obesity, oh wait a minute

Jun6

I have something to get off my chest.   Well, really off my dresser.  I’ve had this scrap of newspaper lying there for two months.   It’s an article headlined, “Town renamed for sandwich”.  I hope I don’t embarrass myself here because this is about Arby’s and Reuben sandwiches, two things I know hardly anything about.  Apparently,  the Town Board of the somewhat  nearby town of Coeymans, rechristened itself Reubenville as part of an Arby’s Reubenville Challenge.  By tacking a red and white banner that said “Welcome to Reubenville”over the regular town sign, the town received 5,000 free coupons redeemable for a Reuben sandwich at an Arby’s in another town fifteen miles away.

The Three Graces

The Three Graces by Peter Paul Rubens   (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Is Arby’s famous for Reubens?  Last I knew I thought they made roast beef sandwiches.  I suppose they could make Reubens as well–doesn’t seem that far a stretch–but I am pretty sure they didn’t invent them.  Though I have been rather ignorant of meaty matters for about forty years now, I once did know my way around a good corned beef sandwich–and was vaguely aware of its non-kosher cousin.

A perfunctory visit to the “Welcome to Arby’s” website has just revealed to me a picture of the Reuben, embedded in what is supposedly a marble rye.  It doesn’t look like a New York marble rye to me, if you know what I mean.  Anyway, I am now hip to the 640 calories, 30 grams of fat and 1,610 milligrams of sodium that this town name changing sandwich contains–as well as its plethora of both real and hard to even imagine ingredients.  I must commend Arby’s for listing the nutritional information for its complete menu in a very clear and accessible way.  If you would like a quick lesson in fast food gastronomy I suggest you take a peek yourself.  I only wish the town council members would have bothered to do the same before getting that banner made.

I am still pretty bewildered.  Does Coeymans have anything to do with Reuben sandwiches or with Arby’s for that matter?  Named after its early settler, Barent Pieteres Koijeman, Coeymans’ roots are strongly Dutch.  Is there some confusion in the town between the possible German origins of the sandwich and the German-Flemish painter Peter Paul Rubens, known for his beautiful paintings of voluptuous Rubenesque women?  Rubens apparently died from heart failure related to chronic gout.  Is that what this is all about?  My bigger question is, why would any municipality waste its time and efforts responding to such a bogus challenge which serves only to promote the purposes of a corporate food giant and does nothing to protect or promote the lives of its citizens?

Interestingly, physician David Katz,  Director of the Yale University Prevention Research Center and a prolific writer on many things of nutritional interest just happened to speak  to my burning questions and larger perpetual conundrum about personal health in the context of culture in a piece he posted this week titled “Culture, Power and Responsibility“.  This piece is part of his Personal Responsibility for Health (PRH) Chronicles.

Katz writes, “I think we know what it is, and it’s all about power-and culture. Culture is a powerful influence on us all. When personal responsibility involves defiance of the prevailing forces of one’s culture, it becomes a very tall order indeed.  Unfortunately, that is just the order associated with personal responsibility for health. “

“In a commentary published in the Lancet in February of this year, a group of scholars made the very point that the power of culture, and profit, is all too often oriented in opposition to health rather than in support of it. We might ask people to take responsibility in spite of it all, but that’s a bit like pitching someone off our boat and assigning them responsibility for keeping afloat- whether or not they’ve ever learned how to swim. Relevant power is prerequisite to responsibility.”

“If you know it’s important to control your weight and attend to your health, but almost everything in your environment and your culture conspires against such efforts- how responsible are you, personally?  Are you truly personally irresponsible if you go with the prevailing flow?“

“How can the whole of our collective responsibility for health be so much less than the sum of what we expect from its parts? Do we truly expect every individual- adult and child alike- to compensate with personal responsibility for the collective abdications at the level of culture, and corporation?“

Oh, blessed be.  I could not agree more.  Yes, I believe that it is the cultural, corporate and governmental abdication of responsibility that displaces much of the onus on an unwitting and poorly equipped populace.   And, this is why the actions of both the Coeymans Town Board and the Arby’s Corporation drive me insane.  This is also why I feel the ubiquitous conversation about obesity must be redirected.

The collective chatter about obesity is still amplifying.  Travelling widely around this nutritional universe as I do, I am bombarded with meteoric messages about fighting, fixing, flagellating, and fracking obesity.  The mandate is to leave no obesity behind–neither its grown-up or childhood varieties–adorable pudgy babies and grandmas included.    Millions are being spent on the ammunition to obliterate this planetary scourge.  The aims appear community-based, but individuals are the intended targets.  The drones attack both bodies and psyches alike , unable to discern the difference.  For my own safety I have taken to wearing a helmet–well, at least when I am biking.

The increased prevalence of obesity is a physically evident symptom of a culture whose motives ignored or overrode its responsibility to protect the  birthright of health for its citizenry.  However, generalizing obesity as a health crisis is complicated by the fact that its definition is too broadly applied, its prevalence poorly defined, its detriment still debatable and its cure misunderstood.  There are many other equally important markers of compromised health and well-being.  However, by focusing only on the obvious, the approach has been to throw massive resources at obesity programs with uncertain outcomes while abiding the cultural insults.

Rebuilding or restoring our country’s health will necessitate more than these bombastic approaches that seem similar to our political mindset of problem solving.  It will require some deep introspection regarding the constructs upon which we structure personal and public life.  It will beg that our corporate and political leaders as well as our policy makers take a serious and sensitive look in attending to the environments that either foster or hinder health.  There is much to be undone and redone.  I have a few ideas of my own that I will share soon.

But while we continue to work toward meaningful change, I will think about the dear people down there in Coeymans in the aftermath of their brief moment of irrelevant fame.  I wonder how many of the 7418 citizens even cared if they were one of the 5000 somehow chosen to drive thirty miles for a sandwich.  My sincere wish is that those folks may have either a large dose of relevant power or access to good affordable health coverage, because neither their council members nor Arby’s is going to pick up the real bill for that Reuben.

Do you know what I mean?  I would love to hear from you.

In health, Elyn 

erin's plate

erin’s plate

My Plate Haiku

Lagoon watercress

Peppers my tongue

With spring joy.

by Roxanne

(Gratitude to Roxanne, who provided a beautiful dinner of field greens with a maple vinaigrette dressing, and brown rice with wild mushrooms and tofu during my Memorial Day weekend bike trip to Martha’s Vineyard.)

Offering: I always appreciate (love) receiving  My Plate Haikus and My Plate Photos–personal expressions of one’s experience regarding nourishment.   I will send a sample bottle of lovely Lavender Young Living Essential Oil to the first ten people who fill my plate with new haikus or photos–or to those who take a moment to subscribe to my blog or to send it forward to others.  Please send or inform me via the comment box or zimcat@verizon.net.  (include your address!)

reporting from the rim of the sinkhole

Apr26

At about 4 PM, a few months ago, Pete sent me an email saying something about soul food.  I was rushing to end my day so I overlooked the attachment that would have filled me in on the details and why he thought this might be of interest to me.  I dismissed the message quickly.

That evening though as fate would have it, I got another message on my email informing me that I had a new follower on Twitter.  This was big news given that it is a rare occurrence.  As Pete assures me that I am right behind Lady Gaga in terms of followers, I must assume that she might have like twenty-eight.  So, I decided to check out my ignored little bird account and see who my new follower might be.  Once there, I stumbled upon a flurry of activity on the feed from someone I follow–chef and food activist Bryant Terry, author of Vegan Soul Kitchen and Urban Grub.  The excited conversation was about a PBS documentary Soul Food Junkies which was apparently being aired right then.  The praise was pouring in for this film by Byron Hurt, about his exploration of the historical and cultural roots of soul food cuisine and its relationship to the current health crisis with its impact on the African-American community.  

Ah, now I got it.  I ran upstairs to the TV room and grappled with the remote.  Mastering its controls I pushed that channel button frantically.  I must mention that I have about as limited a relationship with the television as I do with my Twitter account–and relying on an old antenna like apparatus, have access to about seven channels.  Still, I knew I did get PBS.  Round and round I cycled through those seven channels, three PBS stations and still could not find the show I was looking for. It seems PBS offers a few different channels these days, and I don’t get the one on which the program was aired.   Instead, what I did find on was a program about a guinea worm eradication program sponsored by Jimmy Carter’s Carter Center in Africa.  It was rather fascinating though quite gruesome to watch.  Apparently, water-borne guinea worm disease which has plagued a wide swath of Africa and Asia for thousands of years is poised to be eradicated.  In 1986 when the Carter Center began its campaign with the partner countries, there were an estimated 3.5 million cases in 21 countries.  By 2012 there were 542 cases left in just four African countries.

Guinea worm disease is contracted from ingesting drinking water contaminated with larvae that once inside the human abdomen grow into worms up to three feet long.  These worms eventually emerge from the body through excruciatingly painful blisters on the skin.  I guardedly watched as health workers painstakingly exorcised these worms from the legs of screaming children and stoic adults, wrapping the worms around little sticks which were slowly turned.  One worm, one person at a time.  The success of this amazing eradication program has been due to water treatment and filtration programs and community education at a very grass-roots level.

A few days later I was able to watch Soul Food Junkies on pbs.org.  It is an excellent film and I have been talking it up with a lot of my clients–and others as well.  Many of my clients are African-American and my daily consults revolve around discussing this interface between food as cultural identity and health.  Soul food is not the only problem area.  Many cultural cuisines that have sustained people for millenia are causing problems in the context of our modern existence.  This is due to various reasons including agricultural alterations in the actual foodstuffs that form the basis of these cuisines, more processed versions of these dietary staples being substituted for the real foods, traditional diets being padded with the excess of sugars, concentrated carbohydrates and other addictive substances that infiltrate our beings and a massive increase in sedentary lifestyles and stress.  The vulnerable communities that are more exposed to poverty and its attendant health disparities are experiencing greater discord between their food and their health.

This is multi-layered stuff that claws at the core of who we are as eaters and which reveals how deeply connected we are to our heritage.  Food is clearly not just extrinsic matter.  It communicates intimately with our cellular makeup.  And, it is a heavenly sacrament.    I remember as a child listening to my mother and my aunties trying to sever the relationship between my hypertensive grandfather and the heavily salt-cured foods of his Russian roots.  Little did I know I would one day be standing between an African-American man and his beloved fried chicken or an Asian woman and her dear little grains of rice.

But yes, there I am.  Standing tall at five feet one, holding firm with my big professional tweezers before every diabetic who sits in my office. With exact precision, I try to extract each granule of sugar  that has gone rogue in the bloodstream, wreaking havoc on the body–sort of like a guinea worm.  Just as guinea worm disease takes hold in unsuspecting individuals so does diabetes.  Persons consuming available foods for the  purpose of sustaining survival and attaining some pleasure, awaken one day to learn that they are infested with massive globs of excess glucose.

I have been doing this work for a long time and I can tell you that the diabetic epidemic is getting worse.  My daily roster is full of newly diagnosed cases of diabetes.  This morning I woke up to some crazy NPR story about the woes of candy makers due to the relative high price of sugar–the price regulated by the Farm Bill.  Apparently, the makers of Dum Dum lollipops require 100,000 pounds of sugar for the daily manufacture of ten million Dum Dums–and they are having a hard time affording it.  Can those numbers be for real?  Well, please don’t tell Dum Dum  that I have some sugar stockpiled in my office–mounds of the stuff that I have removed from my clients.  I know they will just try to recycle it right back into the very folk I took it from.

Diabetes might not seem to be as bad as guinea worm–but one can actually make many metaphorical if not actual comparisons.  Diabetes leaves many physical and emotional scars.   My clients look at me through eyes that plead to spare them from this scary disease–that comes complete with implements that stab and jab and symptoms that pain and worry–depleting the soul.  I scurry furiously to help pull them out of the sinkhole of this very complicated condition.  If a disease caused by a swarm of microscopic larvae can be eradicated from the planet, it is hard to believe we can’t do better to minimize the incidence or increase the reversal of diabetes.  The methods employed essentially would seem to be the same–clean food, governmental responsibility, education and cultural adaptation.

And so, that is why the work of Bryant Terry and the film of Byron Hurt is so important–and why folk should watch Soul Food Junkies and align it with their own food foundation.  And, why you should quickly sign on to the Food Summit Revolution 2013--a series of incredible interviews on these urgent food and health matters that will be aired between April 27th and May 5th.  Time is of the essence and Jimmy Carter deserves a rest.

Thank you for reading, really.  As always, thoughts, tweezers and twitter followers welcomed.

In health, Elyn

My Plate Haiku

Food made joyfully

As a gift of time and self

Feeds body and soul.

by Anne-Marie

My Plate Photo by Nirinjan

calories of separation

Mar31

I am related to Fay Wray.  Yes, the actress known for her theatrical screams, who portrayed Ann Darrow in the original King Kong film.  More dramatically, though inadvertently, she was “the beauty who killed the beast”.  I guess lots of ordinary people have some connection to famous ones–but mine is pretty crazy, right?  When Fay Wray died in 2004 at the age of 96, the lights of the Empire State Building were extinguished for fifteen minutes in her honor.

English: Fay Wray's star on the Hollywood Walk...

English: Fay Wray’s star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame at 6349 Hollywood Blvd. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The story is even a little more interesting.  Cousin Fay was born in Canada to a Mormon family who eventually moved to Hollywood. She attended high school there and entered the film industry at a young age.  Though most famous for her role in King Kong, she had many film and TV roles in her long career.  It was in Hollywood that she met and married my grandfather’s cousin, Robert Riskin.  Well, I know you are probably wondering if my connection by marriage counts–but Robert Riskin has a celebrated history as well.  He was a prolific playwright and screenwriter–an Academy Award winner best known for his work with the director Frank Capra on films such as It Happened One Night, You Can’t Take it With You and Mr. Deeds Goes to Town.

So, while they led very glamorous Hollywood lives, the bulk of my relatives lingered in New York.   Though many of them possessed various artistic talents, my celebrity relations remained thus limited.  Nonetheless, though I live in a tiny circumscribed world, I am tickled by the notion of brushes with fame.  My short list includes that of being picked up while hitchhiking in Big Sur by Carl Reiner and his wife, and of providing nutritional services so to speak to Tommy Lee Jones, Tom Brokaw, Peter Martins and Bill Bradley during my various stints as a waitress.   I actually had a little tiff with Mr. Bradley about a diet soda–he shouldn’t have been drinking the stuff anyway.

And, then there are my amazing nutrition connections.  I have mentioned before that not only do I know Mark Hyman–I lived with him during college;  I had breakfast with Marc David; I am pretty positive that I grew up in the same town as Michael Pollan–so that is association by geography; and I did clearly imagine seeing Mark Bittman in Brooklyn one day.

So, already sitting on a pretty full nest of impressive–though perhaps exaggerated–VIPs for a small village girl, imagine my surprise when this happened.  A few weeks back, my inbox began to flood with feed from my professional and personal networks about a new book called Salt Sugar Fat:  How the Food Giants Hooked Us.   Everywhere I turned, I was seeing or hearing about this new expose of the food industry.  My first reaction was to file this for later.  But, then something caught my eye– in the tiny print of the text that appeared on my screen.  The author was Pulitzer Prize-winning investigative journalist Michael Moss.   It took one quick message to my college and journalist friend Ellen to confirm my suspicion.  This was not just any old Mike, Mark or Tom–but another very real connection.

Michael Moss is an ex-boyfriend of Ellen.  I knew Michael through her.  Many years ago, when they were together, Michael was assigned to cover the New York State Legislature in Albany where he knew no one–except Pete and I–and baby Morgan.  So Michael hung out–and ate–with us.  At that time he was finishing his first book, Palace Coup:  The Inside Story of Harry and Leona Helmsley of which I have an autographed copy–made out to the three of us.  Though we lost touch a long time ago, I was aware that he was a well-regarded journalist.  He had won the Pulitzer in 2009 for his investigation of an E-coli outbreak.  So, I was not at all shocked to see that he had written another book.  Instead, I found it remarkable that someone I knew was bringing big attention to a matter so near and dear to my own work.  The news about the book now seemed more close than far.  Eager to get my hands on an excerpt the day it ran in the New York Times, I grabbed the magazine section from my brother-in-law before he even finished his beloved puzzle page.

In the weeks that have ensued since the book was published, Michael Moss has been very busy on the circuit with very public appearances including the Daily Show.  Its been nice to see him again.   From my perspective, I am not sure that the book unveils anything entirely new regarding how many processed food items are insidiously designed to ensnare its consumers.  Much of this has been revealed by the likes of Eric Schlosser in Fast Food Nation, David Kessler in The End of Overeating, and Greg Critser in Fat Land and discussed by people like–me.  However, from my reading of the excerpt, I think what Michael has done is put faces and names to the industry.  He got inside and he obtained admissions from those who were controlling the direction and deception of the products–that what they were doing was bad.  The depth of the collusion is always chilling to encounter, no matter how many times one learns of it–and for many this will be new.  He writes, “it’s telling that many of the wealthy food executives I spoke to about their products wouldn’t dream of eating the stuff themselves.”  How he managed to obtain hidden documents and how deeply he infiltrated, speaks to his highly tuned investigative acumen.

So, here I am again, giddy that I actually know someone else who is poised to affect the societal metabolism.  I am not sure how heavy his final indictment was–but he has certainly added to the conversation.  To highlight  what this is all about, I leave you with this little expose from nutritionist Rob Leighton about Krave Nation, Kellogg’s relatively new cereal.  Stuff like this makes me want to scream one really huge Fay Wray scream.  Believe me–I have it in me–even if it is just by marriage.

Please continue to join me in the collective noise making about food justice and reclaiming a path toward real food and societal health.    Drop me a line, say hi, and share your thoughts.  When you are famous I will be so glad to say I know you too–though I am thrilled to know you anyway, right now.

Speaking of which, I am always thrilled that Joanna Hess is my dear friend–absolutely and positively.  Joanna is a teacher, artist and visionary who has managed to bring additional beauty to the already stunning Hudson Valley region in New York.  Joanna is the recipient of a donor kidney which provided her with a rebirth to a healthy life.  April, the month of rebirth and resurrection is also National Donate Life Month.  Please read her article  (p.14) on the importance of organ donation and encourage yourself and your friends to become donors.

http://www.turnthetidefoundation.org/unjunkyourself.htm (fun videos and messages for kids)

http://www.hungryforchange.tv/  (important film)

In health, Elyn

My Plate for Joanna

Smooth peanut butter

Spread on a peeled banana

Snack time perfection.

By Gretchen

under the waning gibbous moon

Feb28

Tonight, as sleep calls to me, while the waning gibbous moon that illuminates the night sky is 88% full, I take an excerpt from a previous post, Muse of the Girl, in recognition of Eating Disorder Awareness Week.   A gibbous moon is one of the phases of the Moon, when the size of the illuminated portion is greater than half but not a full Moon.

Waning gibbous moon. Français : Lune gibbeuse ...

Waning Gibbous Moon (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I want to discuss the war that doesn’t get covered, that wages within many girls and women–of all ages and sizes–who hate their bodies and therefore deny a large part of their selves.  Or, who, by not loving themselves, direct a lot of abuse toward their physical temples in both thought and action.  Though they often wish they were invisible, we see them walking around in all sizes– including those we deem acceptable and those we envy.  Persons, whose self-worth has long been determined by the numbers on a scale or by an image in a mirror.

The war, where the collective pain and problems are as profound as those we ascribe to obesity–and the physical consequences are often more severe or deadly.  Here, confusion and dictates about food and eating scar the bountiful landscape.  Here, much potential is lost and much love is denied.  I think we all have wandered into and many have lingered in this place where reality is distorted and self-flagellation and deprivation seems deserved.

This is the ignored epidemic.  Not many resources are designated, but I have apparently been assigned to cover this front.  My field notebooks are filled with stories and quotes that are usually too intimate for me to share.  But, they reflect the reality that too many females (and increasingly, males) believe that without perfection they cannot be whole and should not take up much space on this generous planet.  It is heartbreaking to witness this.

Having been touched by the lives of so many amazing, intelligent, gorgeous, creative, warm, gentle, caring and funny individuals who have been broken in this battle of self and body, these are some things I wish would receive front page headlines:

Bodies change, contours soften, bellies round, babies fill, bloat happens, hunger informs, weight is not absolute, judgmental words injure, beauty shines, food nourishes, wisdom evolves, body protects, hormones ebb and flow, pleasure is permissible, fat is often just a feeling in one’s head and restriction revolts.

If you are living this, put down the staunch resistance, begin the surrender and trust your inner feminine voice.  Please know you are all so beautiful and you possess that which really matters.  Take a moment to put your hand on your heart and belly and send love to yourself.  Take a deep slow breath and be thankful to your body.  Send a healing thought out to other women, because I assure you, you are so not alone.  Hold the daughters and ask to be held.  Reclaim your place.  Change the internal tapes.  Know there are many paths to healing available.  The world needs everything you have to offer.

How fully illuminated is your feminine moon?  What else might you wish for others to know and trust?

Any sharings will be welcomed and respected.

In love and health, Elyn  

my plate

my plate

My Plate Haiku

Deep scarlet red beets

 Reveal your sweetness to me

 Slip out of your skins  

By Elyn

who do i love?

Feb15

Happy Valentine’s Day.  My day started out with a visit from Ms. Henry.  Now, if she is not the true expression of this global love fest, I don’t know who is.  One might almost expect for her to leave a trail of rose petals behind as she spreads love wherever she goes.  Ms. Henry always has some story that both surprises and delights.  Today, she told me that she had informed everyone, that in no way were they to get her any chocolate this holiday.  If they wished to get her anything, she would gladly accept red foods.  And, wouldn’t you know it, her six-year-old godson and his mom gifted her with apples and pomegranates.  And, the little boy told her that they had shopped for the fruits at the food coop.  It was only 9:15 in the morning and I felt my heart opening wide.  photo (1)

The rest of my work day was filled with more touching moments  as I had some other clients tell of their own personal blossomings and awakenings on this lifetime eating adventure.  I was feeling light in spirit as I raced out of the office to tend to some mothering duties–and the late afternoon sun granted me enough warmth that I shed my dark winter coat and threw it in the back seat of the car.  After a little bit of rushing around, I was then grateful to join a circle of friends who were gathering for a cozy showing of the movie Moonstruck, thanks to the abundant and incredible hospitality of Heidi, whose love flows out through her wonderful culinary gifts and the pouring of the perfect glass of wine.  Tonight’s Italian theme-based dinner was baked ziti, (meatballs on the side) and rapini.  Rapini is a green and Brassica rapa vegetable, rich in Vitamins A, C, and E, folate, potassium and detoxifying indole-3-carbinol compounds dear to my heart–of course.  Oh, and  beautiful, homemade individual heart-shaped flavanoid-blessed chocolate cakes.  How sweet is that?

So, though my main squeeze was not home, and all cuddling was reserved for Chico the cat, it was still a special Valentine’s Day.  In its honor I want to take a moment to share a list of some of the (not previously referenced) amazing people I love whose work informs and supports my own and who inspire me by the generous sharing of their wisdom, wit, intelligence, passion and pure love for keeping us all a little healthier and happier.

Nutritional Wisdom:

Andrea Nakayama:  http://www.replenishpdx.com/

JJ Virgin:  http://jjvirgin.com/

Paula Owns:  http://www.paulaowens.com/

Lisa Nelson:  http://www.lisanelsonrd.com/

Gentle Approaches to Dietary Self Management:

Angela Minelli:  http://www.wellnesswithangela.com/

Environmental Toxins and our Personal Health:

Lara Adler:  http://www.laraadler.com/

Body Acceptance:

Deah Schwartz:  http://www.drdeah.com/

Parental Amusement:

Honest Toddler:  (I just love when Zena reads me these tweets!):  https://twitter.com/HonestToddler

Please take a moment to check these out.  I hope they will lead you to that which you may wish to know.  Share with me if there is anyone you love whose message is also along these lines.

With full heart, I call it a day–loving you.   Like this if you will or forward me some love by way of a comment, subscription or sharing.  Or, a My Plate photo or haiku!

In health, Elyn

PS.  Both Ms. Henry and Chico could use some healing prayers, so please send some their way.

Rose's Plate

Rose’s Plate

My Plate Haiku

Hearts are not just

reserved for romance–

every living thing is in love!

By Kat   (my friend, whose writing and photos I also adore)  http://katadventures.com/author/katadventures/

the amazing mr. s–still ticking and kicking butt

Feb4

Hello,  I am re-posting this story about Mr. S on the occasion today of his 90th birthday.  He came to see me two weeks ago.  We discussed vegetable juicing.  He was about to purchase a juicer–actually two, one for him and one for his daughter.  The rest of the story is still the same.

I had a visit this week from my friend, Mr. S..

I first met Mr. S. three years ago, when he was 85 years old.  So, he is now 88. Like clockwork, he comes to see me every six months, as close to the exact date as possible.  He gets signed onto my schedule as a patient, comes to my office and sits in the chair, and hands me his glucometer to show me his blood sugar readings–which are always normal.  That is about as far as I can fairly say his patient status extends.  For the rest of our encounter, he serves in the role of my inspiration. organic Heirloom tomatoes at Slow Food Nation'...

Mr. S. is a lifetime military man who served in three wars.  Yes, three wars.  He was born before the Great Depression.  He has had colon cancer, some heart irregularities, and a touch of  diabetes.  He has a handful of doctors he sees religiously.  He is by all usual accounting, old.  But, when I go out to the waiting room to call him, he is always sitting there in a nicely pressed, often comical T-shirt, stylin’ sneakers and with his MP3 headphones in his ears.  He is muscular and fit and he truly looks like a kid.  He still works part-time, walks most everywhere, and has a profoundly full and secure memory bank.

Six months ago, when I last saw him, his appointment was on a day we had a really big snowstorm.  Instead of driving to work, I took the commuter bus.  I had to trudge, in Dr. Zhivago-like fashion, down streets that plows and shovels could not yet tend to and that cars and buses could not negotiate.  I came in the back door of the building, frosted with ice and quite bedraggled.  As I turned on my computer, I realized Mr. S. was there waiting for me.  Apologetically, and still dripping and bothered, I went to receive him.  There he was–serene and bone dry, as if he had come in from an alternate climate and mindset zone–like Key West.

Though he is the consummate gentleman, and will not let me hold the door for him, he hails me by my last name, as if we are old war buddies.  Each visit plays out essentially the same.  He bemoans the physical impairment he witnesses around him due to collective ill-health, he is shocked by the corpulence of young people and he is disturbed by how poorly most are eating.  He always asks me if I know who invented those little motorized scooters that assist those who are mobility impaired.  He considers them a serious hindrance to most who rely on them.  I reply that I don’t know.

He maintains that most folk hear, but they refuse to listen.  Whereas, I tend to see the current health crisis as being due to a combination of societal failures, he is mainly about personal responsibility.  He god blesses me frequently, confounded that I have the patience to do what I do–repeatedly trying to knock sense into people, as he says.  He is a philosopher and a sage, and though I do infer that he has a few skeletons in his own closet, he awakes each day committed to being the best that he can be.

He buys good old regular food, he cooks it and he enjoys it.  We chat about what he has recently prepared.  Beans and veggies are usually in the mix and he loves fresh, local tomatoes. I have on three different occasions had Mr. S. accompany me to little talks I have given, as my daily quest is to try to inspire health.  When I introduce him, I ask the audience to guess how old he is.  The oldest guess so far has been 71.  When we reveal his true age, the crowd goes crazy.

Now, it could be said that Mr. S. has just been blessed by a good set of genes or that he is just lucky.  He has had not only one, but three big opportunities to have been blown to pieces and yet, here he is, still intact both mentally and physically.  He obviously has some good collection of the factors that we seem to understand as longevity promoting.

However, before our sessions come to an end, he always reminds me of one more thing. Mr. S. has a Mrs. S..  She is frail with some dementia.  Above all else, he says, it is his job to be healthy in order that he may take care of her.  If he wasn’t able to be there for her, who would?

Although I have heard it before, I am always a sucker for this part of the story.   It seems that we are not wired fully for self-preservation as self-destructive behaviors are too easily inclined.  This is especially true for men who don’t seem to take as good care of themselves as women do.  What Mr. S. understands is that love is a necessary ingredient in the big gestalt of health.

He is also not too far off in his perception that my work entails a high degree of trying to knock sense into people. However, rather than using a sledge-hammer approach, I too try to offer and prescribe as high a dose of Vitamin L(ove) as I can.  Perhaps, it is really all we need.

Do you have a Mr. S. who inspires your life?

In health, Elyn

I hope you enjoy the beautiful new My Plate Plates.  I am still accepting more plates and can really use some new Haikus.  So, send me your plate photos, inspired Haikus and likes and greetings, so I know you are dropping by for some virtual tea and crumpets.

susan's plate

susan’s plate

My Plate Haiku
Food is medicine
 Farmers are doctors, Cooks priests
 Eat, pray, eat, pray, love.  
 By Gordon

so-duh

Jan22

I have a confession to make.  I recently had a soda.  Yes, I did.  That means, of my own volition, I purchased the vibrantly colored 12 oz can, pulled up on that little flip top, and brought that fizzy, bubbly nectar–rife with all its high fructose corn syrup–up to my own lips…and swallowed.  Then I swallowed again.  And, I did all of this under the bright lights of the  public eye.  I tell ya.  That little burst of Sunkist Orange Soda was quite satisfying.

It was a cold winter’s night.  Pete and I had gone to our little local community-run movie theater where nice volunteers staff a humble concession stand.  I don’t really know how it happened.  I was thirsty.  Ordinarily, I would have just purchased a water–which was what I was assuming I was about to do again as I approached the counter.  However, uncharacteristically, my thirst informed me right then and there that it would not be humored this time by just plain water and it insisted that I consider the offerings stocked in the small glass-front refrigerator.  

I was stunned.  I did not know what to do.  Healthy-oriented me does really enjoy a few lines of lightly sweetened specialized iced teas but there were none of those to be found in that bastion of freon-cooled fare.  Instead, there were just waters, sodas and those pouches of Capri Suns that you stick  little straws into.  I panicked.  The cloyingly sweet fruit juice concoctions aroused a mild nausea, the sodas provoked my usual disgust and disdain and the concession people were beginning to look at me funny.  Suddenly, the sun logo on the little orange can seemed to wink at me and I found myself saying, “Yes, I’ll have an orange soda.”  When I went back to sit in my chair, Pete turned to tell me that the seat was saved…for me.  He really did not recognize me with that can in my hand.  The last time he saw me with a can of soda was about 1981 when we were parched and poor living in Dallas, Texas.

Now, you might not think this was such a big deal without appreciating that I have about the lowest per capita soda consumption and am kind of like the Carrie Nation of the soda-drinking world.  I tote around soda bottles emptied of their original content and refilled with their hidden sugar equivalency.  I  paste pictures of skulls and cross-bones on these bottles.  I make my victims hold those bottles while I read them the insidious list of ingredients that their beloved brands contain.  I make them weep as they promise to not ever imbibe again.  When forced on rare occasions to empty the bottles of their original contents so I can use them for my own devices, I don plastic gloves and a face mask.  That is how corrosive I consider these substances to be.  And, if anyone had ever dared offer my own kids a soda in my presence, who knows what their fate may have been.

So, imagine my inner confusion as I leaned over and whispered to Pete during the movie, “This is pretty good.”  Now, don’t get me wrong.  It is not like I never had the stuff.  I was raised on soda.  The only thing that had stopped me from having a relationship with it long ago was an early adoption of a whole foods/crunchy granola lifestyle, an understanding of the depleting aspects of white sugar and a resistance to large multi-national corporations.  If I had not had such a strong philosophical position on such matters way back, I might have just gone along enjoying these nice little fizzies with the rest of the masses.  Especially the innocent flavors like orange, black cherry and ginger ale.  Sometimes they do just hit the spot like nothing else can.  If not bolstered by my iron-clad conviction that soda should be a banned substance, I could easily imagine getting another one of these little cans of sunshine the next time I go to the movies.  And then, maybe when I go to a restaurant or if I am on a trip.  I could then just keep a few in my own fridge.

Maybe I should have relaxed a little last week with my lovely 35-year-old-client–300 plus pounds, diagnosed with diabetes a year ago whose blood sugars are better but still not in good control.  He is drinking way less Pepsi than he used to.  Now,he only has one or two cans a day, sometimes none, while on the job during the day as a building maintenance supervisor.  Should the fact that he is the father of five– the youngest of which was with him during our consult and who was the cutest thing ever–matter?  Is it just a coincidence that he sees a connection between his blood sugar levels and his soda consumption?

Maybe I shouldn’t have tried so hard last week to figure out what was up with my 34-year-old pregnant client.  Prior to this pregnancy, her chart indicated that there was evidence of high blood sugar–hyperglycemia–without a full diagnosis of diabetes.  She came in bemoaning her foul moods, agitation and lack of both patience and energy.  Came to find out she has been consuming 2 to 3 liters of Cherry Coke for a long while.  Imagine her surprise when I pulled out a sugar-filled bottle of her favorite blend from under my desk.

Once again, there is new hoopla in the divisive soda world as Coca-Cola is releasing these commercial spots touting their supposed corporate responsibility in the fight against obesity while at the same time ignoring the true effects of their confectionery concoctions.  You can watch one of them here.  My peeps, Mark Bittman, Marion Nestle, CSPI and others  are thankfully responding to this deceptive campaign accordingly.  This is good because I am busy in the trenches.   These little stories I cite above are just examples of situations I really encounter over and over, even in the course of a day.  Corroded teeth, eroded stomachs, poor mood regulation, extreme belly fat and of course, diabetes lie in the wake of soda consumption and its adherent addiction.  It is this that fuels my manic reaction to the stuff–and will continue to do so.

Being diagnosed with diabetes is like falling down Alice’s rabbit hole.  Every day, I meet the people who have unfortunately fallen into the hole chasing some elusive White Rabbit.  Reality changes mighty quickly and quite extremely.  Simply awakening from a strange dream will not make it go away.  Eating cake will certainly not help and the Red Queen is apt to yell, “Off with her toes!”   And, Coca Cola and Pepsico   will have nothing to offer except a Cheshire Cat smug grin.

So, though I enjoyed that little refreshment, it will be a long time until my next one.  In the meantime, I leave you with a link to some powerful stories.  A Widow’s Story and Simply Raw.

As always, I look forward to your thoughtful comments and warm hellos.

In health, Elyn

I am so glad to introduce the new My Plates.  Thanks to those who have submitted their beautiful plate photos.  Photos and haikus always welcome.

erin's plate

erin’s plate

My Plate Haiku

Food is medicine

Farmers are doctors, Cooks priests

Eat, pray, eat, pray, love.

by Gordon