out of the fire and into the frying pantry

Feb19

I am not new to this rodeo. For about 40 years, in many ways, I have provided opportunities for people stripped of the usual means, to get some good food. Addressing the nutritional mishaps associated with prevailing health issues–in which I have been long engaged–generally requires food to achieve improved outcomes. Procuring such food, especially with a dearth of necessary currency, begs some creativity and much activity.

Some of my activities involved people coming to me for a few healthy and tasty nibbles, but mainly they required me to send them scurrying off to another program or service; or sometimes more directly to grocery stores, farmers’ markets, veggie mobiles, and food pantries with some voucher, coupon or referral form in hand. While glad to have some options to feed the malnourished cells of chronic disease and to stave off the hungry wolf knocking at the door, I always did so with a sigh. Scurrying is not an easy form of ambulation, especially for those whose bodies are worn down by the toll of strained lives and the lack of quality food. This would not be easy one-stop shopping.

For many years I listened to the sensitive stories of many hundreds of individuals striving toward some recapture of wellness. In exchange, I offered education and support, and guided people as best I could to obtain the remedy of good food. While I would hear of the relief that receiving SNAP benefits (or having them restored) instilled; or the thrill of being able to get fresh fruits and vegetables, only occasionally was I witness to the experience of having a grocery bag in hand and heading to the comfort of one’s home.

This however changed for me a year ago when I took the position of running a Food Farmacy. It is a small food pantry nestled within a medical facility. Its mission (and thus its name) fits into the growing Food As Medicine model of programs by providing health-supporting and enhancing foods–and the services of a Registered Dietitian. As we may look similar to other pantries, distinguishing ourselves and reinforcing messaging about food as a pathway to healing is important. Clients in the pantry community are referred to as guests. At my pantry, guests are those with nutritional risk factors for chronic disease or compromised well-being, and without enough–or enough good–food to eat. They are referred by a medical or behavioral health provider.

Our main model is to provide an order of client-chosen food, generally on a monthly basis. We strive to serve everyone regularly for some number of consecutive months–with a focus on healthy offerings. (But, with other funding streams we operate a little differently.) When I started in December 2021, Covid still dictated our practices. We took all food orders by phone and gave the packed bags out at curbside or by delivery. While this allowed for some interpersonal contact, it was somewhat limited. This changed in September 2022, when we became able to fully open our doors and welcome guests back into the pantry, by appointment. We now serve many in person, enabled some by a limited grant-funded ride service, though a fair number still require delivery–and support by phone. Limited access to transportation is a profound contributor to not having food.

Being able to develop relationships with our guests is certainly facilitated by being able to do so in person, as is deepening the conversation about food while standing amidst it. Discussing the intimate topic of our eating behaviors and revealing how full or empty the larder is, is harder to do on the telephone with a stranger than in the presence of someone greeting you at the door with a warm welcome. Still, we need to do both.

In my role, I carry food out to cars and sometimes, when my volunteer drivers are not available, I do the deliveries. This means schlepping bags into trunks and back seats; or, in my urban locale, involves driving down alleys, circling through subsidized-housing neighborhoods, climbing steep stairs, and occasionally riding elevators to knock on a door. I gain entry to the threshold of someone’s personal space and transfer the goods. And, while it is usually a quick transaction, that is a powerful exchange. The expressions of gratitude are deep, as the most basic human need–food–is made available.

Then there are connections that take place in the Farmacy. Here things go from soup to nuts, so to speak. The welcome, the conversation, entering the pantry space, being up close and personal with each item, the decision-making, and the often mutual act of the ‘filling of the bags’. I am out constantly hunting and gathering for as much fresh produce and meaty morsels as I can–largely aided and abetted by my regional Food Bank–currently overly strained, as are most–and Nourish New York dollars. To procure some particular healthy items, and enough food, I also have to purchase retail food and rely on some other food donations as well. It is a weekly dance of food in and food out, dictated by availability and price and how many we are serving. Though fresh is always celebrated, I have seen even a can of asparagus, beets, collard greens, olives, pineapple –or salmon make a heart happily flutter. Many a floppy tote bag turns upright, stuffed with victuals, fulfilling its duty to help folk carry out and carry on. Right then and there, some magic happens. Food has appeared. While not as surprising as pulling a rabbit out of a hat, or a quarter from behind the ear, there is often some degree of awe. Here, I witness most directly, more than with any of my other experiences, how much this matters. Here is whispered, ‘This is a lifesaver’ or, ‘I can’t believe this’.

For many of our guests, making way to this little, simple food sanctuary–if I may call it that–is like a pilgrimage. Some arrive limping, others in wheelchairs, on crutches–this week, a man with a cane, due to a bullet lodged somewhere in his body. A chair stands waiting in the pantry for those who need to sit. Pain accompanies many, hiding in backs, hips, knees, and feet. Rarely, but not never, in a missing toe or limb. It hobbles in and hobbles out. Sadly though, we can’t perform miracles. We can only provide food, some education, lists of other resources, and an ounce of love.

As big as my work seems to me, this Food Farmacy operates at the tiniest of scale–a staff of three and the few lovelies who lend their helping hands. Out in the big wide world, big programs, projects and pantries with similar intentions are hard at work, day and night. They employ many, yet largely rely on scores of volunteers with the gathering capacity of mice and squirrels; and a skillset that surpasses those of Santa’s elves. A huge invisible army gathers, transports, warehouses, organizes, packs, cooks, distributes, educates, and delivers sustenance to millions. All are starved for dollars and crave legislation that will subsidize their efforts. Wow. Time for a group pulse check.

Ostensibly, there are two intentions of these programs–to decrease nutrition insecurity (and hunger), and to ameliorate–if not heal–illness of such magnitude that should have been prevented in the first place– predominantly diabetes, heart disease, and obesity. Unfortunately, these diagnosis-limited programs exclude so many other conditions that are exacerbated by poor nutrition. There are many different types of program design, though they generally fall into the categories of Medically Tailored Meals, Healthy Groceries, and Produce Prescriptions. While some great initiatives are underway, and some good food medicine is going down, they often lack sustainability, sufficient dose, reach, and duration; and additionally, adequate targeted nutritional sophistication to address the profound problems largely related to the long-term metabolic dysfunction at hand.

At the end of my day, I can find myself collapsed on the couch–sometimes with my head hanging over the edge, below my heart. In its usual dog-like apparition, my dilemma wanders over and licks my face. It takes a seat, quietly nearby. It knows what I will ask, but I ask it anyway. Does this really have to be so hard? Is it too little too late, and, are we really making even a dent in the problem at large? Not only do the little mice, squirrels and elves have to do the hard lifting, they are also expected to measure the impact–to prove to the big guys that they should care and maybe invest. Maybe they will after many more short-term pilot programs are implemented; and while they limit dollars, access, and impose restrictions on and to programs that are known to provide benefits. How’s that for passing the buck? Lots of little mammals have now been left to shoulder the burden of the collective failure of many entities to prioritize the proper nourishment of the populace.

I’ve had my eyes on this work for a long time, since the early years of these efforts, and have shared my thoughts about my own Veggie Rx program in Inventive Incentive. When you peek at the research literature, what you mainly find is mention of increased fruit and vegetable consumption of about a quarter to a half-cup or so per day–which is considered significant. Or, sometimes a small decrease in diabetes markers or pounds. Less easy to measure, but occasionally found, is a documented decrease in hospital admissions–which is what the big insurance companies care about for cost containment. So much wonderful effort for a relatively small return in quantitative terms–though there are other benefits. Our guests report eating better, feeling improved physically and emotionally, being less worried, and trying new foods. Many appreciate being cared for by our program. And while I can see it is very helpful, it is often too little too late.

When I look both broadly at the societal issues, and intimately at the guests served by my little pantry–I am deeply saddened. How could such injury have been imposed on so many? (Not to mention the insult to dignity that need for such charity can provoke.) Chewed up and discarded by many forces–I wince sometimes at what is required to come find me in some corner of a building, just to get a modicum of food and nutrition education and support–no matter how nice, easy and good we try to make the process.

My dilemma looks at me with those adoring eyes. It knows I have a tendency to be rather grim on these matters. It knows I have bigger thoughts, but it begs for one. So, I tell it something my mother once told me. In the olden days, when my mother was a little girl, the children were given a spoonful of cod liver oil to start their day. Now, maybe that’s where things should start. And, then there are my other ideas about……My dilemma paws at my arm. Oh, what’s that? You were just asking for a dog treat?

Thankfully, there are so many ordinary folks with big hearts that are pumping with generosity. Much gratitude is due to the multitudes who are out there day in and day out, in various capacities (including growing our food and fostering transformation) feeding their neighbors main dish entrees served with a side of love. Or, maybe love is the entree and food the side dish that truly matters. Please check out the organizations, resources, and articles below, consider donations where accepted, and look at the love spread by Alphabet Rockers–a hip-hop children’s music collective based in Oakland, California. Their work is focused on education, diversity, and a healthy lifestyle.

Thank you for listening, sharing, following, and supporting my writing. Comments and greetings are always welcome.

In health, Elyn

My Plate Rap

Average out what’s heavy

Multiply your veggies

Eliminate the junk food

Simply makes you feel good. By the Alphabet Rockers

Healing Meals Community Project, HEAL Food Alliance (10-point Platform)

Tri-County Services-Ellis Food Farmacy (Agency: Tri-County Services, Option: Ellis Food Farmacy)–my program

Green Bronx Machine; About Fresh/Fresh Connect; Tangelo; Future Farmers of America

Food Bank News: Food Insecurity Isn’t About Food; Here’s What To Do About It

Foodtank: 13 Global Food Banks Reshaping Food Distribution to Address the Root Causes of Hunger

food insecurity, food pantries, food as medicine, foodtank, HEAL Food Alliance, Alphabet Rockers, Healing Meals Community Project, Food Bank News

Could Not Afford Balanced Meal

Mar19

I am a little embarrassed to admit this. Here it goes. I came late to the term Food Insecurity. This term is so ubiquitous now in the light of the tragic consequences of the Covid-19 pandemic. Everyday, reports about food insecurity are rolling off the presses and plastered everywhere, shocking us into disbelief as we equate it with images of endless lines of cars and people awaiting offerings of food donations. Though the immensity of the problem came on with a vengeance, we seem to have assumed that describing it in this way long had a place and an understanding of meaning among the general populace. The experience is not new.

I am always late to catch on to new trends, including those in our vocabulary. When I do eventually gain awareness, sometimes by use of blunt force, the new words or phrases do not roll easily off my tongue or out through my typing fingers. So, while I may have lagged behind on ‘cancel culture’ or ‘on fleek’–but, food insecurity? C’mon. Really?

Percentage of households reporting indicators of adult food insecurity in 2019 — Indicators of Adult Food Insecurity–2019 USDA

Actually, the definition of food insecurity has many variations. These include: the lack of consistent access to sufficient food for an active healthy life; a lack of available financial resources for food at the household level; a lack of access by all household members at all times to enough food for an active, healthy life, which includes as a minimum the ready availability of nutritionally adequate and safe foods–and assured ability to acquire acceptable foods in socially acceptable ways (without resorting to emergency food supplies, scavenging, stealing, or other coping strategies); and, the state of being without reliable access to a sufficient quantity of nutritious food. While similar, the nuanced differences may contain some significance.

In an attempt to capture the degree of food insecurity and ideally, but imprecisely, the extent of hunger, the USDA established two sub-categories: Low food security–the reduced quality, variety, or desirability of diet with little or no indication of reduced food intake; and, Very low food security–multiple indications of disrupted eating patterns and reduced food intake. (See chart.) (Hmm, ‘Gained weight’ should also be listed.) However one wishes to slice it, it is not pretty. In 2018, an estimated 1 in 9 Americans were food insecure, equating to over 37 million Americans, including more than 11 million children.[1] It is a lot worse now. Feeding America, the nation’s largest hunger relief organization, tracks this data, with information on current impacts documented here.

As a Nutritionist who has concerned herself with food insecurity issues for almost half a century, not only should I have been hip to the term sooner, I should have been way ahead of the curve–like one of the first to know. Apparently, which means I just learned, the USDA began collecting and measuring data on food insecure households in 1995. That year, I was working for the Special Supplemental Nutrition Program for Women, Infants and Children or WIC-administered by the USDA. Clearly, I missed the internal memo of what they were up to.

My own ignorance came to stare at me with incredulity when in late 2018 my work found me supporting recipients of FINI Program Grants. I understood the program, and it was easy to casually throw around the acronym, but I would hesitate each time I had to recall what FINI stood for. FINI was shorthand for the Food Insecurity Nutrition Incentive Program. FINI Grants were established and written into the 2014 Farm Bill to ‘incentivize’ the purchase of fruits and vegetables by Supplemental Nutrition Assistance Program (SNAP) recipients.

In 2019, just as I had cemented the name of the program into my prefrontal cortex, it was changed to the Gus Schumacher Nutrition Incentive Program or GusNIP, in memory of the former Undersecretary of Agriculture. He was instrumental in visioning and implementing early models of expanding produce purchasing power through vouchers for low-income consumers, and advancing the legislation that authorized the Farm Bill funding. The new name retained the nutrition incentive part but snipped away the food insecurity part. I appreciate the intention of the program, and have championed its cause and those who lovingly administer it, but I’d prefer the use of the word ‘support’ rather than ‘incentive’. And, I think “Nutrition Security Support’ better encourages the matter.

I also came to learn that there was a Food Insecurity Screening Tool. Developed by the USDA’s Economic Research Service when they began measuring such things, the original version contained 18 questions. That has had different iterations through the years with variations of ten, six and even down to the Hunger Vital Sign’s apparently validated, yet oddly crafted, two questions which are:

“Within the past 12 months, we worried whether our food would run out before we had money to buy more.”

“Within the past 12 months, the food we bought just didn’t last and we didn’t have money to get more.”

Yikes, how did I miss that? How had it taken me so long, just a mere year or two before the pandemic flashed Food Insecurity before us all like a neon sign, to find familiarity with these terms? Was insecurity a word I used only in describing myself? What had I been doing with my many hundreds of clients to ascertain someone’s vulnerabilities in order to know how to help them? Had I missed something big?

To make sure I hadn’t just forgotten, I searched all of my 125 blog posts dating from 2010 to check. Before 2018, I used the term twice. I am pretty sure that means that a year ago, when I did a big blog cleanup, I inserted it to make it appear that I was appropriately informed back then. But, this has made me really stop to wonder–how had I functioned without the use of the term and the screening tool?

The answer may be relatively simple. With my work in low-income communities, there was not usually much to discern in the way of food insecurity–it was the norm. Regarding distinctions between low or very low levels, I definitely saw both–though I rarely encountered abject hunger as one might in other environments. Hunger in its most pure form is sadly more prevalent now in the wake of Covid-19. Most of the folx who had the capacity to find their way to a nutrition appointment, had at least some resources. Once there with me, I had the time to sit and have real conversations about the intimate details of their feeding lives. And, I employed my own screening tools to glean what I needed to know. Any nutrition consult necessitates some vague calculation of financial means and available food dollars. There is a big chunky space between peanut butter and almond butter.

Nonetheless, I know that many details of people’s circumstances have slipped through my cracks. I have discussed my limitations here. However, I think my assessments regarding my clients’ food resources were somewhat near the mark, though I still feel badly about the time I recommended wild rice to a man who expressed to me his dismay due to the price.

That misstep highlights a distinction between nourishment for the still generally well, and the oh-not-so-good. This marks how the differences mentioned above in defining food insecurity in relation to ‘nutritious’ may matter. Also, if active lifestyle means caring for families, young children, elders, the ill or disabled–one’s own or other’s–or doing low wage service work or manual labor, then my clients were quite active. Healthy was often not up for debate. Through it all, my office desk drawer was well stocked with referrals to every food and health support resource and program around–including some I created. Yet, my efforts could not surmount the magnitude of the underlying problems.

So then, what terms were I using if not food insecurity? A whole bunch, including: poverty, exhaustion, trauma, nutritional violence, food deserts, malnutrition, restrictive and confusing SNAP regulations and bureaucracy, social services system overload, toxic food culture, exclusions for immigrants, disparities, inequality, high food costs, inadequate wages and a sad story to name a few. I guess I got by.

In closing, I share this telling by Jadon-Maurice Forbes, I Didn’t Drink Water At Dinner as a Poor, Black Kid. Start here. You may then be able to skip all the above.

Thank you for listening, sharing, following, and supporting my writing. Please subscribe in the sidebar to receive notice of new posts. Comments and greetings always welcome.

Be well. Take care. Stay safe. Let’s heal.

In health, Elyn

My Plate Haiku

Food bought did not last

Could not afford balanced meal

Food Insecurity

by 37 million Americans

isle of you

Feb14

I describe a large part of my career as sitting in small rooms speaking with individuals about the intimate art of eating and self-nourishment. My geography was usually contained within a 10′ x 10′ space. However, the last few years have found me wandering about (albeit mainly, though not entirely, figuratively) in a larger and more vast landscape observing the radical movements taking place concerned also with matters related to eating and nourishment.

These movements are taking what was quiet and personal and are making them loud and public. They are serving to challenge the status quo that served to foster the nutrition and health quandaries and crises that have defined the past few decades. These are movements made up of people passionately determined to decry the depriving of access to real food, the poisoning of plants and people, the hunger of our children and seniors, and the seducing of the vulnerable with manipulative marketing. They assert through their efforts and missions that denying folk of their birthright of health is no longer ok.

This week I’ve been trying to decide how I might, in a timely manner, in the spirit of Valentine’s Day appropriately honor those whose work I have stumbled upon in my wanderings whose efforts have astounded me. I did so once, many years ago, in Who Do I Love. While flailing about in my decision-making process, one new food hero came to my attention. With that, my dilemma gently placed its hand on my heart. It said, “Just do it. Don’t delay. Just put this out there. Now.”

So here are a few of those Who I Love ‘Two’. There are many more organizations and individuals also doing what I call Random Acts of Crazy Love. This short list includes initiatives addressing food/nutritional insecurity, food injustice or apartheid, hunger, and health either started by just one person taking one huge step, that I have a personal connection to, are perhaps not well-known and/or have struck me with Cupid’s arrow. My brief descriptions do not them justice, therefore, please check them out to really see the deep work being done and where donations would be appreciated.

Keep Slauson Fresh — Olympia Auset shows up and commits. Frustrated by the lack of healthy food in South LA, and concerned about its inherent consequences, she sets up pop-up produce stands and delivery service for (organic) produce at different locations on different dates throughout the community. This is no small feat. Now in its third year, with more than 25,000 pounds of fresh produce sold, Olympia is working toward establishing a healthy market in the neighborhood.

Chilis on Wheels–In 2014, Michelle Carrera wanted to just do something to help her community. When on Thanksgiving Day she discovered that soup kitchens did not serve vegan meals, she made her own vegan chili and carted it through Union Square in NYC on a wagon. Seeing the response, she committed herself to prepare vegan food to serve those in need. Now, the organization’s chapters continue to do that, and, so much more.

I Love You Restaurant–Jaden Smith started a Vegan Food Truck serving the homeless free meals in Los Angeles.

The Market@25th–This is a full-service grocery store with a mission in a historically-rich but economically-ignored neighborhood in Richmond, Virginia. The community-focused store provides an opportunity for local food entrepreneurs, cultural connection, and nutrition, health, and other empowering educational programming.

First Fruits Farm — Jason Brown was the highest-paid Center in NFL history, but he walked away from a 35 million dollar contract with the St. Louis Rams to become a farmer. Spiritually inspired, he taught himself to farm and now grows and harvests over 100,000 pounds of vegetables in North Carolina to serve communities in need.

Champale Anderson— This St. Louis, Missouri woman prepares and distributes free sandwiches and snacks to hungry children in her neighborhood.

Civil Eats –Founded by Naomi Starkman, Civil Eats serves up daily online news and commentary about the American Food System. The content is quite comprehensive and the stories are compelling. It is where I often learn about these amazing folks and initiatives.

Mazon–A Jewish response to hunger through advocacy, education and strategic partnerships.

Comfort Food Community–Here are good folk doing big things in the small rural communities in Washington County, New York (not far from my home) to eliminate hunger and food insecurity, and building community through the power of food.

LEAP for Local Food, Produce Perks Midwest, Farm Fresh Rhode Island, Community Food and Agriculture Coalition–These are my friends at four state and region-wide organizations committed to improving the health of their communities and the strength of their local agricultural and food systems through policy and advocacy work and the growth of nutrition incentive programs facilitating healthy food access for low-income citizens.

And last but not least,

Feed The Mass–Jacobsen Valentine (yes!), founded this nonprofit cooking school in his hometown of Portland, Oregon providing affordable culinary education to address the culinary and health gap in his community. The low-cost and scholarship-supported classes for adults and children focus on meals based on whole foods and made from scratch.

Well, that is it for now, though there are many more to mention. Whose work do you love? Please let me know.

Thank you for listening, sharing, following and supporting my writing. Please subscribe in the sidebar to receive notice of new posts. Comments and greetings always welcome.

Happy Valentine’s Day.

Isle of you, Elyn

Isle of You was the name of a little store in Ithaca, New York–where once upon a time I found my heart–high on a hill.

Isle of You Necklace My Plate

My Plate Quote

I alone cannot change the world,

but I can cast a stone across the waters

to create many ripples.

by Mother Teresa

Les prix de l’académie

Feb10

Yesterday, I ran to the supermarket for a few items.

My friends and always gracious hosts, Janet and Paul had invited me over to watch the Academy Awards. This has been a ritual of ours for the past few years. Together we had watched the debacle when La La Land mistakenly was announced as Best Picture instead of Moonlight. Thankfully, that shocking moment was resolved and had a good ending as we laughingly bid each other goodnight. Unlike another shared TV experience–2016’s Election Night–which ended in tears.

Berries and Cream Crepes - These amazing crepes are filled with a cheesecake like filling, and sweet juicy berries for a decadent breakfast or dessert

This year’s text invite asked the guests if crepes were ok for the evening’s fare. Mais oui, I responded and asked if I could make any fillings. Within seconds, Janet confidently suggested Caramel Sauce or Lemon Curd. I declined on the Caramel Sauce but offered that I would bring Lemon Curd–which I had never made before–and whipped cream.

So mid-afternoon, there I was in the store in search of lemons, heavy cream and a few other things. While I was standing by the nuts, thinking they might be something else I could bring to the fête, I noticed a man near me, also musing on some shelf options. He was holding both a bag of Oreos and a bag of either hot dog buns or sub rolls. I am not sure which. There was something in the juxtaposition and composition that struck me. Maybe it was the way he was carrying them rather than pushing them around in a cart. My mind fleetingly registered some run-of-the-mill judgmental thought, equating him and those exposed milled white floured and sugared products. It then returned to thinking about nuts and chose Salt and Vinegar Almonds.

At the check-out area, I was glad to see that the Academy Awards did not provoke the same food shopping frenzy as the Super Bowl. I picked the “fewer than 14 items” lane for the sake of time. I was starting to feel rushed as there were still lemons to curd and cream to whip. However, after unloading my cart onto the belt, I discerned there was trouble at the register. The older, slightly disheveled man checking out in front of me was having some difficulty with the credit card machine and his pin number. I exhaled and told myself just to be patient. Besides, Janet and Paul would amicably rewind to the Red Carpet segment if I missed it. No longer having a forward-moving agenda, I looked back and saw that the Oreos and buns man was right in line behind me. Inhaling a Zen-like attitude, I acknowledged his presence and didn’t care at all about what he was choosing to buy and eat.

Things remained stuck at the register. That man was trying to insert his credit card in different ways and had tried different pin numbers which then led to the transaction being declined. The cashier called for help. Two managers arrived at the scene. I began to try to see if I could see what the man was doing wrong–thinking that I might prove helpful. The Oreos and bun man then spoke up, and said, “Try this.” I turned and saw that he was holding out his credit card to pay for the no more than fourteen groceries being held hostage in one bag.

I was surprised by the kind gesture and wondered how long I would have stood there without a similar solution. I said to him, “Wow, that is really nice of you.” “How much could it be, $20?”, he replied. It took a moment for the troubled customer to take in the offer but he appreciatively waved it away as he pulled out another credit card from his wallet. The manager affirmed that this card would not require a pin for payment–and the transaction was approved. I did not see the total amount.

In no time, we were all back in the flow. The man who’d had the problem looked at me and said, “These things are complicated sometimes.” I smiled at him and agreed that was so. Next, having paid, in cash, for my own purchases, I turned to the Oreos and buns man and wished some blessing on him in return for his good deed.

Back home, I squeezed, zested and whisked those little lemons into a lovely curd with a nice dose of some white sugar. Tres bon. I spooned the curd into two cute little Oui Yogurt jars to carry over to the gathering. And to hasten my arrival, brought the cream with me and whipped it there–no sugar added, just a touch of vanilla. Janet and Paul served up a light repast of delicious crepes and other goodies.

It was a very nice evening even though I did miss the Red Carpet and lost at the category voting game. I laughed and cried. Animal-rights activist and vegan Joaquin Phoenix won for Best Actor and asked us to be kind, to give second chances, and to not hurt animals which I am sure has sparked some controversy. But largely, all was well at the Academy Awards.

I thought about the guy who had cared to help his fellow shopper. He deserved a little award too. He showed me that good actions speak louder than patient waiting.

Notes to self–Do not judge people by the color of their flour and sugar– nor their proclivity to Oreos; and when life gives you curds, make lemon curd.

Thank you for listening, sharing, following and supporting my writing. Please subscribe in the sidebar to receive notice of new posts. Comments and greetings always welcome.

C’est la vie, Elyn

Related Recipes: Lemon Curd by Sally’s Baking Addiction; Vegan Lemon Curd by Loving It Vegan; Vegan Lemon Curd with Maple Syrup by Minimalist Baker

Related Nutrition Information: Health Benefits of Lemons by LiveScience/World’s Healthiest Foods

My Plate Plate

My Plate Poem

Out of lemon flowers
loosed
on the moonlight, love’s
lashed and insatiable
essences,
sodden with fragrance,
the lemon tree’s yellow
emerges,
the lemons
move down
from the tree’s planetarium.

by Pablo (Neruda)‘

Run to the rescue with love, and peace will follow.

by River (Phoenix)

Love Is Love

Jul27

The dog days of summer barked outside, but inside was chill at Juices for Life, in the Bronx, where Love is Love.

Yes, it was hot. The day when summer first reminds us what really hot is after initially just gloriously warming us up. But, I was on a mission and was not to be deterred. It had already been a year or more since I learned that two hip-hop musicians had opened some juice bars in low-resourced neighborhoods–in Yonkers, the Bronx, and most recently in Brooklyn.

Music coupled with a healthy eating initiative ignited by love sings to my soul. So when this came to my awareness, I was determined to pay a visit to one of their Juices for Life businesses, and an opportunity had finally presented itself.

Juices for Life

Styles P with Jada’s Kiss, cool inflammation’s heat with nature’s nectars.

To start with, I had to know who were these guys, Styles P, and Jadakiss? To find out meant calling my son. Once again, he would need to rescue his unhip mother. Apparently, these two Yonker’s natives were founding bandmembers of The Lox. Their hip-hop careers began back in 1994–who knew–while they were still in their teens. Along the way, Styles P abandoned the smoked salmon with a bagel and cream cheese and ascribed to a vegan lifestyle–including the preparation of vegetable juices. This he credits for a transformative change in his health and mindset. Jada Kiss was thus also inspired.

In this must-see video, the artists explain that they are constantly asked to invest in various ventures and why they chose to bring healthy food to the hood, committing themselves to access and education. In other interviews, Style P’s message is also infused with his concern for families–with an emphasis on children and elders. And, he urges people to begin finding ways to juice and blend at home.

Finally, the time had come. In the video, a man says that if you don’t know who Styles P and Jadakiss are, then you must be living under a rock. So, a few weeks ago I shoved my rock aside and headed down to Manhattan to visit my son. I’d forewarned him that on the agenda was an outing to the juice bar in the Castle Hill neighborhood in the Bronx. While we’d discussed this before, he was a little surprised that I was really serious.

Off we went and headed deep into the subterranean underbelly of the sweltering city to catch the first subway. Whatever air there was down there was thick and heavy, and the wait for the train on the crowded platform was trying. But things got better as we transferred to the Uptown 6, which would carry us to our destination. Miraculously, it was an express train, adequately air-conditioned and without too many passengers. The train streamed along, and at the far reaches of its tentacled line, it emerged from underground and rose to its elevated height. I looked out the windows as we crossed the Bronx River and was afforded wide views of the urban industrial landscape.

Exiting the station, we found ourselves in the glaring light and searing heat of the early afternoon. As we walked the few blocks down a commercial corridor, the streets were pretty deserted either due to the heat, or that it was a Sunday and many of the businesses were closed.

Filling the cracks of lack, helping people to feel good.

However, once we found ourselves inside Juices for Life things were chill and there was some good energy. The set up was simple. A counter, a cooler filled with produce, shelves filled with protein and nutritional powders, and some stool seating. Initially, there were just a handful of customers, so we were able to take our time reviewing the varied menu of juice, smoothie, and shot options and placing our order. The counter person, Akil, was very friendly, and gladly abided my many questions. I was pretty hip to everything on the menu except for its offerings of sea moss and bark.

Our juices came quickly, and we sat to sip. Suddenly the place filled with a wave of people, including a street detective. There were obvious regulars and newbies alike. A woman told us that the place is usually busy and attributed the lull to the heat. I watched as the juicing staff of three plus the veggie prepper who kept the cooler stocked, choreographed their steps, spinning, and dosey-doeing with each other. They moved quickly to fill the orders, loading the whirring juicer and blenders, and gracefully catching and pouring the colorful elixirs. Their Juices for Life company T-shirts reminded that Love Is Love.

We stayed for about an hour talking with both staff and customers and sampling some shot concoctions. We learned that both rappers visit the store, but Styles P is there more regularly. A wall plaque honors him for his contribution to the community. The Juices for Life website explains its mission of bringing health to ‘poorer communities’ by ‘letting food be its medicine and medicine be its food’. This is a worthy and deeply profound mission. Freshly prepared juices from a bounty of different vegetables and fruits provide our bodies with an easily assimilated and powerful source of essential nutrients. They are a balm to the nutritional needs of our cells required for optimal health, and a salve to the nutritional abuse and violence these cells have been prey to. It was really beautiful to witness the communal toast of good health that each cup of juice provided to all who were there that day.

Training back, I wondered how viable could such enterprises be. Could juice bars become as ubiquitous as the fast-food joints, liquor stores and bodegas that are known to populate such communities? Is the five to six dollar price per glass–which is cheaper than at many similar places–still too much for many to make for a sustainable habit? Or is that cost actually cheaper than many other commonly purchased unhealthy products?

I believe that such initiatives contribute to sowing the seeds of change. And, that education and empowerment will promote changes in disease prevention and the delivery of healthcare. For now, I would love for there to be the opportunity to allow persons who receive SNAP Benefits to be able to redeem them for juices, similar to their expanded acceptance at Farmer’s Markets. Next, I’d like to see juicing kiosks in more places–such as community markets, health clinics, and hospitals. And, and for more cultural icons to use their celebrity to endorse and support health-promoting activities.

To Styles P, Jadakiss, and all those who are making this happen, I thank you. Just one thing, if I may–it looks like you could use an additional juice machine.

And stay posted, my next trip to the city may include a visit to Brooklyn, to check out Francesca Chaney’s Sol Sips.

Thank you for listening, sharing, following and supporting my writing. Please subscribe in the sidebar to receive notice of new posts. Comments and greetings always welcome.

Love Is Love, Elyn

Related Song: Jadakiss–Why

M & E’s My Plate

My Plate Rap

The dog days of summer barked outside, But inside was chill at Juices for Life, in the Bronx where Love is Love.

And Styles P with Jada’s Kiss, Cool inflammation’s heat with Nature’s nectars, Filling the cracks of lack, Helping people to feel good.

by Elyn

so, how did it go?

May9

Way back in the spooky month of October, just prior to Halloween, I presented a My Plate Haiku on Instagram. Not as deep perhaps as a Zen Buddhist koan, a paradoxical anecdote or riddle used to demonstrate the inadequacy of logical reasoning in order to provoke enlightenment, but reflective of a puzzlement nonetheless.

Anyone who has been reading this blog for a while may know that in my little anachronistic village, Halloween is serious business. Hundreds and hundreds of little kiddies and big grown-ups dressed in scary–and adorable–costumes descend like zombies and crowd the narrow streets to frighten away any evil spirits–and to collect their sweet rewards. My house is in a prime trick-or-treat location and next door to the village wizards whose annual display attracts a lot of attention.

And thus, my perennial dilemma. What’s my personal and professional responsibility as concerns contributing to this massive spike in the community’s blood sugar levels? Fun though it may seem, innocuous though one might think–it is not a good thing. There is a lot of sugar going down–way more than Mary Poppin’s prescribed spoonful.

I have stared deep down into pillowcases with more loot than a bank robber’s heist, yet the pirates and ninjas demand more. I have stared deep into the big eyes and darling faces of newly walking toddler princesses and kitty cats, imploring me to fill their plastic pumpkin with some white crystallized sugar drug–I mean treat. Seriously, should there not be some legal age requirement for serving sugar to children? I feel I should be carding these kids, checking ID, asking for a birth certificate or tricycle license.

Every year, Halloween seems to come around quickly, and each time I struggle with the dilemma. Given the havoc I know sugar and sweets wreak on the individual and global level, I do not wish to be a purveyor of this potential gateway substance associated with dental decay, behavioral issues, food addiction, inflammation, obesity, diabetes, and other maladies. To really appreciate the seductive allure of said substance, consider that recently, after a newly levied sugar-tax was imposed in their country, ordinarily level-headed Norwegians have wildly taken to crossing the border into Sweden to procure their candy and soda more cheaply in binge shopping sprees.

But, neither am I ready to leave the party. So, for years my family has stood at the door giving out a combination of edible sweets and non-edible treats in hopes of offering choice and mitigating damage.

But, this last All Hallows’ Eve I decided to go further. In preparation for the nearly four hundred grabbing hands and gaping mouths, I set out to find provisions that would not further the sugar problem at hand. The additional challenge was to try to not substitute it with useless items that would quickly be tossed in the garbage, and to have things that would be suitable for children of all different ages. And, to not spend more than I would on candy.

As usual, I solicited the help of my little witch, Zena, and with broomsticks in hand, off we flew to the nearest Michael’s Arts and Crafts store to fill our cauldron. We scoured about and found some things that were suitable. Also, next door wizard Amy informed me of holiday-themed milkweed seed packets available for sale to help save our important monarch butterflies. Perfect. We ordered one hundred of them.

When ready, we poured everything on the bed and got to work. We filled perky pumpkin-faced and scary skull-headed gift bags with age-appropriate treats. It was all in fun, though I must say a fair amount of dissection was involved in separating parts from wholes. There were all Halloween-themed cool sticker sheets, water-color painting pictures, stamps, little marble maze games, foam cutouts to make masks, erasers–and seed packets. Unfortunately, we did not procure the mechanical pencils which had been a big hit with the older set the previous year.

The only problems were that we ran out of the little bags and took to using business envelopes; and that Zena, being a very good witch, was a bit too generous in filling her bags which left us short of supplies to reach our projected count. But, time was short, so we’d have to make do.

It was then, in anticipation of the big day, I penned and posted to Instagram the koan-tinged haiku:

Treats of a different kind
No candy for Halloween
We’ll see how it goes.

(We hope they like the Save Our Monarchs Milkweed Seed Packets)

So, how did it go? Pretty well, I’d say. The house was not egged and there were no tricks. There was the one teenager–the kind who doesn’t even have a costume–who did turn and walk away when the cauldron choices were kindly presented to him. A few of the neophyte toddlers did display some cognitive dissonance provoked by being handed something they could not imagine to be the promised candy. And, there was the middle-schooler who when handed a business envelope with indeterminate contents responded by saying she did not like surprises.

But mainly, things were positive. One little girl excitedly told her folks, “We got a card!” There were shrieks of, “It’s the sticker house!” And, the teenagers, were as a whole quite appreciative at receiving something different. I’d say, it was a sign they were actually candied out. It was encouraging to see that they still could like a good, basic pencil–even a non-mechanical one.

The seed packets were mainly tucked in the bags and not really noticed in the dark, but a few who did see them thought they were cool. I hope their value was better appreciated in the light of day–with the help of parents who’d realize what they were for.

The highlight of the evening was once again when Ruth came to the door. Last year, our hearts melted when mid-evening we responded to the doorbell’s beckon to find a little girl and her family waiting. The girl handed us a piece of paper. It was a drawing of–we think–a little bat and a little pumpkin. It was hard to tell, but not bad for a four-year-old. On the back, it was signed, Ruth.

This year, Ruth came to the door with her little sister who was now old enough to stand. Their costumes were beautifully made by their grandmother. Once more, we received a personal drawing–this time of three large carved pumpkins. Ruth’s artistic abilities had increased exponentially. And, now it was signed, Ruth and Grace. This evolved soul, did not seem to expect anything in return. We told them how touched we had been last year and how excited we were to see them again.

As usual, and as we had feared, we did not have enough to make it through the night. As supplies were running low, we frantically tore sticker sheets into individual stickers and repurposed whatever we could.

At the final ring, we had only a few stray bat and pumpkin erasers left. Apologetically we held the basket out to the lone teenager who stood before us. “I’m good with erasers”, he said and graciously accepted the offering.

I tell this story now, not only because it is already less than six months until the next Halloween and time to think ahead. But, because it exposes our complicated relationship with and messaging about food. Please understand I do not maintain a staunch anti-sugar stand. I appreciate how and why we are wired to enjoy it and recognize that it is a source of joy. In my repertoire, I carry a story I once read. When the author was a young girl, her well-meaning parents presented her with an apple with a candle stuck in it, in lieu of a cake for her birthday. She cried. It is also well documented how the denial of any sugar seems to breed an uncontrollable urge for it.

But, given the state of our health and what we know about the detriments of sugar and the foods it is cloaked in, and their ubiquitous presence, can we continue to abide the excess that this holiday ritual depends on? Especially as it so strongly impacts children. Who is really benefiting from this candy deluge? The excuses that it is just for one day, and that we can use it as a way of teaching our kids about moderation, may now be too feeble.

I think it may be time for the expansion of creative alternatives. I remember as a child Trick or Treating for UNICEF, carrying a little orange box door to door to collect money for children in dire need–in faraway places. Apparently, that campaign was started in 1950 and is still around. Maybe that idea can be flipped by households choosing a cause of their choice and telling the children soliciting treats that a donation will be made on their behalf to that cause. Just thinking out loud. Honestly, I am not sure I can sustain the full no-sweets effort. However, if little Ruth can draw all those pictures for everyone–I will certainly try.

Let me know what alternative Halloween ideas you have tried.

Thank you for listening, sharing, following and supporting my writing. Please subscribe in the sidebar to receive notice of new posts. Comments and greetings always welcome.

Most sincerely yours, Elyn

Bees’ My Plate

My Plate Haiku

Treats of a different kind
No candy for Halloween
We’ll see how it goes.

by Elyn

size me down

Feb26

I am not much of a shopper. And, much to my late mother’s chagrin this is true even when it comes to clothing. However, clothes are one of those commodities that need to be replaced and updated at least once a decade or thereabouts, so I do occasionally have to take to the stores and wrangle with the racks of hangers hawking their formless wares.

I have a whole little narrative about my relationship with clothes–and a good and deep relationship it certainly is. Because once I find a cozy item–since I essentially dress for comfort–we are in for the long haul. I will spare you the hoary details and instead share what happened on a recent outing.

National Eating Disorders Association

Zena and I had gone into town to get something I needed for a class I am taking and were then going to head to the farmer’s market. Back in the car between the two errands, just chatting about life, it did come up that I really could use a pair of jeans–given that I didn’t have any.

A few minutes later, we were passing by a small strip of clothing stores. Zena, making particular mention of one of them, said, “Mom, I think that would be a good place for you to find jeans.” And wouldn’t you know, there were a number of parking spots easily available right in front. The next thing I knew, we were in the store.

Apparently, a love of shopping, along with the refined ability to dress oneself and others in exquisite good style, skips a generation. Having Zena with you while hunting for attire is like having the best in a game hunter–I mean personal shopper. She is really good. Except for one thing. She insists that I must try things on. Left to my own devices, I never try things on in stores. I generally know my size and feel confident that by holding the item up before me, I can determine if it will fit well enough–maybe not perfectly–but that’s OK by my gene-lacking standards. The onerous act of dragging one’s body along with a forearm laden assortment of clothes into a tiny dressing room with an enormous mirror is not how I wish to expend my physical or emotional energy.

Given my dogged determination to stop the madness and to help others make peace with their bodies, I purport to have a ‘relatively’ healthy relationship with my own–though gauging relativity is rather vague in this regard. However, I admit that some of this is achieved by having infrequent encounters with its distorted reflection under bright lights in quasi-public places. I would prefer skinny dipping at a sunny beach if bright light and public places are in the offer.

As it turned out, it was a good thing that I was trying things on. Since the last time I shopped, or maybe it is dependent upon the type of store, sizing seems to have changed more than I was aware. This is either a case of new math or given the placement of multiple zeros on some tags, a result of some computer coding process replacing real numbers. In the name of I am not sure what, we are not our mothers’ clothing sizes. We are increasingly being resized to a lower number. Zena had to forcibly take from me some of the items I had chosen that were based on my belief in an antiquated sizing system.

Into the dressing room we trudged. This step thus engaged the unsolicited assistance of the kind store clerk. I do know these attendants are there to be helpful, but I still prefer to ignore such attention–and besides, I had Zena to help me. Apparently, though, my case was complicated and required the two of them to seek out for me what would best fit. The sizing and styling of jeans are nuanced. Ultimately, I would have to determine if I was curvy straight or modern straight and the style would influence the size. Zena and the clerk each ably navigated the floor and the dressing room bringing me different options, which I compliantly tried on.

At one point, the sales clerk poked her head in and asked me how I was doing. I was not exactly sure but said I was OK. Eyeing the tag on the pair of jeans I was then donning, she said, “Oh, that is good. You went down a size.” Apparently, it was time for me to have another one of my stunned moments in a retail setting.

I could have responded enthusiastically, that in the six minutes since she had last seen me in the two-digit greater-sized pant, I had in the 4 x 4 space taken to a program of calisthenics including jumping jacks and sit-ups while wearing one of those fat burning sweatsuits– and was glad that my efforts had paid off. Instead, I asked, “What?” She replied by saying, “Isn’t that what every woman wants, to be a smaller size?” Oh dear, I sighed. With Zena out on the floor, at least my daughter would not have to see her mom (gently) trip out this well-meaning woman. She already knows how I feel about such things.

Quietly, I explained where I was coming from and why I was sensitive to her comment. I shared why believing and voicing such assumptions can be misguided and problematic–if not downright dangerous. (Not to mention, how in this case, absurd.) Such common banter ascribing value to diminished size–especially with no knowledge of an individual’s personal experience–belies the realities of those who may be contending with an illness or emotional stress; needing or wanting to gain weight; actually comfortable with their body size; just changing from an adolescent to adult body shape, or struggling with a psychologically and physically disabling eating disorder. Such entrenched beliefs can trigger reactions ranging from a shaming emotion to dangerous feeding behavior. Now, how about those new spring colors?

The clerk’s cheerful countenance dimmed a tad, but she acknowledged what I was saying. She said she had not ever really thought about it. Understandably, it is one of those things we don’t think about unless we have to. But, with 30 million Americans struggling with some form of an eating disorder and many more at risk, (and a zillion just wishing to hate their bodies a little less) I tell this little story in honor of Eating Disorder Awareness Week which is observed this year from February 26th through March 4th. This year’s theme is, “It’s Time to Talk About It”.

The insidious nature of eating disorders keeps them hidden in bedrooms, dressing rooms, locker rooms, and emergency rooms. To shine a light on the seriousness of these disorders, an incredible event has been coordinated by the National Eating Disorder Association (NEDA). Large iconic landmarks throughout the country will be lit with the blue and green colors of the organization. Please check this out and look for a location near you. Otherwise, you might even see these lights but not understand their significance.

In the end, all was well. I purchased one pair of jeans of some size and style along with a few other attractive items that should keep me well-attired for a few years. I think my mom would be pleased. The clerk and I were all smiles as she handed me the large shopping bag over the counter, and I was feeling smug about the 60% savings. We had actually had a somewhat intimate encounter. Thinking about it, I recognize that dressing room attendants play a big role in helping women of all sizes to find clothing that makes them feel good. Cheers to them! Zena and I headed back out into the great outdoors feeling quite accomplished. Though we never made it to the farmer’s market we’d had a good catch.

Thank you for listening, sharing, following and supporting my writing. Please subscribe in the sidebar to receive notice of new posts. Comments and greetings always welcome.

In health, Elyn

Zena’s T-shirt My Plate

MyPlate Haiku

In the dark places

I ask courage to believe

I am beautiful.

by Anne-Marie

weight, weight, please tell me

Aug28

This is a post about weight–weighty matters, the weight of the world, mainly the ongoing conundrum of there being too much of it. It is a topic I think about sometimes–trying to wrap my arms around it to contain it properly.

Actually, you will see that I don’t have much to say about it, but instead am sharing the brilliant voices of others who do. It seems these stories have recently, coincidentally collected in my little basket of big dilemmas.

Before I proceed and attempt to offer something up on this largely considered nutritional–but so much greater– matter, let me digress for a moment to share something about me and my nutrition work and my nutritionist status. I have a little explaining to do.

I have experienced a lot of changes in the past few years. Some of these are profoundly personal while others are professional. I will stick to the latter and how they have influenced what I write about–perhaps some of you who follow me have noticed–but they are both intertwined.

When I began writing this blog in the fall of 2010-wow-I was perched in a clinical setting that continued to make me privy to the upfront and personal stories of individuals’ eating lives. I had been doing nutritional counseling for many years at that point in time. My clients’ issues strongly reflected, what I refer to in My Story, the massive changes in our food culture and highlighted the intimate art of eating in response to the personal and cultural milieu. The nutritional crises of our time, including the obesity crisis and its shadowed sister–eating disorders–were about twenty plus years deep in the making.

Professionally, I had been riding this unforeseen wave since its onset in the early 1990s and felt I had something to say to personalize and humanize what was projected as a faceless statistical trend. Having worked with so many people, I was able to synthesize the common experiences that were impacting us all. I could also relate some true experiences of my clients in my writings. I would juxtapose these experiences alongside the larger impacts of poverty, trauma, environmental changes, food adulteration, community access, societal messaging, etc.

What I never stopped to share, was that two and a half years ago, I stepped out of direct care. I began doing nutritional program development and administration for a statewide program serving childcare centers–the preschoolers, families, and educators. It is a good program. Though its implied mission is to prevent childhood obesity, I strongly prefer a redirection of intention to support the full health potential of all our children and mitigate the effects of what I am wont to refer to as nutritional violence and size stigmatization. Anyway, at that time, the nature of my posts changed and their frequency decreased. I had less material and more other things to tend to.

And now, I have just begun a new position. I am working for a breastfeeding support organization. This is a nutritional and health issue I am passionate about, but for the first time in my career, I am not carrying the title of Nutritionist. I seem to be welcoming this change–it is a natural extension of my life work and public health orientation that fits well with my current circumstances. But it also stirs some emotion. Due to a combination of my personal experiences and the fact that I have not done direct care for a few years now, I no longer feel I can assist others with the acute health challenges of our time and the precise nutritional approaches they demand. So, along with other big changes I am now facing, I think it may be that I am no longer a Nutritionist.

So, my dilemma asks me, “Then what’s with the name of your blog?” For now, I will answer that until I have time to reconsider it, it will stay the same. I am still deeply interested in nutrition and how it relates to our individual and collective health. I am still paying deep attention and I still want to be part of the larger conversation. And, I still want to help people. I may present more concise offerings on my Lifeseedlings Instagram page which are budding perspectives and occasional haikus on food politics, nourishment, body respect, eating, and cooking. Join me there.

And so, back to the issue of weight which I raised as the focus of this post. I wish it wasn’t all that it was and is. I wish it didn’t dominate the headlines and pervade our thoughts. I am bothered by my own sometimes prejudiced assumptions and that despite my somewhat larger awareness of its complicated nature, I still conflate weight with health and want to help ease and prevent the physical and emotional burdens it encumbers. But it is about time for all of us, those with or without the business to do so, to stop believing that banishing this weight, this unruly fat, is similar to scrubbing dirt and grit off of a coal miner’s body–some effort no doubt, some soaps better than others, but once undertaken, the job would be done.

From my observations, I think MAYBE things are changing. We may finally be realizing that plain out calorically restrictive diets of any ilk and fat-shaming just don’t seem to be working to solve the problem in the long run nor are they doing anyone much good.

And, while not entirely new, more voices–powerful, angry and/or tender voices, are emerging that challenge the once firmly held ideas and attitudes held by our scientific and medical communities, our society and even our personal selves about the ‘weight problem’. Their words and advocacy may be shifting our perspectives, sharpening our sensitivities, and providing new approaches to care.

Here is a short little syllabus of what I consider to be very interesting insights on the topic. It includes:

Where the story often begins. A post by Your Fat Friend, a personal story about the implications and consequences of early childhood weight interventions; and a discussion on What Harping on A Child’s Weight Looks Like 20 Years Later about the importance of fostering body appreciation for everyone, by Maryann Tomovich Jacobsen on her website, Raise Healthy Eaters.
What No One Ever Tells You About Weight Loss. A powerful and personal look at how expectations about ways to lose weight imply a process that is both isolating and not sustainable, by Nick Eckhart in What I Wish Someone Had Told Me About Losing a Lot of Weight.
How Even Well-Meaning Assumptions about Fat Athletes Can Be Misguided. Here, Ragen Chastain (whose blog Dances With Fat I have written about before) deconstructs such assumptions in her post, What Fat Olympians Prove (and What They Don’t).
Really? Just five amazing stories from an episode of This American Life, entitled, Tell Me I’m Fat. (Transcript or Audio).

This is not required reading, but I hope you find something thought-provoking, attitude- adjusting or maybe even life-changing within. And, though I don’t have Carl Kasell to answer my phone, you can leave me a message here.

Thank you for listening, sharing, following and supporting my writing. Please subscribe in the sidebar to receive notice of new posts. Comments and greetings always welcome.

In health, Elyn

(Update 2019: After a year and a half working for the breastfeeding organization, I moved forward to work for Wholesome Wave, a national organization dedicated to food access and affordability and a leader in programmatic and policy changes related to addressing food insecurity. My work here reunites me with my previous efforts of developing Produce Prescription programs as I described in Inventive Incentive. This work certainly has brought me back into the food and nutrition space, and gives me new types of stories to think about.)

Wholesome Wave’s My Plate

My Plate Haiku

Pick your own today

Happy kids in wide-brimmed hats

Sweet summertime fruit.

by Nan (Blessings on her new little grandson, Orion!)

Far from Home

Aug5

Well, here I am. Right now I am on retreat in beautiful California, far from home. While my orientation to space is altered due to this coastal exchange from east to west, my orientation to date and time has been altered as well. I have experienced a profound loss.

The beautiful California Coast

As I search for some renewed serenity and some solid ground-albeit in this land of shaky earth-I do try to stay somewhat aware of the prevailing events of these times that still swirl around me. Likewise, as I reconnect with the calendar structure that patterns the days before me, I turn the page onto August just in time to remember to honor the annual celebration of World Breastfeeding Week.

As I consider the support of breastfeeding babes, moms and families an essential component of improving the collective health of communities around the globe, I do always try to write something about World Breastfeeding Week and its annually appointed theme.

Forgive me this year, that as my tears still flow more readily than my words. In lieu of my own thoughts, I share this interesting article by the journalist (and my dear friend) Ellen Wulfhorst. Ellen provides a look at the very real consequences of compromised attention to the timely initiation of breastfeeding. This highlights how powerful are the immunoprotective properties of breast milk and how greatly breastfeeding serves as an antidote to infant mortality.

Thank you for listening, sharing, following and supporting my writing. Please subscribe in the sidebar to receive notice of new posts. Comments and greetings always welcome.

Thank you to all who continue to support me, my blog, and my work. Gratitude to those who have nourished me on this visit–Julie, Gordon, Debbie, Michael, Ben, Lois and Richard.

To healthy birth and rebirth, Elyn

Julie’s My Plate

My Plate Food for Thought

Breastfeeding is not only the cornerstone of a child’s healthy development;

it is also the foundation of a country’s development.

UNICEF and the World Health Organization’s World Breastfeeding Week Message

Instanutrition

Jul24

I scurried around the kitchen. There was dinner to be made. I peeled, chopped, sauteed and simmered. I sweated as the hot summer air mingled with the heat from the stove. I held an icy glass of water against my cheek. I ran the compost out back. I let the cat out. I let the cat in.

Lifeseedlings Posting

My daughter sat calm and cool at the table. She asked me a few questions. She danced her fingers around a little. She called me over to look at some things. Way sooner than the time it took for the meal to be ready and without barely moving a muscle, she created a new portal into the universe for me–by opening an Instagram account for The Nutritionist’s Dilemma. She turned the first MyPlate Haikus into little lovely portraits. She chose nice hashtags and linked this to that. She set the table. She let the cat out.

I am excited about my new Instagram account. There, I hope to highlight the little morsels of collective poetic wisdom that illuminate the experiences of self-nourishment that many have contributed to my blog along with other pearls that I have gathered along the way. The concept is to cobble together a creative and meaningful expression of how feeding ourselves may look and feel. It is a conceptual revisioning of the dietary constructs of the USDA MyPlate model of nutrition. (These messages can also be seen at the bottom of the blog’s sidebar.)

New My Plate Haikus or any other poetic expressions and My Plate Plates are always welcome and will be necessary for me to hold my space in this new environment. For general instructions and examples, please see Accepting Haikus. We will see how this goes. It could be fun.

I’d also like to highlight some of the ongoing work of Michelle Obama to brighten the futures of the nation’s children through nutrition and health initiatives. For the past four years, the First Lady has sponsored a rather competitive Children’s Healthy Lunchtime Challenge Cooking Contest. Winners are chosen from each state and U.S. Territory and are treated to a Kids’ “State Dinner’ at the White House. This year’s event was held a few weeks ago and (spoiler alert) included a surprise guest. The impressive recipes of these culinary kids are also compiled in the Epicurious Healthy Lunchtime Challenge Cookbook. Maybe a child you know can participate.

The Kids’ State Dinner gathering also provided a platform for the First Lady to announce her new anti-big food advertising campaign, FNV Prepare to Be Marketed To which employs the efforts of celebrities and famous athletes to redirect their messaging power toward healthy eating. Coincidentally, this is what I wrote about in my last post, Spring Cleaning, and the NBA Finals.

I am off to start following Michelle on Instagram. And who knows, maybe she might follow me. And you can follow me on Instagram @lifeseedlings, and on Twitter @lifeseedsnutrit.

Thank you for listening, sharing, following and supporting my writing. Please subscribe in the sidebar to receive notice of new posts. Comments and greetings always welcome.

In health, Elyn

(Update 2017: Jason Brown of First Fruits Farm was the highest-paid Center in NFL history, but he walked away from a 35 million dollar contract with the St. Louis Rams to grow food for others.)

(Update 2020: Today, as I reviewed this post, the world learned of the tragic loss of basketball legend Kobe Bryant. To honor his spirit, his fatherhood, how he inspired others, his dietary consciousness, and how he used his celebrity, it is quite apt that I just found this article Kobe wrote for Michelle Obama’s Let’s Move blog on Five Healthy Habits.)

My Plate Haiku

Did you really think

That you could hide fish in rice?

Oh, the green paste burns! by Francesco\

by A Cat

(from I Could Pee on This and other poems by cats collected by Francesco Marciuliano)

the nutritionist's dilemma

a nutritionist's musings on the realities of eaters and eating

Archives

out of the fire and into the frying pantry

Could Not Afford Balanced Meal

isle of you

Les prix de l’académie

Love Is Love

so, how did it go?

size me down

weight, weight, please tell me

Far from Home

Instanutrition