Use Your Wisdom

Can you die from a cold? If so, I may be near death. My chest growls, I can’t hear out of either ear, the burning in my throat & nose is immense and I’m even annoying myself with my nonstop coughing. My jaw is too stiff and sore to talk! Horrors!!!

To spare my husband and infant daughter I’ve been sleeping on the couch at night to suffer the perils of this cold alone. Of course, my husband offers in a soft voice I should stay in bed where I am comfortable. He delicately protests my self-imposed sentence of couch and afghan. Interestingly enough, when I grab my pillow and make for the living room, he doesn’t leap from our bed and wrestle me down on the soft mattress. He doesn’t tuck me back under the covers and demand I convalesce in the soothing surroundings of our room. Nope, he rolls over, yawns and utters that he loves me and hopes I feel better in the morning. So much for my noble knight. I don’t blame him though. We can’t all lose sleep just because I’m sick. Tell me why I can’t hear a darn thing, yet I can still detect my husband snoring comfortably in our bed while one floor down on our living room sofa?

Back to being sick, what really is hard to get past is I have essentially had an intimate encounter with someone who doesn’t have a face. I have connected on a cellular level with someone, but whom? Was it my slobbery three year old niece who insisted on kissing me on the mouth? Perhaps it was the Hank Williams t-shirt wearing truck driver who grabbed the door handle right before me? Gosh I hope it wasn’t that shrill woman working the counter at the reststop hamburger joint we visited while on the toll road. She and I had no chemistry. I’d hate to think I actually let her get to 5th base with me. For my own sanity, I should probably shut this line of thinking off.

Yet again, back to being sick.  I really try not to be a germaphobe. It’s a constant battle and I’m a frequent hand washer as a result. When my mind starts to process all of the microscopic human debris circulating around me, it’s almost too much to take. That’s part of the reason I’m always amazed when I get sick. With the precautions I adhere to, it just shouldn’t happen. I suppose I should appreciate the fact I at least am not ill as often as others.

On a closing note, I would like to assure everyone I am doing my part to stop the cycle of unsolicited intimacy. I have remained at home, contained my germy output and have washed my hands regularly like a good girl. If anyone else gets sick, I am determined to be sure it is not from me. I do contend the world would be a better place if everyone took just a minute longer to wash their hands, made extra sure to have a hanky near by for that surprise sneeze and did their best to hibernate while battling the demon that is the common cold.

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It’s not a typo. I know the plural form of corn that grows in fields does not have an ‘s’ on the end. This farm girl grew up around many a corn grower. Now that I am a city girl, I am surrounded by a different type of farmer…the urban ‘corns’ producer. This farmer isn’t sporting pinstriped OshKosh overalls while perched on a green John Deere tractor. She is dressed in Prada or Calvin Klein and driving a BMW. Her fields of choice are fleshy toes with red splashed nails crammed into pointy shoes even mannequins wince when they wear. (I know this is my second post in a row with a reference to mannequins. I just realized the correct spelling of the word and want to cement it in my brain.)

What is it about pointy shoes? I recently watched the show ‘What Not to Wear.’ A stylist on that show offered her opinion that pointy shoes help elongate the body and provide a slimming effect. Um, so does good posture and exercise. Why would anyone choose to strangle her toes to look good? Sure, corns grow abundantly, but it’s not like they are a true commodity. No one is going to buy them on the free market.

Noteworthy sightings of the corns farmer:

• Wandering the mall at a turtle’s pace while wincing and clutching the arm of an adoring Y chromosome.
• Hiking (yes, hiking) on the Billy Goat Trail in Great Falls, Virginia.  The matching bag was fabulous, by the way.  I’m sure that’s where her bottled water was.
• Hunched over in the doctor’s office while miserably ill with something.  So committed.

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My Grandpa was a Hellcat in a Sherman tank wheeling through Germany in World War II. Shermans were death traps for many when battling German tanks. If your tank was hit, it was crucial to get out of it before artillery starting imitating popcorn. This task had an added element of difficulty for my Grandfather because he was so tall. The tall members of a tank team were often forced to lie on the bottom of the tank floor and load the artillery. It was where they could fit, essentially.

As scary and stressful as his tour and Germany was, my Grandfather always slept like a log at night. His buddies would often ask how it was he could sleep so well when they were in the middle (figuratively and literally) of a war. “Well, I think scared and well rested gives me better odds than say scared and drop dead tired.” Gosh if that doesn’t make complete sense. So often when faced with adversity we start falling into patterns or behaviors that actually hamper our ability to deal with these challenges effectively. We let the fear take over and reduce the likelihood of us being able to rise to the occasion. Though I’m not sure how many sheep he had to count to allow his mind and body to slumber, he pulled it off and was rewarded with a quick mind and able body when the time came both were needed.

As a side note, we lose more of our World War II vets with every year that passes. In a decade or so these brave men and women will all be gone. Their stories are incredible. If you have veterans in your family, I encourage you to make yourself available to hear their story. What you can read in a history book is nothing compared to the individual stories of courage, sacrifice and a need to turn a wrong into a right.

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Trying to be healthy isn’t fun. This morning I had the bright idea I’d fix a bowl of Quaker Oats for breakfast. I was patting myself on the back for my wise choice as it cooked in the pot. It’s now an hour later and my enthusiasm has died down a bit. I still have half a bowl of gray mush staring at me as I type this post. It’s cold and soggy. Ironically, it tastes no worse to me than it did 50 minutes ago. I’m suspecting my love of oatmeal raisin cookies is less about the oatmeal and more about the other ingredients.

Now what? I suppose I could doctor it up with tasty additions next time. Heck, it says right on the container oatmeal removes cholesterol from the body. If I add a gob of butter it shouldn’t matter, right? Trouble is, I’m not sure stopping at butter would be enough. My mind is dancing with thoughts of brown sugar and raisins too. For it to really be good, I could poor hot water over an oatmeal cookie and mush it up a bit. Now, that’s a breakfast I would be happy to finish. I think the only way I’m getting plain oats down is to implant a few equine taste buds on my tongue.

This obsession with sweet food is really hard to combat. The other day I thought my issue was limited to snacks. I’m realizing now even my breakfast needs to be a treat. The battle continues.

On the bright side, a commercial about plaque bugs this morning made me want to pull all of my teeth out and gum my way through the rest of my existence. Thanks Oral B. I’m glad your new tooth brush cuts plaque bugs by 80%. Knowledge of that lingering 20% is enough to compromise my sanity though. Blech!

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I’ll admit I have a fear of doctors. My toe rarely touches the carpet of a medical facility. There is this inner concern going to a doctor will result in me discovering something is terribly wrong. I can think of several symptoms I’ve had over the past few years that should have prompted an appointment. Did I go? No. I remember when I first found out I was pregnant in July of 2005. Part of my mind wondered if a tumor would show up on the ultrasound or if blood tests would find a virus or illness I didn’t know I had. Of course, that didn’t happen. My mind went there though. Shush, don’t tell my husband I’m nuts.

I don’t know where this hesitation came from. I’ve always had good insurance coverage. My family history is strong. There really haven’t been any health challenges for me other than colds, flus and the occasional food poisoning (I still hate Turkey Dogs). Why have I clung to the whole ‘ignorance is bliss’ concept? Funny thing is, if my husband, daughter, friend or neighbor wasn’t feeling quite right, I’d demand they get to a doctor right away. It would be stupid not to, right?

And to top it off…I’m not even eating an apple a day!

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This is insane. I’m trying to wean myself off of chocolate and other sweets. Currently, I’m experiencing several symptoms of withdrawal. I’m biting my nails, irritable, anxious and I keep opening my kitchen cabinets in search of something…anything. I’ve intentionally not purchased any snack food at the grocery store. I can’t eat what I don’t buy, right? I also haven’t washed my hair in a few days with the hope that will stop me from caving and running out in public to find some Hershey love.

Just like the recovering alcoholic who will drink mouthwash to get a fix, I’m looking for alternative sources of sugar and chocolate. How sick is that? Seriously! I made hot chocolate from baker’s cocoa the other night. This morning I was tempted to sprinkle some sugar on my toast. What gives? My mother actually commented how addicted people are becoming to sugar. I thought, I’m not addicted. I like the stuff, but I don’t need it to get through life. Now I know the truth.

In terms of dependencies, I suppose chocolate is less dangerous than smoking, alcohol or gambling. My trip down addiction road has opened my eyes though. It really snuck up on me. There was a time when eating a brownie was an innocent treat. How could I know my relationship with Duncan Hines would take such an ugly turn? Now I can completely understand how the drinker, smoker and gambler became ensnared in their guilty pleasure. I don’t think I’m a bad person because chocolate has become such a substantial part of my life. I am uncomfortable with the idea of anything having that kind of power over me though. There is a strange cycle of compromise and justification going on with me. I want this candy bar so I’ll eat two veggies with dinner. Or, my neighbor gave me this bag of dark chocolate M&Ms. It would be rude not to eat them. The truth is chocolate and sugar are in control. It’s time for me to move them to the back seat while I take the steering wheel for a while.

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I frequently hear myself telling people I’m flexible. Little do they know it’s a big fat lie. Sure, I’m flexible in terms of rolling with daily schedules and such. My flexibility ends with my mind though. My muscles are as tight and rigid as they come. Even with knees bent, I can’t touch my toes. I’m only 35. It’s ridiculous that I’ve let myself get this stiff. I wake up every morning feeling out of sorts and irritable. I can’t help but wonder what my body will feel like at 50 if I don’t start loosening up a bit. I really don’t want to age into a person who can’t move without wincing. This is something I need to address now and get my arms around. Just like it’s foolish to start saving for retirement at 40, it doesn’t make any sense to put off investing in my future health and well being. Physical fitness and flexibility doesn’t get easier with age. Starting now makes complete sense. My goal is to get in touch with my toes by the end of the year.

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Don’t you hate it when you are eating a juicy burger and a drop of grease lands on your shirt? Once it hits the fabric, it is there for life. I’ve tried all sorts of things to get grease stains out. I’ve flushed the stain with water, scrubbed it in pre-soak and washed it in whatever detergent is bragging to be the best on stains. The stain often prevails. Pesky, aren’t they?

Considering I’ve lost the battle against grease stains for years, you’d think it would occur to me grease is pretty durable and hard to get rid of. If caustic chemicals can’t clean it out of cotton, how are enzymes and water supposed to clean it out of my body? I mean, I can throw the shirt out and buy a new one at Target. Last I checked, Target wasn’t stocking its shelves with livers, hearts and arteries.

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I think I’ve come up with a way to solve the health crisis in America. There are tons of books, lectures and documentaries on how eating smart and exercising regularly helps prevent a number if diseases few of us want to contend with. Knowledge is all around us. That knowledge hasn’t done much to change our behaviors though. You want to know why? There are very few addicting qualities of veggies, water and exercise. I can’t believe the health industry is missing the boat on how important it is for us to chase addictions. There are a few pillars amongst us who can surround themselves with addictions and still turn their nose. I bow down. The rest of us are in a tricky position.

Most of the things we are supposed to avoid or cut back on have addictive qualities. If they weren’t naturally addictive, someone was smart enough to modify the food or activity so it became addictive. Cigarettes have nicotine enhancements. Sodas, coffees and teas are getting stronger boosts of caffeine and sugar. Beer has alcohol. Snacks have more and more of those wonderful fats, salts and sugars we crave so much. Fast food restaurants, soft drink companies and snack food makers have regular contests where the more you buy their product the greater chance you have of winning an iPod, TV, car or money. Casinos have enticing lights and exciting bells and whistles. Department stores are strategically filled with scents and sounds that make us want to buy, buy, buy. Why hasn’t the health industry gotten on board with all of this?

I’m sure the nutritionists reading this blog are cringing. Is this crazy lady suggesting we start adding things to healthy foods that make people want to eat them? Maybe I am. Of course, I wouldn’t want that additive to be ‘too bad’ for me. A ‘little bad’ is acceptible. Afterall, a ‘little bad’ would be an incredible improvement over the ‘really bad’ things I’m currently eating. We’d still have the organic products for the pillars amongst so they wouldn’t have to migrate from ‘really healthy’ to a ‘little bad’.

Aside from additives, the industry really could be doing more from a marketing standpoint to get us on the right track. Why doesn’t Green Giant’s frozen vegetables ever have a game similar to McDonald’s Monopoly? How come bottled water never has a “look under the cap to see what you’ve won” game? Why aren’t gyms researching what smells and sounds will make people want to work out once they get there? I guarantee old sweat and bald guys grunting in the corner isn’t it for me. Perhaps a nice lavendar floating through the air as “Eye of the Tiger” plays in the background?

So, am I alone in wanting the health industry to try to manipulate me a little bit. Not the pseudo-health industry that promotes life’s solutions come in a pill. Not the pseudo-medical community that convinces me my fat should be sucked out in a vacuum. I’m talking about the bare bones providers of veggies, water and excercise. Who’s with me?

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