Soapbox Sally

Everyone says the best thing about social networking (e.g. Facebook) is reconnecting with old friends.

I resisted the siren song of Facebook for a long time but I do love being able to read my friends’ pithy commentary and quickly keep up with their news, good and bad.

But one friend’s posts leave me disheartened.

If I’m what some might call derisively a “cafeteria Catholic,” she’s the kind that would live in the restaurant and memorize the menu.  And that’s ok.  I recognize there are all levels of faith and I get that religion is something that grabs people differently.   I understand too that she probably doesn’t accord the way I interpret my faith any validity at all (in fact, I’m fairly certain that there is no ‘interpretation’ of faith in her view.  There is the Word as articulated by the Vatican and that is it).

But when she posts “facts” that are just scientifically inaccurate, or opinions that – in my mind – run down all public institutions like the school system, government in general, etc, it is the status update equivalent of a red flag in front of the bull.  I literally cannot help myself.  The vein in my temple throbs.  My fingers itch to type a reply.

I wonder – what is the point?  I know we are never going to meet in the middle.  She is never going to seriously consider an oppositional viewpoint.  And I can’t acknowledge biased, politically motivated science.

Maybe I just hope that even a little part of her appreciates that others have different perspectives.  Maybe I think that a lone dissenting view might give her a few seconds of thought about alternatives.

So, I have recently become more interested in food and diet.

Ok, that’s a lie.  I’ve ALWAYS been interested in food and diet but now I’m becoming more deeply invested in reconciling an abiding love of all things culinary with a drive to be as healthy as possible.  Like everyone, I grapple with how to want or even crave what’s good for me when sometimes all I want is a jamocha shake and curly fries.   But you only get one body in this life and while no one should be deprived of the sensual pleasures of a wonderful meal or  the occasional decadent dessert, it just doesn’t make sense to pump garbage into your body and expect it to respond with energy, strength and long-term health.

Recently, I picked up Michael Pollan’s Food Rules.  This tiny tome has just over 60 easy-to-remember rules for healthy eating.  It’s not a diet in the way Weight Watchers or South Beach are – just simple things that can help make us all a little healthier.  To wit: Eat food.  Not too much.  Mostly plants.

As I grocery shopped today, it was easy for me to think about picking foods with pronounceable ingredients, striving to hit the perimeter of the store where fresh food is, avoid foods with more than 5 ingredients (too processed), etc.  I came home and felt satisfied when I made an awesome white bean dip, full of fresh herbs, garlic, and lemon juice.   (Note: I add more lemon juice and herbs, use fresh oregano, and add basil…it’s pretty foolproof).  And I felt better after eating something that was good for me!

This morning, I woke up after a dream in which I was desperately trying to scrub gum off my shoe.  (Note: This is not some deep metaphor for an issue in my life – but a comment on how deeply I am disturbed by gum which did, in fact, find its sticky way onto my Cole Haan flats and lodge there with all its germ-infested might while on a recent business trip). 

Man, I thought to myself as I rolled over to a cool spot, that was a boring dream.

Apparently highly offended by my offhand remark, my subconscious then wreaked its revenge.  I’ll show you! my subconsious chortled.  Creative, oh, I’ll GIVE you creative.

I then was treated to a nightmare where my beloved and I were on a midnight boat trip in some exotic jungle.  Beset by an impulse I pray never overtakes me in real life, dream me became very excited and decided to jump into the dark, dark water for a little swim.  Then of course, I realize there are all manner of things in the water.  Things with sharp teeth and an appetite primed for tender girl-flesh.  Things that one cannot see but know instinctively are bad, bad news.

Pull me up, I screamed to our dream tour guide.  He launched me back into the boat and somehow, the water becomes illuminated.  I see great whites and all manner of imaginary creatures – and then wake up with a gasp.

From this point out, I’m paying the inner me only the most lavish of compliments.

Last night, I decided to do a “treats” dinner for  me and my beloved.

For the uninitiated, a “treats” dinner is pretty much what it sounds like: yumminess that you wouldn’t normally have for supper.  The phrase was coined by my mom and back in the day, meant pizza slices cut into bites and eaten while sitting on a blanket in the family room, watching a movie and drinking one (usually forbidden) glass of pop.  Treats dinners generally happened when Dad was out of town on business.

Despite my general reluctance to patronize Whole Foods because of its gastronomical prices, I ducked in.  Oh, my.  Something about the lighting in there makes every vegetable look especially delicious – heirloom tomatoes with beautiful stripes and weirdly lovely knobbiness, the triple creme cheeses oozing into their packaging, the crisp loaves of bread.  It’s an experience. 

But one you pay dearly for, as my wallet reminded me last night. 

Sometimes though, that which is dear can be worth it – especially if you’re celebrating a bit of cautious good news for a loved one.

In my family, we sort of believe in ghosts.  When my mother can’t find her keys or some small (yet pivotal) household item is lost or out of its normal area, only to make a dramatic reappearance when the swearing sets in, we attribute it to Uncle B.  He was my mom’s quirkiest brother, who died over 20 years ago when he was just 28 years old.  Needless to say, he’s had some time to perfect the craft of making mischief From Beyond.   

Lately, in our house, I’ve noticed that when I turn one light on, the other doesn’t follow suit as it normally does.  Its graceful arms, with tulip-like bulbs on the end, stay dark.  This may have been happening for awhile – I can’t say for sure.  As anyone who knows me can tell you, I’m not the most observant of people.  (Quick story – when I was little, Mom teaches me to do the laundry and I am SO PROUD of myself for remembering when to put the rinse in, each and every time, since she emphasized it so much.  So, doing the laundry for over a month and she happens to be downstairs and asks, Did you forget something?  Oh yes, gentle readers.  The soap.  For a full month.  But the rinse?  In every time).

At any rate, this lamp has now taken to turning on at random times.  Hmm, I say to myself, that’s so odd.  As it happens more and more, I begin to say, Uncle B, is that you?  Secretly, I feel pleased.  It’s nice to have a visitor!

Last night, I leave to pick E up from the subway and turn off the light switch.  The one lamp obediently behaves and the other stays lit.  Well, I think, I’ll just tell E about it.  He’ll know what to do.

We walk into the house and I tell him about our unseen visitor and he points down at the outlet.  One word: timer.

“What did you think – it was magic?” he asked, tears of laughter starting to gather in eyes.

“Well..(tones of indignation)…yes!”

I maintain my explanation was more fun.