Reflections on Pee and Poop March 10, 2008

So I was thinking about pee and poop today. I’m not sure why.

* Perhaps because when I got up this morning, I let the dogs out, had a cigarette, and then went into the bathroom, pooped, got up and went on with my day. Nothing extraordinary - except that doing it that way seems to be a strictly female thing. Men seem to make it a major event in their day. Have you ever known a woman who regularly takes reading material into the bathroom because it’s going to take her that long to poop? I think not. Even my beloved grandson takes an hour. Odd, don’t you think?

* And that led me to the thought that perhaps I think about poop and pee because I am a mother, and have spent large chunks of my life jumping up and down and getting all excited when some wee one did their number in the potty. “Look! Look! Junior went poop like a big boy! Good boy, Junior! What a big boy you are! Mommy is going to go out and buy you Transformer undies now for a Big Boy!”

* That and the fact that I am a registered nurse, and everyone knows that the first thing a registered nurse asks a person every day is not “Hi, how are you?” Not “What is your religious or political affiliation?” or “Have you had a meaningful interaction with those people in your life whom you are closest to?” Nope - it’s always “Have your bowels moved today?” We even chart it every day - and get all excited on what we refer to ominously as Day 3 No BM.

* When I was low carb-ing it was the only time of my life I had a hard time pooping. And when I did it was pathetic amounts of sticky, tarry stuff. Now, a vegan - well - we know how to git ‘r done!

* Most memoral poop #1. When I was in labor with my oldest child, 28 long years ago when childbearing was a whole lot more barbaric - not that it’s a walk in the park anytime. So, my water has broke, I’m 19 years old and scared to death and in a lot more pain than I remember practicing in Lamaze class, and they give me a damn enema! Then they tell me to lay there with full on contractions and hold it! And THEN evil Nurse Ratchet makes me hie my swollen contracting self off the cold steel table and hop as fast as ever I can over to this little out-in-the-middle-of-the-room toilet (like you see in movies of prison cells) and “expel the enema”. I swear to God, I should have killed that bitch!

* Most memoral poop #2. Last week. For some reason I was feeling a little yucky all morning, but I got ready for work and got in the car. Somewhere during that 20 mile drive I started feeling really yucky, and by about mile marker 15 my butt was clenched so hard I was starting to get gluteal cramps. Completely different from stomach cramps. More like a charley horse of the butt muscles. I made it as far as Casey’s, hurried inside with as much dignity as I could muster, humming the mantra to myself “Don’tpoopyourpantsdon’tpoopyourpantsdon’tpoopyourpants” and walked into the “guest bathroom” as in, oh hey, yeah, this is completely an afterthought and not a medical emergency. Just about blew the bowl out, prayed to God it would flush, came out very nonchalantly, got in my car, went to work, and then of course had to tell all my co-workers about it. Because a) we’re nurses and talk about poop all the time. And b) it’s funny - and funny must be shared, even if it’s humiliating.

* Most memoral pee story. It was another damn freezing cold Iowa freaking winter about - oh - 16 years ago. We had had a big ice storm and the whole world had been Zamboni’d. I skittered gingerly down the long country driveway to get the mail, hit a patch and whoosh! Up went the feet and WAHHHH went the bladder and by the time I hit I was soaked and already starting to freeze. Then trying to make it BACK up that stupid freaking driveway with my pants freezing to my legs with warm/freezing urine. Man, was I pissed - in so many more ways than one!

When my kids were little I made them rice a lot, and we even had a little song to go with it that goes a little something like this.

“The rice goes in the belly
It soaks up all the water
It makes you poop a mountain
Ya Ya Ya!”

And speaking of rice, I made a kick ass homemade Spanish rice Friday for lunch, and took the leftovers for supper at work. No box or mix involved!

Easy Spanish Rice
Bring 1/2 cup water and 1/2 cup tomato juice to boil in small sauce pan. Add 1 cup Minute brown rice. Throw in a handful of chopped green peppers, onions and tomatoes. Let it boil for 5 mins on med heat, covered. Then remove from heat and let it stand for another 5 minutes - that’s how quick brown rice cooks. If need be, for your own taste, add a little more tomato juice if you like your Spanish rice more moist. Eat eat eat!

Come on. Let your hair down. Let your pants down.

What is your most memoral pee or poop story?

“Toxic Habits Anonymous”, Anyone? March 7, 2008

Ooooh - ouch.

I was reading a new favorite blogger of mine - FyreGoddess - where she was talking about people who follow the same destructive patterns in their lives over and over and over. And - em - over and over and over.

Now, I could make the point that we all do that. The person who bitches about being overweight - who gobbles like a hog at the trough. The person who bitches about their job - but who can’t get off their dead arse to look for another.

The Goddess, however, kicked my butt by coining the term “relationship-itis”.

First it made me laugh. Then I went in and puked my guts out. And when I washed my face and looked in the mirror - there was that damn word again - “relationship-itis”. I scrubbed, I scrubbed - to no avail. “Out, damned spot!” I cried!

(Oops - sorry - that was the MacBeth dream sequence. Bwahahahahahahahaha!)

I think it defines that thing we do where we believe that, at all costs, we must be in a relationship.

And, sorry, boys, but my observation is that you guys do it as much as we women.

Now, a strong independent woman like myself will tell you very emphatically - and very convincingly - that I don’t need a man. And I don’t really, in that I can certainly support myself - have done it for years. I can’t fix cars but I know how to dial AAA.

And yet, I know there have been only very brief periods in my life where I haven’t been either married, dating, “seeing someone” or broken-up-but-still-messing-with-each-other’s-minds-and-therefore-hopelessly-entangled with someone.

And I bitch about it.

Because if you want to know the real truth about hippie-dippy Nanna, it’s that I have a selfish streak a mile wide. And I’m not at all proud of it.

Now, I could spend a lot of time beating myself up about this very non-Virginia Slim’s thing I do - but I’m kinda becoming aware of how much time I spend beating myself up, and I’m kinda trying a Sabbatical from that.

And the thing is - we all tend to be very relationship-oriented. The Quest for The Beloved is - shit - it’s what every song is about (unless it’s about trains and trucks and hunting dogs), what most movies are about. It’s what most advertising is based on. We all have it - that desire to connect.

And most of us can be pretty damn self-deluding in telling ourselves that this particular person is Mr. or Ms. Right.

But hold on a second. Is there, truly, a Mr. or Ms. Right?

Or are there just a lot of imperfect human beings out there who have picked up some decidedly nasty little habits - and somehow we’re all trying to fit together?

Here’s my deal - and I can’t believe I’m saying this “out loud”.

I have been with a drunk, a drug addict, and various combinations thereof. In those relationships, it’s very easy to identify who the “injured party is”. It’s me, thank you very much - and everyone can see that, because no matter what an ass I can be at times, it’s still not as bad as doing drugs or being a drunken idiot, right?

So, then, by the grace of God, I run across this very ethical, upstanding guy who treats me like a queen and is generous and loving to my kids and grandkids. And he loves me.

Problem is, he’s a staunch conservative to my hippie-liberal. He’s a Presbyterian to my Catholic. He’s a stoic person to my sloppy hugginess. He’s a “shoot ‘em and let God sort out the mess” to my “feed ‘em and surely they’ll turn into nicer people.”

And so we disagree. Did I mention that we’re both firmly into middle age and the most firm things about us is our opinions?

And so he tells me how I should live my life, and I tell him how he should run his life.

And therein lies the rub. I tell him, of course, because he needs the benefit of my wisdom and experience, and he would be so much happier if he adopted my way of thinking.

He tells me because he is an overbearing, controlling ass.

You see my dilemna?

My daughter said to me once, “It must be weird to have someone trying to re-make you after you’ve spend so much time trying to re-make other people.” Cheekly little thing.

The biggest problem is that we fight, and then I pull out the Handy Dandy Ronco Ejector Button and proclaim loudly that I am done, I am moving on, I am done with this idiot. And I invite everyone I know to jump in and enjoy the drama fest with me.

sigh.

The thing is - I’m an ass. A selfish, spoiled brat ass. And I really truly don’t want to be, and try not to be, but push the right buttons and Ass Nanna comes to the forefront every single time.

Yes, my darling makes me crazy sometimes. And I make his hair fall out.

And that, my dears, is how it goes.

That’s life. That’s relationships.

If I had to describe my beloved to you, I would have to tell you very honestly that he is one of the funniest people I’ve ever met. He’s quick witted and smart, and he’s sage-wise. But the thing I love most about him is that he’s the most ethical person I’ve ever met in my life.

He “gets” me, even when he doesn’t like what he “gets”.

And he deserves so much better than I give him sometimes.

So I’m putting away the Ejector Button in that time capsule of “childhood things I put away”. I’m going to try, anyway.

I’m going to try to grow up.

I’m going to give it my best shot to stop the childish game of lining up people “on my side” when I’m mad at him, and making childish pronouncements that I will never follow through on - like going to live in a teepee, when the bottom line is, I really like my indoor plumbing. (Although I still do appreciate the aesthetics and natural beauty of living with nature - just like Amy and her camping.)

Jesus. If I’m tired of listening to myself, I can only imagine how my poor loyal sounding boards feel!

Oh - and I made another treat today:

Fat Free Apple Bake
* 2 cups chopped apples
* 1/2 cup dry oatmeal
* 1/2 cup brown sugar
* 1 tsp cinnamon
* 1 tsp nutmeg
* 1/2 cup water OR apple juice

Directions:
-Preheat oven to 350 degrees F
-Place all ingrediants in greased or nonstick baking pan
-Bake for about 45 mins, covered, or until apples are soft and its all steamy and brown and yummy!
from FatFreeVegan.com

I’m not a big sweet tooth dessert eater - I’m more of a salty chip-type person. But my man is, and with his stent placement he needs to eat more fruits and veggies and less fat. He liked this a lot!

Looking for Your Subset? March 6, 2008

Today my daughter posted on “fitting in” - finding one’s flock, or herd, or - meh - “soul group”, depending on how airy fairy one wants to get.

Which is funny because she and I have had this discussion many many times.

Mostly about me. Because I have always had a hard time finding a “subset” of people that I “fit in” with.

In my arrogance - and I think a lot of people’s - we tend to fit people into these “subsets”, finding out one thing about them - for instance they are into anime - and then making all kinds of assumptions about them, effectively fleshing them out the rest of the way in our minds based on a certain small thing we know about them.

After all, the thinking goes, if you are into anime, it follows logically that you must also be like this, this and this, with that, that, and that characteristic.

And in my own case, that doesn’t work.

Certainly, I classify myself as a “hippie”. In that, I guess, I think “hippie thoughts”. For instance, when I play cards with my son, we don’t keep score. Not so that nobody wins, but more importantly, so that nobody loses. And, of course, I follow a vegan diet out of respect for life and the environment. And I believe that one person can change the world - duh.

And let’s not forget, I would dearly love to live for one season in a teepee.

But I also do not eschew technology simply for the eschewing. And I love my jewelry.

And of course, I don’t smoke pot. It makes me puke. No - literally - the last time I tried it, 19 years ago, it made me barf my guts out.

I’m a devoutly in-love-with-Jesus Christian. Who swears way too much, especially of the f-word variety. Which comes from having been married to a construction worker at one point whose vocabulary was based around that particular word. And my own fervent belief that sometimes only the f-word will do.

I crochet. I make stuff. But I’m not really a “crafter” as much as I have wished I was, at different points in my life.

On the Internet, one can find all kinds of groups to fall in with, and that’s pretty cool.

Except that whenever I wander into a group like that, I feel like a fraud because, while I am interested in the subject matter at hand - say “raw food” - I don’t care about it all that much.

I’ve never gotten into War of the Worlds, or whatever the hell it’s called. I like Harry Potter books a lot, but not that much. I am passionate about politics - but I think about other stuff too. And I am very very very interested in women’s issues such as the disparity in health care with so called “women’s diseases”, women-centered religious traditions, the “third wave” of feminism (see - I told you - I do follow this stuff and can throw around the buzz words with the best of ‘em) - but I also care about other stuff.

Like - uh - cooking. And taking naps. And my rag tag assortment of friends who are into all kinds of varied and not-matching or even articulating things. And my man, my kids, and what I do for a living/vocation.

So my advice to people would be not to worry so much about what “subset” of people you fit into.

Like my daughter. She’s a devoted wife and mother, a devout Catholic Christian, a passionate Democratic activist who bleeds red white and blue for Constitutional rights and civil liberties. Who cannot yet outswear me but has a good start for her age. She’s a killer salesperson, a competent and talented businesswoman. A shoe fetishist, a fashionista, and a low carb genius.

What’s the name of the subset for that?

Don’t stress so much, kids.

Your subset is you. There really is only one like you in all the world - for all the similarities you have with every other human being on the planet.

And that is the part that makes you very very cool.

The More I Love… February 20, 2008

Hope is in my DNA.

And after a lifetime of trying to live the alternatives, forgiveness is my lifeblood.

I speak in a different language than many people I know, using words and phrases like “Ah, give them a break, they’re doing the best they can.” And, “there but for the grace of God go I.”

I remember when I made a startling revelation about the Biblical admonistion to “Judge not, lest ye be judged.” For decades of my life, I thought it meant not to judge, or God would judge me.

Duh. God IS going to judge me, I AM going to come up short, which is why I am profoundly grateful every day that I have a Savior.

In my life, those words have come to be a reminder that I can go ahead and smugly judge someone else, but sooner or later I’m going to find myself in the embarrassing situation of having done the exact same thing I was judging someone else about.

And that’s a little uncomfortable.

I know - it’s happened way too many times for me.

Judge the barflies and middle aged drunks? Go ahead - until life throws you a curve and you find yourself in the bar most nights clinging to the friendships that only develop among other people who have found themselves in the same bars every night. We aren’t all losers - we just got stuck on the detour. There’s lots of detours on the road, I’ve found.

Abortion? Go ahead and judge the weak women - until you find yourself young and scared and trapped and in such darkness that murder actually becomes a viable option in your head. It happens. I promise.

I don’t hate my ex-husbands and ex-lovers. To do so would not only deny the validity of every deep feeling I ever had for them (”Oh, yeah, well I was wrong - and stupid apparently.”) but it spreads an inky poison through my veins that clogs me up worse than pure palm and coconut oil.

I’d rather die from a heart attack from clogged arties and high cholesterol than from a clogged heart and bitterness.

I don’t eat meat (I don’t want to anyway) because I don’t support cruelty in any fashion anymore - not to animals, not to starving little children who starve because they didn’t have the good fortune to be born in a country where Mommy and Daddy can buy meat, and my “meat” has eaten their share of grains they could survive on. And not to the environment, especially my own Iowa environment, which is being raped and ruined by the impact of factory farming menthods.

Cruelty of every kind has to stop somewhere - let it begin with me.

I believe with all my heart that there can be friendships between men and women, as long as both parties are aware of the dangers ingerent because we’re not all as highly evolved as we’d like to be - and can get confused. I have male friends who have been generous with their time and help with - honest to God - no thought of getting into my britches - and I’m not going to cloister myself from their friendship just because they’re male.

I also think that sometimes, after a shitty hard night at work, there is nothing nicer than going to the local tap with my co-workers, kicking up my poor tired feet, cramming my quarters into the juke box and relaxing, bitching, laughing and unwinding.

Furthermore, if a woman is in an abusive situation, I will answer when she calls and offer what help she asks for - even knowing the statistics, even having been there myself and knowing that, in so many cases and for so many times, “it won’t do any good.”

And finally, I vote. Early and often. Women were not granted the right to vote in the United States until 50 years after freed slaves were given the privilege. I vote for the women who suffered to give me the right. I vote for the men and women who died today to ensure that right for me.

This is who I am.

I’m 47 years old and I’ve come to these conclusions about myself and about my life through experience.

I’m not an idiot.

And I will no longer let people close to me put me down for what I believe. You go ahead and believe what you want to believe - that’s what works for you. I might not agree. But don’t berate me, mock me, threaten me, or, God forbid, pillory me (look it up!)

I LOVE. That’s what I do. My profession and my career is to get paid to love with skill. My heritage is to love. I love. I hug, I encourage and exhort, I am interested, I speak out, I defend, I forgive.

I fall down.

But the more I love, the more I love. Loving A does not in anyway diminish my capacity to love B - it increases it!

The more I love, the more I love.

You Thought I was Kidding, Didn’t You? February 13, 2008

You thought it was an exaggeration that the Chantix had screwed me up to the point of laying comatose unless I actually absolutely had to be up, didn’t you?

It wasn’t.

And all I have to do to realize that is to note the contrast. Like…yesterday I got up cheerfully when my daughter called at 7 something - and then I also did laundry, unloaded and re-loaded the dishwasher, shovelled off the part of the deck that interests me (where my dogs go), got dressed, got in my car and drove to the accountant’s to pick up my taxes and my darling’s very unromantic but very practical Valentine’s present, came home, and made hummus!!!! Fat free hummus, at that!

And all of that before showering and going to work!!! (I work second shift.)

Those activities right there constitute about an entire week’s worth of activity while I was taking that evil drug.

But I’m past that. I did three things that I’m very proud of yesterday.

One, I made hummus. See, the thing is that I have lived my life basically going along eating what I’ve eaten all my life. A new recipe here and there like once a year if I got a wild hair. No, wait. Maybe about once every ten years.

My daughter, as everyone knows, makes all kinds of new stuff, smart thing, that she never learned from me. Like guacamole and spaghetti squash. I just really didn’t, and I don’t know why. I love to cook - I just love to cook stuff I know.

But in this whole changing my diet thingie, I’ve been exposed to a lot of stuff that I hear people literally rave about. Like hummus. Which I had to look up so I knew the correct pronunciation for, so I didn’t look like some Iowa gauche hick. “hum-us” I give you - my version of Fat Free Hummus:

Fat Free Hummus
1 can chickpeas, drained and rinsed
3 T lemon juice (hmmm, I had to use lime)
2 cloves garlic (I used minced)
a little salt to taste
a little parsley to taste (or cilantro)
1-2 T water - enough to make a smooth paste

Put all in food processor - unless you can’t figure out how yours goes together, let alone works. Then you can use your blender. Just be sure to wash it before anyone sees it and makes fun of you.

Oh - and I threw in some of my homemade salsa. Because I love salsa. And I didn’t have any chips or anything like that but I ate the hell out of it with cut up celery and carrot. Yummmmmm!!

Secondly, I walked on a treadmill yesterday on my lunch hour. See, I always thought people who spent money on treadmills were dumb because, well, I’m a hippie, and you can walk for free.

Until I hit the down slide of my 40’s and too damn many days of below zero hell (and ice and snow).

So, we have a whole excercise area in the basement of my workplace. And I went down there last weekend and tried to make the treadmill go. And it wouldn’t. I’m pushing buttons and trying to walk to make it go - nada.

So I sucked it up and asked my boss and friend to show me. Ooooooh, there is a dummy key. Like, it has to be plugged in before anything will turn on - it clips to you so that if you fall off, it will stop.

Hmmmmm. Smart. OK, so she showed me how. And on my 20 min lunch hour, I trotted along on the damn thing (my boss’ legs come up to my chest - probably can’t go as fast as she did) for ten minutes - and ate supper for ten minutes.

Hooray for me! Another “new thing”.

And for the life of me I can’t remember what the third thing is for which I was proud of myself. Hmmmmm…..

No More Waiting to Exhale - I’m a Smoker! February 11, 2008

OK OK OK, I know.

But that Chantix was seriously killing me. As in, not a good thng for someone with depression issues. As depressed as I have been at different times in my life, there is only one other time when I literally just laid in bed unable to move - until Chantix.

And seriously, I know it doesn’t effect everyone that way, but apparently it’s not at all uncommon. In fact, my son called me Saturday night in a panic because he had seen something on TV about lawsuits regarding Chantix and depression, suicidal thoughts, etc.

So, I was going off the Chantix, and thought everything was fine. And then, I think it was Friday night, I was so stressed out at work that I started smoking.

And in the three days since then I can honestly tell you that I feel like myself again. As in, happy, funny, clear headed. I have compassion again for the people I work for, and with. I can focus. I get up at a decent hour and accomplish stuff.

So…sorry. As of today, I’m an unrepentant smoker. Aside from the fact that my beloved can’t smoke, and I am very careful not to smoke anywhere around him, cuz that would just be mean…

I just can’t.

Maybe another day with Nicoderm CQ or something like that but not today.

On a brighter note, I think I’m on to something with this PMS stuff.

I was talking to my daughter today (who forever after will be referred to as “my lifeline” - thanks, baby) and discussing it with her and the fact that, for me anyway, the kind of PMS symptoms Ihave been living with are not of the “bitchy-eat some chocolate-wow that sucked didn’t it” variety.

Like - seriously. Very very very painful, interrupting and interfering with my life stuff. Stuff I could not live with anymore and stuff - as always - that I reject the whole idea of taking some drugs for.

I mean, c’mon, it’s my body, right?

So, this no-animal-products thing, turns out I was on the right track BUT the two keys to that are…1) low fat, and 2) lots of fiber. No - really - I’ve been reading a lot and if you’re interested, this might help.

So I am feeling much better, I’m feeling more like me again - and being me is my favorite thing to be - especially when I haven’t been able to be me for even a short time.

Alright…I’m sick of myself…. January 31, 2008

What do you suppose I have been doing that I haven’t posted anything in the last week?

Talking to my daughter on the phone or webcam? Noooooooo…..

Catching up on favorite and new-favorite blogs? Nooooooooo…….

I have been one of those annoying, ridiculous self-absorbed asses navigating my way through the whole non-smoking and changing my (our) diet jungle as if nothing else matters.

As in - eeeewwwwwwweeeee I have this nasty side effect from the Chantix - let me do hours of online research to see if others have experienced it (although surely not as badly as me) and how they managed it. And then let’s talk about it and think about it and whine about it for hours and hours and days and days….

As in, when work gets tense (which is why they call it “work” and have to pay me to come there), how I get all tense and in my defensive stance, checking every 30 seconds to see - do I have a cigarette craving? How about a jam every morsel of junk food in the building into my face craving? No? Not yet? Roger. We’ll check back in 30 seconds.

And scanning the Internet - trolling the Internet - mining the Internet for good receipes for whole grains and fruits and vegetables and coming across all of these things like “raw foodists” and people who yell and scream at each other about animals’ rights and the varying degrees thereof. Nice to animals - mean to people. Someone tell me what’s wrong with this picture.

Blllllllllllaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhh

Last night I caved and had myself a big old plate of spaghetti and meatballs at aforementioned tense workplace - and yes, it was freaking tense.

Note to self. When you haven’t eaten stuff like that in almost a month, not so wise. I was up at 2 am yakking my guts out - perfectly non-digested spaghetti and meatballs that had been sitting like an anvil in my stomach for about 6 hours. Yuck. Yuck yuck yuck.

So - I’m repenting of all this ridiculous navel gazing.

Yes, my darling and I are both smoke free. No way I want to go through this quit-shit again, so I’m not starting. Plus, it’s been record low temperatures here, by a weird quirk of fate, so I have been smugly not going outside to smoke. Plus, after the two sons let go of my wallet, I wouldn’t spend the money on smokes if I had it left.

And yes, I still don’t like meat, eggs, or dairy. Although apparently, in some circles you can go to hell - slaughterhouse hell at that - if you don’t know that “they” secretly sneak eggs and/or dairy into stuff no reasonable person would suspect of containing eggs or dairy. I just really don’t like that stuff right now - my taste buds are all about fruit and veggies mostly - and I kinda get a jones on for some tortillas sometimes too.

And honestly, I do feel so so so so so so so much better. Aside from the pukiness from the Chantix, which is no small thing, believe me.

So, time to pull head out of belly button (or wherever it was) and rejoin the world.

If spring ever comes, that is. Or at least it gets and stays around 30 or some temperature that a normal human being could be expected to survive for the small amount of time it would take for me to get from my car to somewhere and back…………

The Stirrings of Renewed Passions….no, not that kind lol January 24, 2008

So…I’ve been thinking. Not having a lot of ambition to post lately, between work and quitting smoking, etc. And, being me, wondering why that was.

For most of my life, writing was my life. As natural to me as breathing, and as necessary for the self expression as well as for just the stretching and using of my intellectual muscles, I suppose.

My beloved daughter is exactly the same way.

I remember reading Avi’s advice to people who wanted to do that “Blogging 365 Days a Year” thing, to write what you care about, are passionate about.

And I have frankly not been passionate about anything for a long time.

Which is very - veeeerrrrrrrrryyyyyy - not like me.

But since the first of the year, a lot of events have conspired to kick me in the head and I have felt the stirrings - not much more than goldfish tails actually - but some real energy here.

First, my darling having that “cardiac event” on January 6 - resulting in a cardiac cath and a stent placement and all the attendant drama.

As he left the hospital, he was admonished to quit smoking cigarettes (duh) and given a 20 minute lecture by a dietician, which the average person would have thrown up their hands at in confusion.

Good thing I’m a registered nurse.

Huh! Good thing I’m a registered nurse and someone who’s been a freak over the years reading about more natural health therapies.

(Ask my daughter about the time her boyfriend asked if I was a witch because I made him drink some herbal thing when he came over sick. Still and all, my kids hardly ever, ever used antibiotics - and neither do my grandkids.)

Anyway, we come home, we start on the Chantix - which makes me nauseous but it’s Day 5 without smoking and no one has died yet!

And I go grocery shopping. Sweetheart has a sweet tooth, so I load up on all this sugar free pudding and jell-o and ice cream for him for desserts. And fruits, and vegetables, which I then sit down and make him try (most have been a hit, thankyouverymuch). And low fat milk (almost had a mutiny in the house over that one), and whole grain breads.

Oh - and no more Mountain Dew. The nectar of life for this man. And bless his little heart, he’s done awesome without it and developed a new fondness for Diet Rite - no caffeine, no nasty ass aspartame. No sodium. He likes it.

So, he’s doing good. The cardiac rehab chick is impressed, he’s had like two headaches in three weeks, as opposed to his previously daily bad bad bad ones. He’s exhausted - he’s worked for almost two weeks straight since they released him to go back to work - but heart wise, etc., he’s doing good.

Check.

And then there’s me.

I, of course, am on the Internet doing research like crazy. Looking for more ways to serve fruits and vegetables, which leads me to some vegetarian sites, which lead me to sites about the effects of our present meat and dairy supply, as per umpteen studies. And one catches me eye.

See, as a background, I have terrible PMS, physically and emotionally. It’s gotten worse since I was about 35, and it’s gotten to Frankensteinian proporitions - to the point that the day my period arrives is practically heralded here with champagne and foghorns. I can’t even begin to tell you how horrible I feel - me, who never ever used to feel horrible ever. It’s to the point that for about two weeks out of the month, I absolutely do not trust my own feelings, decisions and judgments.

And that, my dears, is a very scary and shitty place in which to find yourself. Half of your life, afraid of your own self.

As we all know, in the US presently, our meat and dairy animals are fed all kinds of hormones and antibiotics to make them grow faster and bigger for production.

That crap is stored in their flesh, etc., and passed on to us, the consumers, which is why we are developing, for instance, a lot of “super infections” that are resistant to antibiotics, because our bodies have already had so much of that stuff, the little germies are mutating. Trust me - I work with that part every day.

The stuff I read then pointed out that those hormones screw with our hormones. And it is our hormones that regulate every single activity in our body.

And it is my hormones, specifically, that are making my life a whirlwind.

So I quit eating meat. About a week before I stopped smoking. I was also thinking that the healthier I could eat and drink in the time leading up to quitting smoking, the easier it would be - and I was right. I’m drinking a shit ton of water.

I dropped it all - meat, poultry, dairy, eggs, cheese. Which, for those of you in the know, does not make me a “vegan” because I still wear wool and leather and, uh, I don’t know what else. Go to zoos.

And the thing is, I feel a ton better. A ton. I’ve lost three or four pounds, I sleep better, my skin looks better and, as mentioned before, the quitting smoking thing is going along swimmingly.

I just “came out” to my kids earlier this week about it. We’ve always been a big meat eating family - and I still cook it for my darling and family.

So that’s part of it. The renewed passion. Learning about this - arming myself with information.

The second thing can only be called a renewed urgency for compassion and peace.

Especially after hearing about - and reading firsthand - the attacks by someone neither of us has ever met on one of the most important people in my life. Someone I know better than anyone else in the world knows to be good and loyal and hard working and compassionate and faithful and honest and wonderful.

It perplexes me. It makes me so damn sad. That this, as people, is what we come to.

And believe me, boys and girls, what makes me the most sad is knowing that, at my core, I am no better. I can rip heads off better than almost anyone I know, make a person feel two inches tall, totally cast doubt about them and within them.

I can’t stand it anymore. I don’t want to be so angry anymore, and so violent. I don’t want to support it, collaborate with it, feed it.

I don’t want to demonize people, put them down to ensure my own place in the pecking order, make nasty jokes about people. Hey - listen - I do it.

So that’s my new passion. Working toward compassion and peace - first of all within myself and compassion for myself, and then in ever widening arcs into the world.

How? Uh…I’ll hafta get back to you on that one.