For many of us, home is a verb. It’s movable. It changes with all that life brings. Somehow, though, whatever else I have in my life, I always have a home.
But I don’t have a hometown, one place of solidarity with the past that I am confident will last into the future. My brother does, and as proud as he is about his home and hometown, it is one thing that I welcome in his life, but can’t replicate in mine. It’s that old story about accepting our differences, accepting ourselves.
Stanley and I have lived in our chicken coop for 3 1/2 years now. It is home, as it has been since the first time we entered the poor old run-down bungalow, long before we turned it into its current state of comfortable unspectacularness. I recently confessed to some travel friends that 3 1/2 years is about my comfortable pace of travel. This is as fast as I want to see things in this world. A childhoood in California, two years in Colombia, three years in Texas, a couple decades in the central valley of California (aiii!), a year in Ukraine, and now this. Is it time to move on? Have I ‘traveled’ the wondrous central Pacific coast, ready to move on to some other place for 3 1/2 or so years?
Who knows? But it won’t be this year. This year, Stanley is on the count for new countries to visit, filling up his list. And I am tagging along. Lord help us.
The quest is over, but I have not found the holy grail of diets. This is just another diet fad, and though it may help many people, really, what was always true remains: Marsha is what Marsha eats. We all are what we eat; all of us need to figure out what it is that we can live with and what we can’t.
The real ‘skinny’ of this diet: I did not lose a pound. I did find out that soy and milk products will stay out of my grocery basket, and that grass-fed beef will occasionally find its way home with me. Was it worth it? Yes, and no. No holy grail, but a good piece of information or two.
Nothing on this diet has been difficult, except me and my attitude. I am suspicious about why we always feel we need to change our outlook toward foods. At different times, red meat has been good then bad and now good again; soy is now evil; whole wheat is on the verge of being a bad food. Although I get a bit tired of the author’s ever-loving cheerfulness (she’s a ROCK STAR and she ROCKS!!!!!,) I’ll follow her recommendations if they work for me. But does that mean my supply of Trader Joe’s Multigrain pancake mix, the one that makes wonderful waffles, will have to be tossed? That somehow just doesn’t seem right.
If you want to test your memory, there’s nothing like those songs you sing in your youth. Like this little sweet thing from camp:
I´m a little coconut Sitting on my coco-butt Everybody laughs at me Because I am a nut, you see
(Chorus) I´m a nut (*clap* *clap*) I´m a nut (*clap* *clap*) I´m a nut, I ´m a nut, I´m a nut (*clap* *clap*)
MacScouter Book of Songs
I feel like I’ve been singing that song all week. Coconut oil, coconut juice, coconut milk, and -surprise- coconut. Mostly, though, I relate to the chorus, because following all this diet advice is a bit nutty.
It wasn’t so long ago that soy was magic. And before that, corn. And I find it absolutely wacky that this
is not on my diet.
Happily, though, since I had been dairy-free for several weeks before this venture, tomorrow I am re-introducing cream in my coffee. And maybe some yogurt, if I’m still feeling nutty.
Habits are funny things. You do them because that’s what you do. I’ve had a couple close calls on this diet – my autopilot goes to the pretzel jug – but I haven’t fallen off this soy-is-a-villain-coconut-is-cool diet. Yet.
Solid oil, no soy, coconut until I’m crazy, red meat and sausages. That is the real challenge of this diet for me, that it challenges my thinking in some very interesting ways. It’s good to jumble things up a bit once in awhile. And, the truth is that a lot of pretzels and waaaaay too much honey aren’t always the good thing I want them to be.
Most of the stuff in this diet is old stuff to me. Lots of fresh food, grown and sold close to home. In other words, eat close to the source. I’ve agreed with this philosophy for a long time. But some stuff is new. And that is the challenge.
An old dog can learn new tricks, they say. Or is it ‘an old dog can’t learn new tricks’? At this point in the diet, all attempts to confuse me might be successful, since now I am using solid oil to cook my foods. I can’t remember the last time I allowed solid oil near my stove top. I know the label reads ‘coconut oil’ and the book swears that the stuff comes from heaven, but it looks like Crisco to me.
So these new rules about cooking might be just the newest in a very long line of diet fads. But there are some interesting pay-offs that I am hoping will stay around for the long-haul. Even though my main hope in following this diet plan is better health, my clothes are suddenly just a bit bigger than they were last week. Just a bit.
Still, if the oil looks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it’s probably Crisco.