processor, blending until smooth. Tastes just like soft serve! Nope. No, it doesn’t. However, this one does have a nice texture, great taste and versatility. This one I really enjoyed and will do again. I’d even be comfortable serving this to guests as a dessert. Plus, I didn’t have a Ninja to do it.

In preparing recipes from my Forks Over Knives cookbooks, I’ve used familiar ingredients in new ways and I’ve used some unfamiliar ingredients like nutritional yeast. I was pretty leery of that one. What in the world?! When I opened the container, I saw yellow fish food flakes and I smelled….cheese. Well, not cheese in the deli-case-cheese way, but, cheese in the cheap-store-brand-dried-mac-and-cheese way. It threw me off, I have to admit – much like that time my Aunt Jo made rose petal jelly (it was a beautiful pink color, but it freaked me out to be eating something that had been solely a scent up until then). Back to the nutritional yeast, I made the cheesy sauce recipe for my baked ziti. It’s not bad; but, the jury is really still out for me on it. The texture is a little off and the color is not what I expected – it’s kind of a mustardy color and doesn’t make me think cheese. Prior to making this change, I wasn’t much of a cheese sauce person anyway since my system has never liked it. So, perhaps that’s the source of my indifference with the vegan cheesy sauce. Or, maybe it’s the Frosty thing: it doesn’t taste exactly like it.

In the course of changing my menu choices, I’m bound to run across things I like better than other things. In this initial run, I’ve found that I really like the sweet potato oatmeal (although I had to double the oats since the recipe as printed was WAY too sweet for me), the creamy polenta with wild mushrooms, the Jamaican black beans with pineapple chutney, the red lentil dal and the breakfast crumble. Really, the baked ziti was the only thing I wasn’t crazy about and I’m still working with it to find variations that I do like – like adding stir fried vegetables. I’m working on creating something I like rather than on recreating something I once liked.

I’m still adjusting to my choice to eat a Whole Foods Plant Based diet and I imagine that I’ll be making that adjustment for some time to come. I think it will be easier and a whole lot more fun if I explore and discover foods for what they are. If I spend all my time trying to recreate the flavors of animal-based foods without using animal-based ingredients, I’m pretty sure I’m going to spend a lot of time being frustrated……

……….and wishing I had Ninjas.

Thought Patterns

Going Pro

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I’ve always been a big fan of Oprah Winfrey. She seems to be so Pro. She’s pro-women and pro-African-American; however, I’ve never seen her be anti-man or anti any other race. Ellen is the same way. They offer positive entertainment and social commentary without being pulled into the slough of Anti.

Which reminded me this week that Pro is a much better place to be. Why can’t we all be more pro?

If I’m pro-woman, does that mean I must be anti-man? No. If I’m pro-cat, does that mean I must be anti-dog? No. If I’m pro-equal rights for homosexuals, does that mean I must be anti-heterosexual? Are you kidding? If I’m pro-Nashville Predator, does that mean I must be anti-Chicago Blackhawk? Okay, bad example because actually, yes. Yes, it does.

Still, you get my point.

I believe that our media has taken a cultural bias and turned it into a monster. It’s easy to point out the negative. It’s easy to point out what’s wrong and to be angry about it. It’s difficult to effect change. It’s difficult to offer up solutions. It’s difficult to build. Destruction is so much easier!

In fact, it’s the second law of thermodynamics: in energy exchanges, disorder increases. Even on our most basic chemical level, we are designed to destroy.

I look at the world around me sometimes and am overcome by a feeling of helplessness in the face of all of the hatred and bigotry. In this week’s news the increasing disorder is everywhere and it’s based on an issue that I’m not qualified to make any social commentary on. So, what can I do? With four cats I can barely keep up with the increasing disorder in my own home! In my little house in Tennessee, what can I do to make the world a better place?

I can watch my own mouth.

I can say and do things that are edifying for me and for those around me. I can refuse to fall into the blame cycle set by the media. I can keep myself out of the slough of Anti (where I’m sure they must have Rodents of Unusual Size, devouring those hapless enough to wander in). And I can encourage those around me to stay out of the slough, as well.

Is it a little like sticking flowers into gun barrels? Perhaps. But, at least the guns are silent.

And that’s a start.

Social Issues

All I Know How to Be

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I am a straight, white woman. I was born that way. With the possible exception of a period of time when I was a toddler and told everyone my name was George (I have no idea), I’ve always been that way and I assume that I always will be. That’s good because at this stage of the game, I just don’t know if I could handle being a gay, black man. (Although Ru Paul does have a stunning wardrobe and I could use the make-up tips.)

The news this week has been filled with people that I’m not – Bruce Jenner, rioters, gay couples petitioning the US Supreme Court for the right to marry, a fan whose team is in the second round of the Stanley Cup playoffs. Since I don’t have television, I don’t know what the news has been saying about all of these things, but I know what a lot of the print media has had to say. More than that, I know what the people on my Facebook feed have had to say and it’s been, let’s say, illuminating. The commentary has reminded me a great deal of an incident with my friends Diane and Sandy. We’ll come back to that.

I am a woman born in a woman’s body. I have no clue what it feels like to be anything else. As a result, I really don’t understand it. I’m neither Chaz Bono nor Bruce Jenner. I do, however, know several people in various stages of transition from one gender to another. Some of them will already pass as the other gender and are going to have an easier time of it than the others. Bruce Jenner has such fine bone structure that his transition will be much easier than, say, Fred Gwynne’s would have been. Still, even the ones who have an “easier” time of it won’t have an easy time by any stretch of the imagination. Rejection by friends and family, social scorn, painful treatments – why would anyone choose to undergo such trials if their bodies were not already prisons that were far worse? I can’t imagine why they would. With the difficulties transgenders face, I’m glad I’m just a straight, white woman.

I’m also glad I’m just a straight, white woman on those rare occasions when I get pulled over. I’m not seen as a threat. I doubt very seriously that any officer looks in my Mary Poppins window and thinks I’m about to pull a gun on him, which is good for both of us really. However, I have a son. When he started to drive, I told him that when he got pulled over, he was to sit with his hands on the steering wheel until the officer got to him. If he could turn on his interior light, great. But, if not, just sit where the officer could see his hands and know that there was no weapon. I worried about my child being perceived as a threat….and he makes Casper look tan! My friends Carlos (one a Hispanic man and the other a dark complected black man) are both immediately perceived as higher threats than either me or my son, simply because of their skin color. Both are well-educated, law-abiding men; however, both are seen as threats and, as a result, officers of the law are a greater threat for them than they are for either me or my son. While I can acknowledge this from the outside, I can’t really understand it. I thought I could for many years, then I had lunch with Diane and Sandy.

We all worked together at the airport in Jackson, MS. Diane and I worked at American Eagle, Sandy worked in food service. Diane and I are both about as white bread as you can get. Sandy was, as she said, ghetto fabulous. She liked elaborate hairstyles, tight clothes, big jewelry and her one gold tooth. She was funny, smart, as good as gold and thought my baby was gorgeous (of course, I loved that!). Anyway, one beautiful spring day, we all went to lunch at a local Greek restaurant where we had terrible service. I mean terrible. We got our own napkins and refills. It was really bad. Diane and I didn’t think anything about it, really, other than that the service was terrible. Sandy saw it differently.

She saw tables of white patrons being waited on. She saw a table of black men being waited on. But, she saw no tables like ours. And we weren’t being waited on. She thought it was her fault because she looked different from other diners in the place.

When she apologized, I was horrified. It would never have even entered my mind that I would get subpar service based on my skin color. But it entered hers and I hurt for her. I would never have suggested that restaurant had I thought for a second that it would result in the humiliation I saw in my friend. I am assured by many that our experience was really just a case of bad service without any racial or socio-economic genesis. That may be. But, it’s been 20 years since that lunch. I haven’t been back to the restaurant and I don’t have any plans to change that.

Reading the news and my newsfeed, I know more than ever that I am a straight, white woman. It’s all I know how to be; but, it’s not all I can be or even have to be. I have to be a compassionate, straight, white woman.

General Health

Perchance to Dream

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Hamlet may have been talking about suicide there; but, rest assured dear friends that the croupy Goddess is just talking about catching some quality Zzzzzs!

Working nights, I’ve shared with you the difficulties that come with sleeping during the day. The only time I’ve ever slept as well during the day as I do at night is when I lived in a basement apartment in Tuscaloosa, AL. No windows, no light, no noise – my bedroom was a cacoon! That was then. This is now.

Now, I live in a much nicer place, but my bedroom has windows and light and sound which are not so great for daytime sleeping. Enter the Bucky sleep mask (pictured above). This thing was a gift from my precious aunt Judy who knew that I both needed and wanted one when I didn’t even know they existed! Other sleep masks I had tried pulled too tightly across my eyelids, making me uncomfortable and unable to sleep. They also pushed on my nose making it stuff up. No bueno. This mask has a padded ridge across my cheekbones and nose, keeping it at just the right tension across both my eyes and nose. I’ve gotten so that I wear it even if I sleep at night. The mask keeps my face all nice and toasty! This plus a white noise app on my phone makes for much better sleep.

Except when I’m trying to hack up a lung.

Over the past several days, I’ve sleep in increments of less an an hour. I dozed off only to be awakened by a strangling fit of coughing. Oh, for the love of Mike! However, as my meds started working, I began to sleep a little longer and a little longer. Yesterday, I actually slept for about five uninterrupted hours. What luxury! And it reminded me of a Ted Talk given by Arianna Huffington that I watched recently. Having run on a serious sleep deficit until she literally passed out on her desk, causing herself some pretty painful injuries she is now a strong advocate of sleep as a way to restore oneself and as a way to tap into one’s creative potential.

As a culture, we Americans are always on the go, doing more, cramming more into our days, sleeping less and, frankly, getting kind of cranky. Resting is something I’ve long thought other cultures do much better than we do. European stores and businesses close and, guess what? The world goes on. Consumers learn to plan better if they know that they aren’t going to be able to run down to Globus on Sunday night to grab a few items. They plan their shopping and get the items when the store is open on Saturday or they just go without. Either way, cataclysm is a no-show. As a tourist in Venice years ago, I was frustrated when shops closed for the after lunch siesta. But, guess what? I adjusted. I slowed down to their pace and enjoyed being in the city without having to be busy seeing it all the time.

In health, sleep is just something I have to do so that I can get my other things done. In this illness, I’ve learned to appreciate it a little more for its restorative effects.

In fact, I think I’m going to go appreciate those effects a little more right now…………

Family, General Health

The Growing Cold

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“She can’t breathe, John!”

I remembering hearing my mother say that to my father as I sat coughing, watching television one night. (No doubt we were watching Gunsmoke or something.) Anyway, I remember her sounding alarmed and me thinking that it was just a cold. Well, my dad picked me up and took me, wearing my flannel nightgown covered in Pirouette-style clowns, to the hospital where I was admitted with pneumonia. The doctor tried comforting me by telling me that he was building me a playhouse. (What fun!) I told him that it wasn’t a playhouse, that it was an oxygen tent. Who was he trying to kid? I watched Medical Center and I told him so. I was between three and four years old.

(The whole experience was humiliating! They made me sleep in a baby bed, for crying out loud! AND, big girl that I was, they made me wear diapers. Ugh!)

My next experience with the illness was about eight years ago when, while splitting firewood (something I well and truly suck at) I began to cough up blood. On account of I’m so smart and junk, I knowed right off something was wrong. (Okay, I didn’t. I totally called my dad to see what he thought. You can guess what he thought.) This time I wasn’t admitted to the hospital, but spent the next week recovering on my sofa snuggling with Trey. I highly recommend big, black dog snuggles to cure what ails you.

As breathing became a greater and greater challenge last week, I began to wonder if I was up for round three with it. So, I dragged myself to a doc in the box on Saturday who diagnosed acute bronchitis and infected ears. Ugly, but not pneumonia. So, I’ve got my steroids, my antibiotics, my inhaler, my sorbet (better than sherbet, methinks), my Powerade Zero, cough drops, and vegetarian soups. I’ve got books to read; but, sadly, no coloring books to color. Maybe when I feel a little better I’ll go on a hunt for those.

As I recall, they were a pretty good curative, too…not as good as a sweet, black Labrador, but, then, few things are.

Grief, Relationships

A Friend for Ellie

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Trey and Ellie were my two BBDs – big, black dogs. As you know, I had to help Trey across the Rainbow Bridge in February and we are all still adjusting to a household without the old man – Ellie especially.

Ellie came to live with us several years ago when I had to go out of town for a conference and asked my sister Chele if she would come and stay with my son while I was gone. She said that she would, but that she was fostering a bitch with five pups that weren’t weaned yet. Barracading the family in the kitchen was easy; so, I told my sister to bring them on with her. “But,” I said, “you listen to me and hear what I’m telling you. I don’t care how cute those puppies are, they are all. going home. with you.” (See how I never said anything about the mama?)

So, my sister arrived with this painfully skinny black dog and five of the cutest puppies EVER. I had them all named within five minutes, much to Chele’s dismay. (I didn’t realize that you weren’t supposed to name foster puppies. It makes it harder to send them to new forever homes.) Anyway, I named them all and we got everybody into the house where I inquired about the mama whom they called Princess.

She had wandered up to some guy’s house. He started feeding her and thought he was going a great job since she was getting so fat – then she dropped five puppies. Knowing that my sister is a soft touch with the canines, he contacted her and dropped the whole family off with her. Chele said that while the dog would let me pet her, she would not come to me and that she was head shy. This mama dog was just heartbreaking! So thin, she looked like her bones were about to cut through her skin. And she was, indeed, head shy, but after a few minutes she walked up to my chair, sat next to my feet and put her head on my knees. Yep. She picked me. What was I supposed to do with that?!

Now, we already had Trey who had become destructive since the death of my previous cat – the 19-year-old (some say possessed, I say precious) Isabeau. He wasn’t too keen on the puppies (especially after they tried nursing on him. Poor guy flipped out over that! One of the funniest things I’ve ever seen.), but he loved having Princess around. Since she had been a stray for some unknown period of time, she was very  fearful. When Trey tried to play with her, he frightened her. However, he was patient and sweet. Eventually, she came to trust him and they were wonderful playmates even after we renamed her. (There is only one princess in my house, honey. Moi.) So, Princess became Ellie and our home to one BBD became home to two. Until this February.

Once a month, my friend Kent comes to stay with me for a few days. He brings his BBD puppy Khaleesi with him. Last month was the first time he came and the first time Ellie met Khaleesi. And did those two girls ever have a wonderful time! They played outside all day every day and came in exhausted every night. I knew that Ellie would enjoy having a friend, but I underestimated how much. When Kent arrived on Wednesday, Ellie saw Khaleesi through the window and she, who never goes out the front door without my permission, bounded out the door as soon as it was open, joyfully greeting her friend on the sidewalk before the two of them went running through the house, out the back door and into the yard to play just like the little girls that they are.

I have no intention of adding to my horde and, with four cats to play with, Ellie is a long way from lonely; however, it’s great that she can have play dates with someone her own size. And, for the next several months, every month, for five days, there will be play dates and a friend for my Ellie girl.

General Health

Spring Cold (Aw) Snap!

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Lesley Gore said that it was her party and she could cry if she wanted to. Her Dotyness says that this is my blog and I’ll whine if I want to.

And I want to.

Box-of-Paper-Facial-Tissues-with-Pile-of-Used-Tissues-190I have a spring cold. My nose hurts, my sinuses are exploding, my eyes burn, my ears hurt, my lungs stick together when I cough, my lips are chapped, I sound like an off-key seal, and I spent half the night in the restroom since I’m getting to the age where sneezing with an even marginally full bladder is a game of Russian roulette. I’m miserable. And I’m being a great, big, giant baby about it.

After working all night, I stopped on the way home for some sick food – soup, sherbet, crackers, that sort of thing. Sherbet isn’t on the Whole Foods Plant Based menu, but I made an executive call after listening to myself whine all night long. On the menu or not, orange sherbet went into the buggy. Now, I’ve never been a big fan of chicken noodle soup – except when I’m sick. Then, that’s pretty much all I want. But, there’s not really a vegetarian version of it. Cruising the soup aisle for inspiration, I found that there were very few vegetarian soup options at all. Even many of the vegetable soups had either a chicken or beef stock base. I was SO not in the mood to discover this. I ended up with some green pea soup and some tomato soup, neither of which was what I really wanted; but they’ll do in a pinch. They’re warm and comforting, which is what I was after anyway.

When I finish my soup, I’ll change into my sweats and pink, fuzzy robe, eat a little sherbet, then put my annoying self to bed. As I continue to eat nutritionally dense foods, my hope is that these colds become fewer and further between.

Years between works for me.

Food

Updating Grandma’s Cooking

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Both of my grandmothers were fantastic cooks. Mamaw (my maternal grandmother) was a country cook. She made wonderful fried chicken, scratch biscuits, peas, butterbeans, and coconut cake the memory of which makes my mouth water nearly 30 years after she died. Nannie (my paternal grandmother) was, well, I don’t really know how to describe her cooking style. She cooked more complicated things than Mamaw did. Although of Danish descent herself, she learned to cook Italian food from her cousin’s mother-in-law, Mama Venucci. As a result, Nannie made the best lasagna and ravioli you ever put your mouth! Although as different as chalk and cheese, both women were nothing short of incredible. They were strong. They were determined. And they set a mean table cooking with lard, butter, dairy, fat back – all that yummy stuff!

And they both died of heart disease.

I think of them often when I’m cooking; but, yesterday, I felt like they would have been standing in my kitchen shaking their heads at me. I sautéed onions, mushrooms and peppers without using any oil. Sacrilege! I made pasta dishes without cheese. Horrors! I fried nothing. Oh, good lord! And I cooked no meat. (Somebody get the smelling salts.)

I’ll tell you straight up, too, it was weird as all get out. I’ve never browned onions without some butter or olive oil. Well, I hadn’t until yesterday, that is. And you know what? They tasted just fine. I made the red lentil dal, Jamaican black beans, baked ziti, pineapple chutney, and sweet potato pie oatmeal. I was missing ingredients to make the other dishes; however, what I did make was all VERY tasty! In addition, while I thought that the recipes would make meals for this and maybe one other week, I’ve got enough portions in my freezer for at least a month of lunch and dinner entrées. With fresh veggies or a salad as a side, I’m set up really nicely!

In The Forks Over Knives Plan, the authors encourage new practitioners to identify their personal needs, giving themselves the greatest chance of success. They instruct us to prioritize the following personal needs: Health (preventing or reversing disease), Pleasure (having food that looks and tastes good), Ease (having convenient meals) and Acceptance (keeping people from looking at you sideways).

Since I work nights, ease is the most important of the list for me. If you’ve ever worked third shift, you can relate to this. Sleeping during the day is difficult and less restful for me. As a result, I tend to sleep more hours to get the same amount of rest. While I do have three days off each week, I sleep for at least one of them and typically find myself fairly inactive on the other two. On work days, forget about cooking. I’m not giving up an hour’s worth of sleep to prepare my food. So, I really do need to be able to thaw and go, making today’s efforts a real plus for me. For side dishes, I can throw together one huge salad a week, apportioning it out daily, and steaming veggies is a snap.

Just as Nannie was always prepared with spaghetti gravy in the freezer for quick, emergency meal, I’ve got individual meal portions for weeks of healthful eating with little daily effort. I’m taking the wisdom of my ancestors and combining it with a new approach to food.

Thoughts about everything and nothing in an effort to be a better person than I was yesterday.