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A few weeks ago, following the elections and Trump’s proclamation that he was running again, I declared that I would avoid posts that described anything Trumpian. I even requested that people refrain from bringing him up in my posts, and for the most part, people have been obliging.
I don’t hate Trump, but I don’t like him. And I am tired of having to explain and justify my positions regarding him. I felt like people were centering their worlds around him—conversations, opinions, declarations—and I wanted no part of it.
For all of our supposed drift into “two Americas”, living abroad for many years has taught me that Americans are still more similar than we are different. Sitting at a streetside cafe in my cute medieval European adopted hometown, I can sense an American visitor from two blocks away, regardless of whether they’re from Nebraska, […]
To borrow and modify a line from Mark Twain – “Dieting is the easiest thing in the world. I know because I have lost thousands of pounds.” I have tried many different types of diets and have been successful in losing weight with all of them. I even downloaded anonymous’s dieting book “The Hacker’s Diet […]
He said ‘quinoa’ and my mind went blank. I could see his lips moving, but, like the shell shock scenes in Saving Private Ryan I couldn’t hear anything he said after that explosion went off. I rejoined the conversation around when he was explaining that a Mediterranean diet is mostly plant-based. I should listen to this man, I told myself, because he’s my doctor and because — unlike the super-skinny, marathon-running doctor who failed me on my DoT physical — this guy is a little pudgy around the middle and understands the struggle. But the good doctor had the temerity to look right in the face of a guy whose last name is Patrick and say no potatoes.
I turned next to a trusted fount of wisdom, my mother. She has been on a health journey for the last year or so that has born great fruit. She’s lost nearly 60 pounds and has eliminated sugar from her food intake. She’s the one who taught me how to make chicken fried steak and, more importantly, the amazing gravy to go with it. I’ve watched and learned from her as she’s gone through various changes in life – from drunken heathen to sober saint, and now from her once matronly figure to a picture of vigor and health. Surely I can trust her on this matter. But, like my doctor, her prescription sounds way worse than the disease. Her advice mirrored the doctor’s, only she added a spiritual dimension I’m also not ready to confront just yet.
Searching online for healthy eating advice reminds me of why Ricochet is so glorious: the internet is where we keep the crazy people. I’m certainly not going to entrust my health and happiness to Mrs. Obama and her broccoli-pushing nanny state. Everywhere I turn, however, the same thing comes up over and over again. Everything I like to eat, everything I know how to cook is just short of putting a gun to my head and pulling the trigger. It probably doesn’t help that the list of things I can/will eat is vanishingly small compared to the list of things that just won’t enter my pie hole. The problem is me; the solution is elusive.