tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-190931862024-03-07T21:49:29.049-05:00MelissaKnitsSpiders make webs. Fish gotta swim and chickens lay eggs. Melissa? Oh. She knits.MelissaKnitshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05181100868057912442noreply@blogger.comBlogger534125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19093186.post-80361691982818016072022-07-17T14:23:00.000-04:002022-07-17T14:23:06.278-04:00Wishes<p> I wish I had always been who I am instead of who I tried to be.</p><p>I wish I had a mini van because the girls would fit better than they do in a car.</p><p>I wish the supreme court was made up of progressive women in a rainbow of skin tones.</p><p>I wish that when my daughter told me I was a feminist I’d realized she was right.</p><p>Mostly I wish I could express boundaries in a healthy manner rather than tolerating bullshit and trying to Be Nice and Please People before going all duck and run when I max out on being kicked around.</p><p>Oh. And I wish to leave New England again, but I haven’t decided where for just yet.</p><p>Meantime?</p><p>Dogs. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicaIFoH_s5FSRFgOlhcgKJ-3ui-Hi7UZn2cVxzfLzfCXM4h9rcF-uIi5ybSkzijed7wP089YMaL23BfH3xj05ZzrvrpyEgYgYyH932L-opQCP2plnEfLkglHBW38Ab-cRf-dndv4CNBCXCtYl1g03mTf5RYJSg07BUFCxtP8BGsdcOePfMA8s/s3727/0C51639A-0D11-47F5-96ED-F78B8CDA8904.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3727" data-original-width="2795" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicaIFoH_s5FSRFgOlhcgKJ-3ui-Hi7UZn2cVxzfLzfCXM4h9rcF-uIi5ybSkzijed7wP089YMaL23BfH3xj05ZzrvrpyEgYgYyH932L-opQCP2plnEfLkglHBW38Ab-cRf-dndv4CNBCXCtYl1g03mTf5RYJSg07BUFCxtP8BGsdcOePfMA8s/s320/0C51639A-0D11-47F5-96ED-F78B8CDA8904.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipsDZYy3I7GLLA203YV5Xxhb2D3tcUMc8Gcf_fXjLVIyycmYmCI9h_ITW7rb5JIW4bjPdi8NXXKGBTIogxJO7QPNyUHLA73VWoyM-8111i-e8wlS8oOCzE3nxjis0lMATS2f2OkmIwMiGatkrObk1pindH5-DBuLJu8Ql6VN5S1M-lfDxbAaE/s3088/4B716FC0-859F-480D-8167-DB5D15015810.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; 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text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFrvRzu_fj9IH7aKQHWNgYuvCAO08gB-HOc5IupL-irWVU-Vo2DO3UEcmBCnL-MS5zMQnlQgJIRZ341lV7uNXh0dyjNypE2OJ2Q7fkMLP9Vvse7YJzPT2thcd00wV-ZzcnX6AZ9_k1FWz2ZzEQ06HKcn3G5pUb7bktjYUkXNc3NWmKv3e6vuI/s3119/C1FB012F-5DE3-4A45-A144-A49ABA76647D.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2535" data-original-width="3119" height="260" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFrvRzu_fj9IH7aKQHWNgYuvCAO08gB-HOc5IupL-irWVU-Vo2DO3UEcmBCnL-MS5zMQnlQgJIRZ341lV7uNXh0dyjNypE2OJ2Q7fkMLP9Vvse7YJzPT2thcd00wV-ZzcnX6AZ9_k1FWz2ZzEQ06HKcn3G5pUb7bktjYUkXNc3NWmKv3e6vuI/s320/C1FB012F-5DE3-4A45-A144-A49ABA76647D.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>Melissa Morgan-Oakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03924231630580404009noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19093186.post-48766860660577023312021-08-10T20:23:00.002-04:002022-07-17T14:13:20.670-04:00I think this is what the kiddies call a cluster f&^k.<p>I remember the first time I heard that phrase. B came home from college with a t-shirt he adored but had gotten a grease stain on - dead center, very obvious. For a fastidious boy, unacceptable. It had a logo and the words 'Greco Roman Cluster Fuck' on it. The phrase appealed to me. I kept it.</p><p>The other day my indigestion (you'd have to go way back here to get that reference...) asked if it was ok if he outed me as agnostic. I told him it was fine. Although I am not advertising, and I am not aggressively promoting anti-religion I have come to a solid and comfortable place of anti-religion in my personal life. </p><p>I think I have always been in a state of reasonable unbelief. But at the same time guilt ridden and struggling to be "faithful" to a 2,000 year old book written by a bunch of white guys. I'm over it. </p><p>The beginning of the end was subtle. The mother died, so the need for a structured system of belief to make sense of the anguish of life diminished. No need for a rigid structure to make sense of the world around me that felt like endlessly slipping sand. One of the last things my father and I discussed more deeply was his failure to read the christian bible through at some point in his life. By that point I was on round 2 I think, beginning in Genesis and going through to Revelation. He was impressed with that accomplishment. At that point I was still forcing belief but it was getting harder.</p><p>Two things struck home and ended the charade for good. First, Marcus Borg. Non-literal biblical interpretation makes the most - the ONLY sense. Allegory, metaphor, moral lessons. Jesus speaks endlessly in metaphor. The biblical stories work if they are moral lessons, not literal fact. Not "seven days or bust, the earth is only 6,000 years old, science isn't real" nonsense. And if it isn't literal, and there's other texts that easily pre-date it, then you're really up against it to prove that your one book is the only right one. And you are really seriously arrogant. Second, the moment when I bought a book that explained how to explain away all the inconsistencies in the book. If you need a book to explain all the things that don't make sense...if you need apologetics to explain away everything sensical, rational, logical, touchable, REAL then there has to be a problem with the system. Possibly with the foundation. Probably white guys.</p><p>Maybe three things. Hospice, though purely anecdotal. I watched a lot of people die. The most tormented were usually the most faithful. OK, four things. Feminism. Although I have denied, struggled against, resisted with siren call of feminism I simply cannot get away from "...the radical notion" that, as <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Marie_Shear">Marie Shear</a> said, "...women are people". Any tome that tries to tell me otherwise is going to have an uphill battle, because I am damn sick a tired of believing that I am chattel or a second class citizen, obliged to submit to a man just because he has a dick and somehow managed to twist history to his benefit.</p><p>So there you have it. </p><p>And it feels really good to say all that out loud. But it feels really really bad to know that I should have gotten here DECADES ago. Talk about guilt. (sorry, kids....maturity is the radical notion that parents are people).</p><p>So here's my cluster fuck. Gaining credibility when you've proven yourself to be an idiot is hard. Eating crow is hard. Moving forward when you can't fix what's done is hard.</p><p>I do this thing I love now. I give natural history museum tours or I fill up a minivan with native wildlife and I travel hither and yon talking about adaptations, evolution, earth history, facts. And you know what? The truth is that the science is so amazing, so incredibly and endlessly fascinating...I love it so much. I feel like - like hospice, it's a thing I was always meant to do. </p><p><br /></p>Melissa Morgan-Oakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03924231630580404009noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19093186.post-19555964091456362912021-04-18T06:58:00.002-04:002021-04-18T06:58:21.280-04:00Dear Sarah Palin<p><span style="font-family: georgia;">I have recently been listening to Barack Obama’s A Promised Land on Audible, read by the author. In a couple of places he refers to the “Obama Death Panel” rumors that according to Wikipedia and a quick google search were initiated by you in 2009. As a quick reminder, I give you this quote from your facebook post dated August 7, 2009: “The America I know and love is not one in which my parents or my baby with Down Syndrome will have to stand in front of Obama's "death panel" so his bureaucrats can decide, based on a subjective judgment of their "level of productivity in society," whether they are worthy of health care. Such a system is downright evil.” </span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Each time he mentioned these alleged death panels I found myself crying, needing to stop listening, to step away from the book for a bit. I am a slow learner, so it’s taken me a few years (ok, a decade-ish) to piece together a timeline that leads back to your Facebook post. </span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">I am not certain why you chose to perpetuate these lies, but I just wanted to drop you a note to let you know that your words had a very direct consequence in my life and on the lives of others in my family and my community.</span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">My mother was born in 1943 in western Massachusetts, the child of a staunchly Republican Anglo-Saxon family. It would not surprise me in the least to discover that members of my mother’s family were involved with the local KKK. Yes, we have local white supremacist groups. One would think that with cows and tobacco and maple syrup, they would have been too busy to organize around fear of anyone not white and Christian, but they made the time. </span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTeQn4lDAqiRY6X1dRmqomcDTBFJOY0AzlaRp6dUAaFe2N-VeB0hrLgl07_9nzrzOw-F9-fICuI2sQRSTQebv6mSbcPPX0WTlTlwDUcpNDxcFRQ7pcncCmKQpLqAdC4MY7NIKMUA/s2910/469385_+%2528263%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2910" data-original-width="2495" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTeQn4lDAqiRY6X1dRmqomcDTBFJOY0AzlaRp6dUAaFe2N-VeB0hrLgl07_9nzrzOw-F9-fICuI2sQRSTQebv6mSbcPPX0WTlTlwDUcpNDxcFRQ7pcncCmKQpLqAdC4MY7NIKMUA/s320/469385_+%2528263%2529.jpg" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-small;">Move over, Gerber Baby</span></i></div><span style="font-family: georgia;">At some point during my mother’s earliest years, she was traumatized in ways that left her scarred for life, and as a result she was plagued by mental illness from her adolescence until her premature death in 2011. She was, in many ways, a product of her generation - raised in a culture steeped in white supremacy, with air raid drills, “duck and cover” in her sibling’s classrooms, the all too white corpses of Jews in Nazi hands (although anti-Semitic by upbringing, that particular set of “those people” looked too much like her to be ignored)…toss in a child predator or two, and it’s a recipe for mental health disaster. And so it was with her. </span><p></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-yDI1l9cA-2YkzNTDPIit0r-25_P6rwOYSxOWpcucQIltgLkrjaPO_krKYDDcY-xOHt21bs1QGpIuFXYCL6_PpOECOAccmJQ1ytVikW5aC0Hizpwl6l2ifeUIOy72bM2ROc1dBg/s1002/469385_+%2528203%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1002" data-original-width="656" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-yDI1l9cA-2YkzNTDPIit0r-25_P6rwOYSxOWpcucQIltgLkrjaPO_krKYDDcY-xOHt21bs1QGpIuFXYCL6_PpOECOAccmJQ1ytVikW5aC0Hizpwl6l2ifeUIOy72bM2ROc1dBg/s320/469385_+%2528203%2529.jpg" /></a></span></div><p></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px; text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-small;">Pris as a teenager</span></i></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">But she was a productive member of society. She birthed and reared a daughter (who went on to have two children of her own, author three knitting books, become a bleeding-heart liberal, and work against everything her mother believed she stood for). She worked hard, tirelessly it seemed, sometimes as many as 80 hours a week. She was a loving (and possibly I might argue excessively) doting grandmother to her own grandchildren, her great-granddaughter, and the children of anyone with whom she came into close contact. “The Nana”. It was probably her most beloved role. She gave when she could, what she could, to those she cared for. She had at her core a soft heart, although at times she was very clearly what she had been reared to be - a paranoid, defensive politically conservative racist. </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmGpSKtSKMIOOF6_v_FserW81djNu7ssUfW0QgUHu_NzipPL9ROSJB9cRGjHe4aV_aSw1pnTeVUuzfWBvHoj_YNHEbggslcjBecA4e3wk5vKUjN_YGTGhbS3tn50CVpi4SJ96f4A/s800/MMO_PAM_AAA_4_2011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmGpSKtSKMIOOF6_v_FserW81djNu7ssUfW0QgUHu_NzipPL9ROSJB9cRGjHe4aV_aSw1pnTeVUuzfWBvHoj_YNHEbggslcjBecA4e3wk5vKUjN_YGTGhbS3tn50CVpi4SJ96f4A/s320/MMO_PAM_AAA_4_2011.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><p></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-small;"><i>Nana with her </i><i>great-granddaughter,</i><i> and the author</i></span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Her life was not an easy one. Mental illness is relentless. Underfunded, under diagnosed, under treated and deeply misunderstood. Sometimes loops would play in her mind, driving her behavior, spinning her out into paranoia. She attempted suicide more than once. She engaged in self-abuse with razor blades, and was treated with a range of pharmaceuticals and talk therapy, including a 20+ year relationship with one shrink characterized by so much transference it would have made an exceptional case study for someone. </span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyxnmFvES_zmuduK66TOOYNGRlhiSeaQsv4yU1Ek-aqVNeMm4VHQlvwRImaASgT4D7RRxmBEtnVj0XyZCB3y3O_PdUzkHnQjZuJ__8pFcvLj2zMgoza4cvjfnSL1WlcKsrdIbHtw/s1448/342336+%2528139%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1013" data-original-width="1448" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyxnmFvES_zmuduK66TOOYNGRlhiSeaQsv4yU1Ek-aqVNeMm4VHQlvwRImaASgT4D7RRxmBEtnVj0XyZCB3y3O_PdUzkHnQjZuJ__8pFcvLj2zMgoza4cvjfnSL1WlcKsrdIbHtw/s320/342336+%2528139%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><p></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-small;">Nana rolling eggs in the grass in happier times</span></i></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">It was into this damaged and struggling mind that a thought was delivered in 2009, first made public by you in your Facebook post, then picked up and amplified by conservative media and legislators. “They”, Obama and his …evil henchpersons? Death squad? Who the hell did you think was coming?…were coming for grandma. Grandma, and all the kids with Down Syndrome and, by inference, all the other white people deemed unfit in the new world order. </span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">My aunt could not stop whispering it, primed for fear and hate as she was by her own childhood, marked by the paranoia of WWII. And my mother could not stop listening, clenching her round white hands, looking at me with her brown child eyes, just this side of a sob as she whispered “They will get rid of me first, Melissa. I am useless, and a burden. It will be like the Jews all over again, only they will be coming for ME.”</span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Sometimes it takes me a while to put things together, time-wise. I would like to think that this is because I exist out of the temporal, so time lacks meaning because it has no beginning and no end. Really it just means I am slow on the uptake. Summer of 2009. Remember that, it’s important.</span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">I struggled to convince her that this wasn’t real. That it was a lie, that it did not reflect what I knew of HR3200, not that I had read the whole thing mind you, but as a result of this nonsense I had read the section alleged to contain this infamous death panel crap - and it was indeed crap. All I saw was good. Exactly the kind of thing my mother, had she not been filled with conspiracy theories and paranoia, would have championed - a change in payment systems that would allow physicians to be compensated for having important end of life discussions with their patients, rather than a brief “you have this, and it’s terminal, and there’s nothing I can do. Goodbye”.</span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">She did not believe me, and began to plan accordingly. </span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">At first she asked me to draw up all of her insulin on hand into a few syringes, or maybe I could get her a bigger syringe and she could just use one, in case she passed out before getting to inject the remainder. </span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">I declined. I encouraged her to reach out to her doctor for help. I encouraged her to make contact with the mental health professional she had been referred to after the death of her own psychologist. I called her doctor myself and reported her suicidal ideation, her various plans. I let the carers at the assisted living facility where she resided know. Both contacted her, she denied her plans, dismissed me to them as having “misunderstood her", and on we struggled.</span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Months passed, and the plan changed with the seasons, my attempts to change the course she had set were undeterred both within the system and without. Maybe an overdose of narcotics or anti-anxiety medication would work? I told her she didn’t have enough on hand to be lethal. Maybe she could stop taking her insulin and over-eat or starve herself to death? I told her how painful that would be. </span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Every day she was fearful. Some days I chided her for being paranoid. Some days I reminded her of her great-granddaughter, then living in Texas with her parents on a military base. I reminded her of her grandchildren, grown but still present. None of them, she said, needed her. They had me, after all, and would be fine. She didn’t want to be here any more. She didn’t want someone else controlling the manner of her demise. She wanted to control it herself. The idea of a death panel was imbedded. Impossible to shift. </span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">I tried the medical route again, reaching out to her primary care physician to let them know that regardless of what she claimed, she did indeed have a plan to end her own life, although it shifted sometimes daily. Once during an emergency room visit I let the staff know that she had suicidal ideation, and a plan (or, depending on the day, many plans)… They called in a psychologist who interviewed her - and once again she dismissed me as having misunderstood her. In the hall, the woman told me she believed me, but that if my mother would not talk, she couldn’t make her. I was advised that she was, on paper anyway, competent. Any attempt I made to intervene legally would very likely fail and I risked destroying whatever warped relationship we had remaining. She was, in short, too good at gaming the system. </span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">She verbally contracted with her physician and with me to replace the Prozac she was on with another anti-depressant. Maybe, it was thought, a change in her medication regimen would snap her brain chemistry out of whatever hole it had fallen into. Maybe then we could get her into some kind of a place where she could get the help she so desperately needed.</span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">At the end of her Prozac taper sometime in 2010, she was presented with a prescription for a new antidepressant - I don’t remember which, and really it is irrelevant, because she simply refused to take it. That, and all of her other meds except Premarin. No insulin. No anti-depressants. No Neurontin for the painful diabetic neuralgia. Nothing. </span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">She confided in me that although this plan was not her first choice, it would have to do if she wanted to avoid the Obama Death Panels. And I was to be consoled, she insisted, by her $25,000 life insurance policy. $25,000. She valued her life that cheaply. </span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">I won’t go into the details of her ultimate demise - it was a fiasco, a horrible mess to witness, that ultimately ended in November of 2011 when she died, much less peacefully than she might have desired. </span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">And this is where I put things together in a time line that somehow leads back to you, Sarah. Not that you are the only cause, not the you are the prime suspect in a death that took the universe 68 years to accomplish, but that you were a cause. </span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Your words, your lies, amplified by divisive politics and a media unbalanced by the impending repeal of the fairness doctrine, had very direct consequences for very real people. My mother is dead. I watched her kill herself slowly. Her granddaughter watched. Her grandson watched. Her friends, her family…they all had to watch this unnecessary story play out before their eyes all because you allowed ignorance and fear to rule your mind and your tongue. </span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">Like I said, I do not hold you personally responsible for my mother’s death. Clearly she was unbalanced, and struggled against the demons of mental illness for all of her adult life. Something, I am sure, would ultimately have triggered her to end her life…there is a percentage of mental illness that ends in suicide, and the probability that she would be in that number was always pretty real in my world. </span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span></p>
<p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">But I do hold you, and everyone who amplified you, accountable for your words and the impact they have in the mind of the susceptible - the poor, the ignorant, the fearful, the damaged. You weren’t, as it were, the shooter. But you did sell the gun, with no background check. </span></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJIuaiEdjKT61vOK5Yg8InncMEqyNTuCeVw8ZGu-2j8yh8_LF5gg4Qg3LaatVhqUBbm0abgs1VNyoKSOlRdZxfBb5LhlvhoA8gC5q8ckMbk08xrQU_EStv__AYnhr2w0Xgv26Otg/s3008/DSC_0059.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3008" data-original-width="2000" height="311" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJIuaiEdjKT61vOK5Yg8InncMEqyNTuCeVw8ZGu-2j8yh8_LF5gg4Qg3LaatVhqUBbm0abgs1VNyoKSOlRdZxfBb5LhlvhoA8gC5q8ckMbk08xrQU_EStv__AYnhr2w0Xgv26Otg/w213-h311/DSC_0059.JPG" width="213" /></a></div><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px; text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-small;">Nana in a box, with the ironic distribution device</span></i></p><span style="font-family: georgia;">And I thought you should know.</span><p></p><p style="font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 12px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwokPgjjeo17AJi5pDFgDVd9pJNA-VnUp_d-rdk6eHzh8UP8WOrbmylJceFVGHqY4ajdJyIiaLbcTsJjMV32Wau-x2nYl9Wc4_tLAV-It2Y1GdSBC0M2Eo6eZC177ptJLNS4INxQ/s3008/DSC_0097.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2000" data-original-width="3008" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwokPgjjeo17AJi5pDFgDVd9pJNA-VnUp_d-rdk6eHzh8UP8WOrbmylJceFVGHqY4ajdJyIiaLbcTsJjMV32Wau-x2nYl9Wc4_tLAV-It2Y1GdSBC0M2Eo6eZC177ptJLNS4INxQ/s320/DSC_0097.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-size: x-small;"><div style="text-align: center;"><i><span style="font-family: georgia;">Nana's Last Beach Trip</span></i></div></span><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p><p style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"></p>Melissa Morgan-Oakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03924231630580404009noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19093186.post-6753308335587957232021-02-11T11:23:00.000-05:002021-02-11T11:23:01.183-05:00That Moment <p>I never wanted a cell phone, a computer, or the internet. I never even wanted cable TV. I remember when my ex bought our first vcr. Didn't want that either. I remember every step along the way the same way I remember the compromises I made about food...I wanted to be vegan. No one else did. So I gave in, made the deal to keep the peace.</p><p>What I should have done was pack my shit and my kids and go find like-minded people in the woods, but then I probably would have become a dangerous conspiracy theorist with lots of guns. </p><p>Oops.</p><p>So now it's the plant based revolution online, and Brittany Kaiser's book Targeted, and the Center for Humane Technology...and still this tiny computer in my hand (and an iPad so handy for painting off of, and a MacBook to write museum articles, and the cloud to store my photos.)</p><p>Is it too late to throw my phone in the river? Too late to go back to paper and pens?</p><p>Probably. There has to be a middle ground in which I'm not feeding the data machine, and the data machine isn't controlling me.</p><p>How did we get here? 9/11? Patriot act, hand over any stitch of privacy we ever thought we had...and we nearly landed ourselves in the same fascist setting that killed millions of Jews? Or did it begin long before that?</p><p>And we aren't out of the woods by a long shot. </p><p>Just how many choices have I made in the last two decades that were really and truly my own? Specifically the last ten years...I feel like they've been stolen.</p><p>Choices. Delusional belief that we are actually free. </p><p>We're not. We've been sold to psy-ops. We just have to figure out how to buy ourselves back. How hard can that be. Right? </p><p><br /></p>Melissa Morgan-Oakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03924231630580404009noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19093186.post-64418439141383316862021-02-05T11:52:00.001-05:002021-02-05T11:52:19.084-05:00Ramblings<p> I've gone off the socials again and I'm glad of it. Once a week to check Facebook. </p><p>Meantime I'm finding things to help me understand the socials and the deep polarization that I have believed for ages is created...in other words I believe that fundamentally we have more in common than not, and we need to find a way back to that. And we need to get off devices (but shit I'm writing this on my iPhone, so...)</p><p>I've recently digested <a href="https://www.thesocialdilemma.com/">The Social Dilemma</a> and <a href="https://www.thegreathack.com/">The Great Hack </a>on Netflix as well as a podcast called <a href="https://www.humanetech.com/podcast">Your Undivided Attention</a>. All have been beneficial and scary. Is this a dystopia, and if so how do we course correct? Is democracy under assault, dying, and what do we want the future to look like? How do we navigate a world full of conspiracy theories aimed at exploiting every human weakness and fear that we have?</p><p>Then I paint some from this <a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/1631590561/ref=cm_sw_r_cp_api_glt_fabc_4HZGXZ2C90JF6E9DRS9Y">Learn to Paint in Acrylics with 50 Small Paintings</a> book or knit in an attempt to sooth my brain. Lianna is concerned about the excessive number of "mini paintings" I'm producing in the way that only a five year old can be. "You have enough of these mini paintings, omie. There's a lot of them. Why are you making these mini paintings?" I give her a canvas and a brush periodically and wish I had these resources when my kids were small, both the physical and emotional ones. </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAz96JplzdNza_A6S3wBnTY8SD1yeLr2pWhMqQUIMUcflsWPRxxqQLwVWSx-TfwLKWfm680CwMrfKjpCHA4mMRg6Mf9xAik2oxwzJ9fplWIfBwduJJvAEVncVRlOqBfR0Xf2e5nA/s3491/IMG_5973.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3491" data-original-width="3020" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAz96JplzdNza_A6S3wBnTY8SD1yeLr2pWhMqQUIMUcflsWPRxxqQLwVWSx-TfwLKWfm680CwMrfKjpCHA4mMRg6Mf9xAik2oxwzJ9fplWIfBwduJJvAEVncVRlOqBfR0Xf2e5nA/s320/IMG_5973.HEIC" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR29nS7thU2BU2jpeF7gR7G9SMgwmZwr4AL5CSQOg9KEAGTO3oMGYZLMEtdvUM7z5jAcLQH-DSE-0IrH1Vx4sO9sxX9UllHeelja5mLXz04ddiaz50vlw4h4G6JC3qHedf2zAIXg/s4032/IMG_5957.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiR29nS7thU2BU2jpeF7gR7G9SMgwmZwr4AL5CSQOg9KEAGTO3oMGYZLMEtdvUM7z5jAcLQH-DSE-0IrH1Vx4sO9sxX9UllHeelja5mLXz04ddiaz50vlw4h4G6JC3qHedf2zAIXg/s320/IMG_5957.HEIC" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwwEXofAy_ZF5RPMA-lAieeKVaD5ej-ME2kriFWL1j6nGnqsGgY0Tw0TTtIe7aPRFKvxOtHcyl8x43WMt5TNHBLBptfHerGMCqa3V4FlHfxG-mk8hFra6S_3JtdoAu8ySuPWD99A/s3024/IMG_5925.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2908" data-original-width="3024" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwwEXofAy_ZF5RPMA-lAieeKVaD5ej-ME2kriFWL1j6nGnqsGgY0Tw0TTtIe7aPRFKvxOtHcyl8x43WMt5TNHBLBptfHerGMCqa3V4FlHfxG-mk8hFra6S_3JtdoAu8ySuPWD99A/s320/IMG_5925.HEIC" width="320" /></a></div><br />I'm learning that I don't like abstract. The impressionist one wasn't as hard as I thought once I got rolling but it wasn't by favorite. I'm getting better at sketching with pencil and with paint. <p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyNNxNBYLMO8YMQvr3joprkwzcmohBhRCdASjbucCWzHq1hLPdt-f3lrf7KJ5RkdQA9quTLNbjaPsM-YgF0Z-W0EfqsvWieNdYyOoGR7ymUbcRWckf_4cYavqyW7wNCxtz_LBz3w/s2048/EAFB9421-EC33-4085-8F37-7DE4384EC026.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1955" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyNNxNBYLMO8YMQvr3joprkwzcmohBhRCdASjbucCWzHq1hLPdt-f3lrf7KJ5RkdQA9quTLNbjaPsM-YgF0Z-W0EfqsvWieNdYyOoGR7ymUbcRWckf_4cYavqyW7wNCxtz_LBz3w/s320/EAFB9421-EC33-4085-8F37-7DE4384EC026.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">I'm ever aware of and grateful for the space to play with all of this. I still worry about Gene working so I can I play. But at the same time, if he doesn't then my stuff would fall apart - babysitting.so Rachel can have a safe place for the child while she's working, museum volunteering, art...they'd all be mostly eliminated. Does unpaid labor have value, the endless question and internal battle. That and imposter syndrome. Fun fun. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">The goal : make a painting that is art from my brain, and sell it to someone not friends or family. For five minutes it'll make me feel like I can paint. Then I can go back to feeling like a fraud. (Insert lol emojis here). </span></div>Melissa Morgan-Oakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03924231630580404009noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19093186.post-30308527199614608792021-01-20T14:28:00.000-05:002021-01-20T14:28:35.256-05:00Patriotic Post<p> or maybe just a happy one.</p><p>For the first time in four years I feel like I can take a breath. The flag, songs, and the ridiculous pomp of this nation don't make me nauseous any more. Instead they fill my eyes with tears of joy and hope. </p><p>I've gone off the socials hopefully for ever...I'll still I suppose have to check in maybe once a week to post pictures, maybe sell some ornaments and check on museum volunteer group stuff or whatever, but I'm really, really looking forward to a return to real life. The last time I walked away from Facebook was so soothing and joyful and I was so happy with that decision until I got conned back on for museum things.</p><p>I'm done with the artificial world. </p><p>And 46 is my new favorite number.</p><p>Grace. Class. Dignity. Respect for truth. Honor. Science. </p><p>400,000 lives, trillions of dollars, enough hate sown to last a lifetime. We will rise up and reject it all. We have to.</p><p>For now I'm planning a trip to DC, a thing I haven't wanted to do in four years. Give me a vaccine, a return of Amtrak services, and a small budget, and I'm heading down. Because this is my country. </p><p><br /></p>Melissa Morgan-Oakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03924231630580404009noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19093186.post-80377348286523056012020-11-13T09:31:00.000-05:002020-11-13T09:31:07.920-05:00They Say March is Cruel <p>Oh, November 13, here we are again. Such a bitch. Am I sad my mommy is dead? Or am I sad that my mommy was a largely untreated mentally ill woman who never should have had a child of her own? Or am I angry at the world because apparently 47% of the population of the United States is...but I digress.</p><p>Maybe this last four years watching delusion spread faster than the flu has been really hard for me, especially this last year, as I watch insanity take over a nation and I realize the line between sanity and not is as fragile as it ever was, and perhaps more so. </p><p>I've spent most of my life trying to find solid ground, a place where things make sense, a place that's real. Where the emperor is naked, and everyone TELLS HIM SO. A place where the earth doesn't shift under your feet on an hourly basis because the person you are most supposed to trust in life - your MOTHER, for christsake - gaslights you so often that you aren't sure the sky really IS blue after all. </p><p>I spent most of my life watching my mother lose battles within her own mind, with my small self being (frankly) repeatedly victimized and traumatized by her failure to see truth, sense and reason. So this is a hard year, because I see all around me strong signs that 47% of us are...as crazy as my mother. </p><p>Sorry. </p><p>Not sorry. </p><p>That's my take. You'll cash out your "Christian" virtue and morality, dump democracy, turn your back on the world and your fellow countrypersons because...they want to grow, progress, evolve? And you want to cling to crazy debunked lies dreamed up by some person/s you've never met named after a fictional string-pulling, button-pushing, god-like Sci fi character. I'm sorry man. That's just nuts. And your nutty conspiracy theories about death panels helped kill that crazy old woman. And more people have died and will die as a result of all this. </p><p>Some people get scared and buy guns and develop (and cling to) elaborate conspiracy theories with no evidence to support them, while blindly ignoring the facts that are staring them in the face. Some people buy into untruths with no supporting reality and...kill themselves over it, or kill others. </p><p>But maybe we all do that in our own way, just with less loss of life. My reality is another's delusion. My delusion is someone's reality. Existential crisis in 3....2....</p><p>So here we are again, November 13, you bitch. She's still dead. Her legacy clearly is not. And I'm not sure, but I'm beginning to think it may be contagious. </p>Melissa Morgan-Oakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03924231630580404009noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19093186.post-12742073576078053862020-10-29T08:51:00.005-04:002020-10-29T08:51:49.175-04:00Ode to a Toilet Brush <p>In 1980-something, probably 84 or so, I procured a Rubbermaid toilet brush in a little peach tippy front holder, peach being at that time my favorite color, along with dusty rose and aqua, but I digress. </p><p>That little brush and tippy front holder have moved with me ever since. Across states, across towns, through marriage, childbearing, divorce, remarriage, child rearing it was my faithful and predictable partner in toilet bowl cleanliness. One toilet or three in the same house, it never once let me down.</p><p>In 2018 we packed me, the pets and most of the house into a uhaul and relocated from NC back here to the frozen tundra that is "home". The brush did not come with me, but I promised it that we would meet again soon. Duty called it to remain in NC where it could support Gene while the house was on the market. I bought a brush (with an incorporated plunger and holder, very fancy!) at Target just to get by. It felt disloyal, but the choices were limited and I liked the plunger feature a lot.</p><p>When the last day came and Gene packed himself and the sparse remains of his Mooresville housekeeping into the car he made a slight error in judgement - two really, that he will probably never finish paying for. So busy being angry that the big extension ladder wouldn't stay on the roof of his car, he left behind two critical items that to him, as the person who has not done most of the cooking and cleaning for the last 30+ years, had no value : my basketville gigantic heavy duty wooden clothes drying rack, and...my 1980's era toilet brush in it's little (fading) peach tippy front holder. </p><p>Today I am grieving as I head to Amazon to buy a decent toilet brush. THIRTY PLUS YEARS. THIRTY PLUS YEARS and still working great! But this fancy ass two year old piece of crap? The bristles are breaking and fraying, and my heart breaks with the firm knowledge that those kids that bought my house probably chucked that PERFECTLY GOOD toilet brush in it's faded tippy front holder into the big Mooresville trash pick up bin on their Very. First. Day.</p>Melissa Morgan-Oakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03924231630580404009noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19093186.post-13611366712206424462020-05-08T07:26:00.004-04:002020-05-08T20:10:07.257-04:00Weak Lungs Yesterday I went out and did a bit more than my normal in terms of erranding...Met up with Jacinda at Upinngil to hand off masks and look at flour, dropped the Prius off for spring tire swapping, then decided - while waiting for my tire swap, and since I had a mask on already anyway - to walk to Dollar General (who I know has cheap dried beans), and to Aubuchon because we have no hoe (and no idea where the damn thing went), and I needed a length of stovepipe to make a squirrel baffle for my bird feeder post ala Grampa Dan (we used to have matching ones back in the day that he engineered and we built separately). I saw a lot of people unmasked outside, and a lot with masks in their cars. Now, if you put the masks on the people out for a walk, and told the people in their cars that they don't need them while driving...but I digress.<br />
I went into Cumberlands (touch free!) and peed but bought nothing, because buying is touching and consuming and I have no interest in consuming anything I didn't make myself yet. The surreal "new normal" was simultaneously off-putting and comforting, with doors held wide open and caution tape roped up and an employee serving drinks across a barricade of wheeled Rubbermaid carts instead of the usual melee. The long lines of cars at both Dunkin' Donuts on Federal confirmed my decision to give up coffee - which at 8 weeks "clean" is a nice pat on the back. The last thing I need right now is caffeine withdrawal when the coffee market collapses. I've had that. It wasn't pretty. Tea it is.<br />
At Dollar General I was surprised to see all the dried beans gone but 8 pounds, and I bought them all. People were respectfully distant, employees look fearfully at customers which leads me to believe they get a lot of shit in the course of a day. Why not - after all they're essential(expendable) workers.<br />
At Aubuchon there were 4 employees at registers because although it was only Wednesday this is Random Sunday in May weekend coming up, and that always stimulates the buying up of anything floral or bird or garden related. There's not a lot, let me tell you. No giant racks of plants. All I needed was a hoe and stove pipe, as physically distant and as quickly as possible, thank you very much.<br />
So I got what I needed - one garden variety garden hoe, and one 6"x24" galvanized stove pipe section, and headed for the check-out.<br />
The floors are marked with 6' spacing, which some people understand and others do not. How obtuse you need to be to not see a giant blue X marked every 6' with giant blue arrows indicating direction of traffic flow is beyond me. Situational awareness is dead.<br />
After I checked out and was heading for the door, I overheard a blue-collar redneck type turn to his equally blue-collar redneck buddy and say "I don't know why I have to wear this. I mean, it isn't protecting me, you know? I mean. It's isn't."<br />
And I snapped back "NO. It's protecting ME." and walked out the door into the sun, not waiting for a reply.<br />
They just don't get it. And as I was walking back to Tire Warehouse I got to thinking about how and why they don't get it...and there's so many layers of why and so much information floating around that's misleading and conflicting...and I ...I just want people to understand. I know - I could just feel it - that when I walked away part of what went through his white male macho head was "Who the fuck are you??"<br />
So, for you, sir, let me try and explain who I am:<br />
I am your mother. I am your children's mother. I am your grandmother, your children's grandmother, your wife's mother, your beloved Auntie who you need to visit more but never have time because of the kids and the wife and work and all the excuses.<br />
I am your kid's teacher, the receptionist at your utility company who cuts you a break on the bill because you're out of work. I am the doctor who tells you to stop eating crap and get some exercise, and the lady at the bank who deposits your unemployment check when the ATM stops working.<br />
I am the nurse who will set up the iPad so you can see your wife and kids in the ICU if you "get it bad".<br />
We are unable, it seems, to see past ourselves. This has been a failing of our culture for decades, this failure to teach responsibility to others. I know I failed with my own kids, and it looks like everyone else did as well. I recently stated that White Jesus had become a convenient wrap to hide our insecurity and fear and paranoia. I stand by that.<br />
My parents used to worry about my "weak lungs". My father worried that he'd passed pulmonary HTN onto me (there are early indications that it's true). I've got auto-immune disease and an abnormally low white count with no diagnosis behind it other than "...some more auto-immune things, and we will know which one when more symptoms develop". I've got unresolved issues with a family member that I hope to resolve at least a little before I die. (Mommy loves you, you rotten little hedgehog/porcupine/turtle thing).<br />
I'm not working because the actions and movements of other people are unknown to me and out of my control. I'm not going to the museum because the actions of other staff and volunteers are unknown to me and out of my control. I'm not seeing or spending time with my grandchildren because their movements and those of their parents are out of my control and...not known to me. All of these people are like this guy at Aubuchon - "<i>Why? Why do I have to wear this thing? Why do I have to stand 6 feet away? This is AMERIKA, GOD DAMN IT, and it's my RIGHT to kill other people with a virus I don't know I am carrying!</i>"<br />
I shop for food once every two to three weeks, and with <a href="https://www.misfitsmarket.com/">Misfits</a> <a href="https://www.misfitsmarket.com/">Market </a>(hallelujah! organic produce at my door! use code COOKWME-KH3CIF for 25% of your first box!) that may be eliminated, so I'll pretty much be here. I limit my interactions with the world as much as possible. We don't order take out because I don't know if the people prepping the food are masked, gloved, and disease free. I've had to cancel progress on repairing a badly injured wrist for the foreseeable future.<br />
So when I get angry about people not staying home, and people protesting...it's because I'm scared.<br />
I'm scared that I will get it and end up on a vent drowning in my own secretions because someone out there didn't wash their hands, and thought wearing a mask was unfair to them personally. I'm scared that I won't see my kids or grandkids again in person to talk or hug or say I'm sorry or I am not sorry or come here so I can slap you. I'm scared that this is my new normal, and even when the rest of you are out and about I'll be here waiting for some magical herd immunity number that never comes, or that comes at a cost I don't want to pay - like the lives of the people I love. That is the biggest fear.<br />
I’m also angry. I’m angry because the science is really clear on how these pandemics start, on how our treatment of animals used to feed us creates the perfect environment for the development of killer diseases, and yet in our greed for the flesh of other living things and corporate greed for selling them to us, we do nothing to change that. The answers are so easy that they've been deemed "too easy", and are therefore discarded.<br />
Frustrated feelings today. I dislike the word "can't" because of it's negativity and limiting effect on individuals. I choose to say "I choose to" or "I choose not to".<br />
So...<br />
I choose not to go to work. I choose not to go to the museum. I choose not to see my grandchildren in person. I choose not to walk the 3.5 mile loop I've walked (or run) a thousand times before. I choose not to go out, get take out, shop more than is necessary.<br />
The reasons for why I choose those things is where I get caught up; self-absorbed and self-pitying.<br />
Choice implies desire.<br />
I don't want to choose these things. Presented with options, I'm choosing the ones that best ensure my survival, or keep me safe. Safety isn't a thing that usually factors into my choices on a personal level. I've never been this intimated by an unseen thing. I'm taking it seriously, I've ordered inhalers, I'm eating every antioxidant that gets near my face, I'm actively strengthening respiratory accessory muscles, I'm doing deep breathing...<br />
And all this when for all intents and purposes I'm HEALTHY. If you met me on the street or if you know me well...I may look paranoid, extreme, overly cautious...because nothing about me in person says "Oooo, high risk..."<br />
So all this talk about re-opening...who's looking out for the people who look healthy, aren't necessarily - but don't have my privilege? The people who will be fired if they choose to put their life ahead of a dollar?<br />
I know a lot of people who are high risk who are going on business as usual...I don't have that gene. I'm not one for running into burning buildings. I've got things I want to do. Survive is at the top of the list. But man is it hard to stick to that plan.<br />
I've never been particularly good at sacrifice. That's not why I'm still here. I'm here because I'm selfish, and a survivor, from my follicles to my toe nails. Right now survival means shrinking my life to this tiny fragment of "normal". The longer this goes on the more guilty and heartsick I feel. I'm like...a strange sort of conscientious objector, choosing to stay home while other people better and braver than I risk death in my place. And it is HARD, man. Really hard. Because the thing that could take me out - I mean for real take me out - is a tiny thing no one can see. I don't know if the guy before me at the gas pump left it behind. I don't know if a patient's family got sick of quarantine and went visiting then licked a door knob I may later touch without knowing. I don't know if that unmasked kid at the Home Depot was partying with friends all weekend before offering to help me load lumber into my Prius. So yeah, some of that is "living in fear", but if everyone believed science and took this shit seriously...I could relax, have less fear, and more reasonably assumption that people CARE about my life - about anyone's life beyond their own - enough to wash their hands and put on a fucking mask. And who am I? Go back up and read the list. I am anyone. I am everyone. I am you, you are me, we are all ONE. Jesus tried to tell them that, but their heads are way too far up their asses to see it.<br />
It knocks your cavalier socks right off, reading descriptions of COVID-19 deaths, and knowing...what you know. Fearlessness, it turns out, has limits. So fuck yeah I am scared. If I wasn't I would be a fool. God - whatever that is - gave me a brain and I use it without apology.<br />
Today....I'm grateful for paint and pencils, and produce.<br />
<br />
Also, don't worry about Murder Wasps. They've been in the US for a few years now. It isn't great news, but it also was just a smoke screen some PR person probably threw out there to grab the media (squirrel!).Melissa Morgan-Oakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03924231630580404009noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19093186.post-12716292011836235132020-04-07T08:14:00.001-04:002020-04-07T08:14:33.921-04:00So today will hopefully be the end of foraging for a while - like a month. The fact that everyone on earth has suddenly apparently switched to soymilk? Y'all are seriously killing my plan.<br />
As a nurse, shopping is changed but manageable. Watching other people, however...I want to give the whole world an inservice. Instead I'll just tell you what I do.<br />
I'm leaving here and plan to hit maybe 3 stores (only if I'm unsuccessful with the first two, really people, just leave me some Westsoy original organic Unsweetened).<br />
I've got 3 masks and 3 sets of gloves. Overkill? Maybe. But to avoid cross contamination I'll take it. No phone. No coffee cup. No food or beverage until I'm back here. No purse. No dangling or loose clothing. No jewelry except simple earrings and my stainless steel wedding band. I wear close fitting clothes and a zip front sweater with two zippered front pockets. One sweater pocket is clean (masks, gloves - the gloves are overkill but they remind my nurse brain to focus). The other is dirty (anything I'll need to touch more than once - credit card, car key, ID). Back left pocket is hand sanitizer. Back right is doc bronner's in case I get lucky enough to find a sink someplace where I don't need to touch a door handle.<br />
Then here's how it rolls :<br />
Dress in clean clothes. Wash hands and face thoroughly with soapy water. Make note to not touch face, ears or neck again until I'm home. Drive to shopping location. Zip sweater - it will stay zipped until after my last stop. Put on a mask and a pair of gloves from clean pocket. Get out of car. Wipe cart if wipes present. Shop. Avoid touching anything except the minimum. Check out, preferably self. Remove card from dirty pocket, pay, return to car. Unlock car with key from dirty pocket. Load stuff into car. Remove dirty gloves turning them inside out and place in tidy pile IN CAR NOT ON THE GROUND, PEOPLE. Remove mask. Sanitize hands thoroughly.<br />
Drive to next location. Sanitize again for fun. Mask and glove from clean pocket. Repeat shop above.<br />
If all goes to plan I'm done now. I may need a third stop. So let's say I've done all three stops. I have, if needed, used a rest room and washed thoroughly with soapy water. Now I'm back at my car, final errands done. Car is loaded. Last time, remove gloves and turn inside out and add to glove pile. Remove mask and add to mask pile.Remove credit card, ID and car key from dirty pocket. Remove zippered sweater being careful not to touch face. Turn sweater wrong side out while removing. Do not shake sweater out. Fold and place next to mask and glove pile. Sanitize hands, key, and cards thoroughly. Put cleaned cards and key in back pocket. Wipe sanitizer and soap bottles with sanitizer.<br />
Get in car. Drive home. Open trunk. Gather groceries etc and place on porch out of the way of traffic. Wipe down anything solid with 1:9 bleach and water to be hyper-paranoid. Set aside to dry. Throw away bags etc. Sanitize hands.<br />
Return to car and gather sweater and masks in right hand. Enter house with left hand on door knob and stop at laundry room. Place sweater and masks in washer. Strip and place clothes in washer. Squeal and squat down when you remember that window faces the neighbor. Waddle in squatted position to bathroom to avoid scarring neighbors for life and to ensure continued free compost. Shower with warm soapy water.<br />
Dry off. Take deep breath and sing little ditty about cells being happy and well and remind yourself that this too shall pass, and that you did your best. Make tea because you haven't had anything to eat or drink since you left home.<br />
(Also basically insert "do not touch face" between like every sentence...🙄)Melissa Morgan-Oakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03924231630580404009noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19093186.post-61564624817154231692020-03-31T09:58:00.001-04:002020-03-31T10:04:29.063-04:00For Mary Alice<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">How I have been doing my masks</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Cut fabric:</span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">For personal use, one piece 8”x12”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">For dust cover for N-95, one piece 8x13”</span></span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;">THEN</span></div>
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<span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;">1.25” WOF (width of fabric) strips to equal 72-74” when finished (so, as an example, if fabric is 18” wide, cut 4 strips 1.25” wide x WOF for 72" total length).</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh41hXCiyg6m4NuO-gw9LeXfem8gCnVYkcro2EH229O07GbDcWS4UfP6he6N6dFhG7V717fr2EtA3Y1IUcQYsh6lgkqy8y6kQD8oL50UZJj04N4YsmqQszyGxf1dPbMTnSilP9_6w/s1600/IMG_0179.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh41hXCiyg6m4NuO-gw9LeXfem8gCnVYkcro2EH229O07GbDcWS4UfP6he6N6dFhG7V717fr2EtA3Y1IUcQYsh6lgkqy8y6kQD8oL50UZJj04N4YsmqQszyGxf1dPbMTnSilP9_6w/s320/IMG_0179.HEIC" width="240" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9xA8kD64sHBTotVmlJMTLHNb43oSVh-JgvY8eMM5De4b784WQhJElhZlBBQ7FI3eoWIi61EIVdyExQhOw78GAdXt-eI2gIUiA0eOojY1bl60aG85ubUZldpG0ZNzuJRgdirH3wg/s1600/IMG_0211.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9xA8kD64sHBTotVmlJMTLHNb43oSVh-JgvY8eMM5De4b784WQhJElhZlBBQ7FI3eoWIi61EIVdyExQhOw78GAdXt-eI2gIUiA0eOojY1bl60aG85ubUZldpG0ZNzuJRgdirH3wg/s320/IMG_0211.HEIC" width="240" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">(This is important - if your fabric has direction, be sure it's going the right way, or your foxes will be sideways. Ask Gene how he knows)</span></div>
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Begin by preparing strips for ties. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpdGs_ABhFrrVPRhBnJ1eWpdg9rVa6Mjwr0nd8hYVtW4wowmDIlL0qx9Ck4p4I3Uq9xgtfrgkx58S330OLPwDDTmM-Ws8oMgNOFtODZ-4JU7DzymeqP3ukx-b4OTHSkpvnKLdmLA/s1600/IMG_0189.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpdGs_ABhFrrVPRhBnJ1eWpdg9rVa6Mjwr0nd8hYVtW4wowmDIlL0qx9Ck4p4I3Uq9xgtfrgkx58S330OLPwDDTmM-Ws8oMgNOFtODZ-4JU7DzymeqP3ukx-b4OTHSkpvnKLdmLA/s320/IMG_0189.HEIC" width="240" /></a></div>
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Stitch strips together on the diagonal as shown to reduce bulk. </div>
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Trim at joins, then press in approximately 0.25” on either side to create binding. </div>
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<div class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
Cut into two 36-37” long strips. Set aside.<br />
Prepare Mask body:</div>
<div class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
Turn and press under about 0.25” on both short (8”) sides of 8x12” fabric.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></div>
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<div class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;">Fold fabric in half with wrong sides together and turned and pressed edges matching. </span>Top stitch across 8” side of mask to close. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhteHE6LNHzLpkxmoAWcZSt7rbND7guqLGHTHDafIdSKPEtUNjbEkDruDdSOQ9kQM5O415BcqlEN3KZcxYiI49Hx6VNU_5nsp86HUmq29QB3jkvhFWEdep_poVhX-xAJbKwSoK3Ag/s1600/IMG_0182.HEIC" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhteHE6LNHzLpkxmoAWcZSt7rbND7guqLGHTHDafIdSKPEtUNjbEkDruDdSOQ9kQM5O415BcqlEN3KZcxYiI49Hx6VNU_5nsp86HUmq29QB3jkvhFWEdep_poVhX-xAJbKwSoK3Ag/s320/IMG_0182.HEIC" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
Stop needle 1/8” from corner. Pivot. Stitch about 3/4” then create first pleat, stitching it down and pausing with needle down to pin opposing pleat. </div>
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<div class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
Repeat pleat formation 2 or 3 additional times for a total of 3 or 4 pleats, each about 1/4”-3/8”. </div>
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<div class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
Pivot needle again and stitch across 8” width of mask. </div>
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<div class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
Pivot a final time and stitch along second pleated side.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></div>
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Press pleats into place.<span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"></span></div>
<div class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;">(*NOTE - you may wish to create and press pleats prior to top stitching; if so just pin along 8” side, create your pleats and press, then return to machine to top stitch.)</span></div>
<div class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 12px;">
<span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;"></span><br /></div>
<div class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
<span class="s1" style="font-kerning: none;">Fold pressed tie strips in half along long edge being sure to fold end under about 1/2” to avoid raw edges. </span></div>
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<div class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
Stitch until approximately 2” from middle of tie (shown by pin above). </div>
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<div class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
Place mask into tie as binding and stitch, then continue down long edge of tie to end, folding end under.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></div>
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<div class="p2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal; min-height: 12px;">
Repeat for second tie. Put on mask and take selfie.<span style="text-align: center;"> </span></div>
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<div class="p1" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;">
The end.</div>
Melissa Morgan-Oakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03924231630580404009noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19093186.post-57929296992415264232020-03-25T05:02:00.002-04:002020-03-25T05:13:27.955-04:00Nothing Says "Global Pandemic" Like Insomnia<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
** I am not a physician and this blog is NOT intended to replace the advice of a physician, nor am I qualified to diagnose or treat disease, or prescribe medication. This blog suggests over the counter and non-invasive interventions that may help ease the symptoms associated with illness. In the event of severe illness, contact your physician and ask for advice and support. ** </div>
<br />
So here's a thing - the next best thing to a pandemic is getting a cold during one when the symptoms of the virus causing said pandemic can act like...a fucking cold. It's AMAZING how quickly your reason and logic vanish, like mist. Poof. Enter paranoia and the desire to really quickly train your spouse in some old school nursing stuff that went out around the time they discovered that a syringe full of Penicillin could save the world. But I digress.<br />
<br />
It occurred to me yesterday that we have become so mentally immune to the effects of disease thanks to medication, vaccines, and our healthcare system (may we be truly grateful) that we have forgotten that for millennia, up until the very recent past, we existed without the benefit of antibiotics and vaccinations - and some of us even survived. OK so maybe sometimes the numbers were not so good. But we did learn some things from our time of slightly more primitive medicine, and some of those things can still be applied today.<br />
<br />
First, prevention. Prevention in the age of germ theory is critical. How do we prevent the spread of disease? By following some pretty simple steps.<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>Avoid contact with people outside of your immediate circle. Stay 10 feet away from others when you must encounter them. Use barriers (gloves, doggie poop bags, used grocery bags, your sleeve, although it's not as good as the other stuff because I can throw a poop bag in the trash and never touch the outside of it) as a barrier between yourself and any solid surfaces you must touch, like door knobs or faucets or gas pumps. </li>
<li><a href="https://youtu.be/tIwdf3WKe3Y">WASH YOUR HANDS</a> with soap and water for at least 30 seconds. I cannot stress this enough. Viruses and bacteria despise soap and water. If you must go out into the public sphere for food or medicine, avoid touching surfaces and do not touch your face. Even at home, wash your hands correctly and often.</li>
<li>Remove your clothing and shower when you get home, and use sanitizing wipes to clean surfaces you had contact with. If you don't have any wipes, 10ml of bleach to a liter of water (that's 1/4 cup bleach to 2-1/2 cups water) is perfect for solid surfaces. Isopropyl alcohol works also. Peroxide, which has been my favorite, works as well but for this particular virus appears to require a 6 minute contact time, or that's the latest estimate. So 1/4 cup of bleach in 2-1/2 cups of water it is, just bear in mind that not all surfaces can tolerate bleach, which is where the isopropyl alcohol or peroxide come in.</li>
<li>Quarantine yourself from family members who are showing signs of illness if you are compromised or <a href="https://www.cdc.gov/coronavirus/2019-ncov/specific-groups/people-at-higher-risk.html">at high risk</a>. </li>
<li>Stay well hydrated. As long as you are well, this can be your regular water and tea routine - avoid coffee, alcohol, sodas, or any other beverage that causes dehydration. If you get sick and are not drinking or eating, switch to electrolyte replacement solutions and MAKE YOURSELF DRINK. </li>
<li>Get outside, walk, get sun and fresh air, breathe big, get some rest, nap, take baths, meditate, pray, whatever, in general ***free*** self-care for body and mind and spirit. Read Eckhart Tolle, follow Oprah, etc etc etc. </li>
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OK so you've done everything you can, barricaded yourself in your home, bought out all the elbow noodles and tomato soup cans that were left, fought a little old lady for the last tin of Spam and roll of TP (you really didn't need the TP - you have old t-shirts and know how to wash things, but I digress) - or maybe you have a large stash of dried beans and rice and an instant pot (that may just be us...), and now you have the sniffles.</div>
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Or maybe not the sniffles. Or maybe you don't know what you have but you have something. This is the time when, if you're us, you panic, freak out, re-write your wills and then at 3am one of you remembers all these things we USED to do before antibiotics and modern hospitals were a thing, and that person writes them down in a bulleted list, as follows (right after you drop a note in your patient portal to update your physician on your current symptoms and condition):</div>
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<li>Although the evidence is entirely anecdotal at this point, I personally will not use ibuprofen to treat fever or aches and pains if my symptoms look at all like this illness. In fact I've pretty much taken all the ibuprofen and hidden it away for the time being. Maybe someday I will find out that this is bunk, but there's enough of rumor circulating to make it worth caution when there are other things I can take. I use acetaminophen or aspirin, and I take them alternately every 4 hours, so aspirin, then 4 hours later acetaminophen, and so on. If my symptoms become severe this could be switched up as follows (schedule is for example only) 8am aspirin, 10 am acetaminophen, noon aspirin, 2pm acetaminophen and so on - that way I am alternating the medications and taking them each every four hours. I make no promises that my stomach or liver will thank me for this schedule, and it would only be appropriate in the event of severe symptoms, like - for me - a sustained fever over 103.</li>
<li>Stay hydrated! This is where may begin to I switch to a calorie free (if I am still eating but struggling) electrolyte replacer. These are available in stores or online (I like powdered single packet forms which can just sit on the shelf forever in case of need). </li>
<li>BREATHE. Oxygen saves lives. In hospitals after surgery at-risk patients are given this marvelous "breathing machine" as my father called it. It is really called an inspiratory spirometer, and it measures your ability to inhale when healthy (your baseline), which then becomes your goal during your (usually post operative) recovery. Now, chances are you do not have an inspiratory spirometer handy - bonus if you do - grab it and do 10 deep reps four or five times a day, more if you think of it because more won't hurt - but you can still learn to breathe deeply. To wit: <a href="https://youtu.be/IQrsJ-yZWV8">Ujjayi Pranayama</a> and also <a href="https://youtu.be/Oy4wvF9Z24A">Ujjayi Pranayama</a> but 20 minutes of it.</li>
<li>Eat! This can be as simple as rice cooked into <a href="https://www.thespruceeats.com/basic-congee-recipes-4065244">Congee</a> or <a href="https://cooking.nytimes.com/recipes/1839-jook">Jook</a> using chicken stock and ginger and garlic - or vegetable stock (or just water and tamari and sesame oil if you are me). Look, at the end of the day, whole cultures have survived on rice and not much else for long periods of time, and we're talking here about a week, not the rest of my life. Plus rice gruel is just damn satisfying when I'm ill.</li>
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So I've done all that and my symptoms are worsening. My chest feels tight, and like it's filling up with fluid. What will I do? First, call my doctor and report my symptoms and ask for advice. If my doctor feels like I can still be managed at home, there are some old-school tricks I can use to increase my breathing capacity and comfort. If these fail to bring relief, then it't time - at least in my house - to go to the hospital. </div>
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<li><a href="https://www.cff.org/Life-With-CF/Treatments-and-Therapies/Airway-Clearance/Chest-Physical-Therapy/">Chest physiotherapy</a>. For this I may want help if I can get it, although there is self-percussion, or I can easily direct my loved one/housemate/caregiver to a link, preferably before I need it. Possibly we had a discussion here yesterday morning involving this very thing. Right after we updated the wills and initialed all the changes and prepared to send them to the lawyer - that's right, I WROTE YOU ALL OUT! EVERYTHING GOES TO MY CATS! but again, I digress. Where was I? Oh yeah, CPT. This is a method of moving mucous out of the lungs and is often used in conjunction with:</li>
<li><a href="https://www.mountnittany.org/articles/healthsheets/2781">Postural Drainage</a>. In a facility there are lovely beds that incline and tilt to get your body into a comfortable position. At home, I can use pillows, or well-padded stool or chair. The objective is to find a position where fluid can - and this is gross - move ideally out of your lungs and create room for oxygen. When I feel the urge to cough, I can sit up and cough out whatever's there, then return to the PD position and wait for more crap. I may need to move through positions to find the one that works best. </li>
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If none of these things are bringing relief, call the doctor and head for the hospital. In the current climate, don't bring anything you don't absolutely need. Write important contact and insurance numbers on a piece of paper, but leave your wallet and phone at home. </div>
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That's it man. That's my home treatment plan. Now it's in writing and I can refer people to it, and you can read it and know what I'm planning to do if I NEED to. Maybe I won't. But if I do, we have a plan - and I do love a plan!</div>
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Now I am going to go watch a nice movie and crochet multiple versions of The Child, and later I plan to nap. I will take my elderberry syrup (maybe as a shrub with 1 T apple cider vinegar and seltzer for kicks) and add turmeric, ginger and garlic to my breakfast lunch and dinner. Oh! I forgot my <b>favorite intervention</b>! And an old one and one that has <a href="https://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC4504358/">some evidence </a>to support its efficacy! </div>
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GET OUTSIDE. Sit on a porch. Breathe in fresh air. Spend the whole flipping day out there if you can. Open windows if the temperature is right. Sit in the sun. Go for a walk even if it's just in your yard.<br />
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And know that this, like all crises and crazies, will pass. Even if the entire world gets shaken up and unbalanced, change is a normal and natural part of the cycle of existence. Right now, in this exact moment, what problems do you have? THIS moment. None? None. Take a breath, be grateful for it, and move to the next one. That's all we can do. </div>
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Namaste. </div>
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<span style="text-align: center;">** I am not a physician and this blog is NOT intended to replace the advice of a physician, nor am I qualified to diagnose or treat disease, or prescribe medication. This blog suggests over the counter and non-invasive interventions that may help ease the symptoms associated with illness. In the event of severe illness, contact your physician and ask for advice and support. ** </span></div>
Melissa Morgan-Oakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03924231630580404009noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19093186.post-56653683282041093962020-01-26T07:50:00.000-05:002020-01-26T07:50:21.459-05:00The One I Should Have Written a Long Time Ago
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(Alternate title: Dear Elsa)<span class="s1"></span></div>
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<span class="s1">Every morning since August 26, 2016 I get out of bed and put on my mask of pretense and presence. I smile (sometimes, although frankly that’s usually a hell of a lot of work and I really should be given an exemption). I go about my business, engage in the little chores that make up daily life. Some days I am more successful at this than others. Underneath that mask…</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Now, if this was a television commercial this is where I would announce that I need a very expensive medication for my obscure orphan disease, but life is not television and this is not a commercial.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">I mostly wish to ever loving fuck it was.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">In August of 2016 I learned about a phenomenon called “parental estrangement” when my adult daughter stopped speaking to me. This is what it is called, I am reliably assured by my mental health professional, when a person’s adult child, for no apparent reason, stops talking to them. After a fair amount of research (because I live for that kind of thing, right?) I have determined that it’s occurring more and more frequently today (meaning millennials) than ever before. After a fair amount of therapy, I have determined that this isn’t “my fault”, I was not a “bad mother” and I didn’t “cause” this. The guilt, let me tell you, is overwhelming at first.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">I exist, ever since, in a sort of twilight space. She is not dead. She just isn’t here. Every day, every hour, almost every minute there is an awareness of her.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">“If you see her, slap her in the head for me.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“If you see her, please ask her to call.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">“If you see her…don’t say anything because you will scare her further into her rabbit hole and then there will be no way back and I will never see her or hear from her again and then I will, absolutely and without hesitation, die.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Oh wait.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">No I won’t. Because I am still alive now and I haven’t heard from her in nearly four years, so clearly I won’t die.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">I will just think I will. Which I already do. So yeah.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Just slap her in the head. And tell her to call.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Like I said, every minute of every hour of every day. Endless and relentless. There would be only one thing worse than this. And I hope “this” has some remission before “that” happens.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">My mother used to have these nightmares about me and she would tell me about them in glowing detail and I can remember thinking “Jesus this woman is nuts. I mean, really. I am a grown adult and perfectly safe, and nothing is wrong and she needs to just chill.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">I have greater appreciation for my mother since August 26, 2016.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">The reasons for this estrangement are still unclear, which I am reliably assured is not at all uncommon. There are whole online support groups dedicated to parental estrangement. Sometimes I read posts from other mothers and I think “Hell, I wouldn’t call you either. You’re fucking nuts.” Then I remember. That’s a mother. Nuts or not, that’s a mother. And her little selfish shit of a child should give her ONE fucking call, use their fucking words, and STOP TORMENTING THAT CRAZY WOMAN. I mean she’s already nuts. That kid is gonna push her over the edge!</span></div>
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<span class="s1">I haven’t posted this here for a bunch of reasons. I suspect my utter failure to respect my daughter’s privacy at a very sensitive time played into her decision to flake. Now, to me this is not an unforgivable offense, but to her…well. I get it now. I would have yelled at my mother and called her onto the carpet. My daughter is not me, and she will not do that. Instead? Retreat within. Think…armadillo. Turtle. Hedgehog.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">But at this point, it’s been almost four years, I am silently being chewed up from inside with not knowing, I need to get this out, and therefore…if you see her, please slap her in the head for me. And tell her to call her mother.</span></div>
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<span class="s1">This delightful (she said with snark) situation has put me in an awkward position on so many levels, especially here at home. First, it has utterly destroyed any real creative energy. Initially I wasn’t sure if this was just the whole death of my parents and moving around the country all at the same time thing, or if it was the absent kid thing. I mean, everything is a struggle. Writing, quilting, knitting. I even decided to buy myself some watercolors hoping the life would come back into my brain with a different medium. It has not. Second, it has caused me to hate people with children, children, mothers, and anyone who talks about the privacy of adult children. I have decided that adult children are not entitled to privacy. They are entitled to send mother’s day cards, birthdays gifts, and call at least once a week, but I would settle for once a month. And that is ALL they are entitled to. Third, there’s the thing that comes into a space when people ask how your kid is and you have to make all these choices. Do I tell the truth? Do I lie and quickly change the subject? “Oh, she’s doing great! How’s *<i>fill in the blank with any other topic</i>*?” Do I lie outright and make something up? “Oh, her? She’s sailing the world on a small boat and hopes to become the first woman to discover the undiscovered continent that was lost while simultaneously garnering accolades and a DPhil from Oxford in English Literature. And her hobbies include rock-climbing, youth advocacy, and injustice activism.”<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">I go with the first. My answers to the inevitable questions are as short and as calm as they can be. The number of shocked and astonished people is reassuring. Clearly, I am not the only person who thought I was the last person this could happen to.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">Then there is the fourth level - the horse on the dining room table in some settings, or the one some people just bluntly drag into the center of the floor and begin flogging: The gigantic million dollar “Why?”. This one may be my favorite. It’s followed by a fairly predictable host of responses from the individual doing the asking. 1.) “WELL YOU NEED TO GO AFTER HER AND MAKE HER STOP. THIS IS RIDICULOUS.” 2.)<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>“What happened? What did you do? Where is she? What is she doing? That must be awful. How do you manage? I would die. Oh my God. What happened??”. 3.) (this is my favorite!) “Well. Just LET ME TELL YOU. If MY daughter did this to ME I would NOT tolerate it! I simply would not. I absolutely would go after her and MAKE her talk to me. I would call the National Guard. The police. I would demand satisfaction!”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">My response to this (internally) is as follows: Well good on you, nutter. Have fun with that. She’s an adult. But you go. You do you. Let me know how that works out for you. I’ll testify at your stalking hearing, promise.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">Well. Just let me tell you this while I am thinking of it. I have aged faster than a sitting president. That “what should I do, am I doing the wrong thing? Am I doing the right thing? Should I do anything? Should I do nothing?” thing? Holy shit. Awful. Damned if you do, damned if you don’t. Gray, wrinkles, the works. I should have been brunette into my 60’s like my mother. Not gonna happen, friends. Not gonna happen.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">Holidays: “Seriously? You want me to show up and smile and nod and act like life is all fine when inside I am slowing being eaten up by this caustic mix of maternal guilt and anger?”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">Other people’s family events to which I am generously invited: “You want me to sit here and watch you and your kids smile and laugh and make dinner and throw bags of salt into my bleeding wounds while I sit over here and try not to throw up or cry?”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">My own family’s events: “Just no.”</span></div>
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<span class="s1">I have hesitated to write this for nearly four years for a host of reasons. Not wanting to out the kid. Embarrassment. Reluctance to answer all the questions from all the people I my life who still do not know.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">But fuck it. If this is the new normal, then it is the new normal. And therefore it is a part of my existence and experience that needs to be written down, because that it what I do. And not writing it down hasn’t done me any good at all. In fact it’s chewed me up so badly I am a veritable hamburger of emotions and thoughts most of the time.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
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<span class="s1">Now do me a favor? Go call your mother. Even just a text will do. Bonus points if you use a full sentence. And if you see my kid? Slap her in the head (I mean not really, don’t get arrested or anything, you can just use your eyes to do this if you are a mother, you have that skill) and tell her to call.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span></div>
<br />Melissa Morgan-Oakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03924231630580404009noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19093186.post-25359963067031512712019-05-13T20:31:00.000-04:002019-05-14T06:15:54.404-04:00Certifiable<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Something has to change. MelissaKnits, and Eats Plants and Rants About it, and Does Yoga and Hikes in the Woods and Probably Very Soon will Kayak...</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">Today I finished my Certificate in Plant Based Nutrition through eCornell. I posted my last response on an optional activity just now, and wanted to share it here. I can become exuberant about a topic, believing I have found the new best thing, preaching to anyone who will listen, only to discover that maybe I didn't have all the information and maybe am not quite 100% right. It has taken me a long time to come to accept those missteps and misadventures as parts of a process - a path - that I trust will always lead me in the right direction - and they do - and in truth that path only enlightens me in deeper ways that allow me to see things as others do, which only gives me more tools to help them come to different and deeper understanding themselves. We learn from failing. I wish I knew then what I knew now, so that I could go back in time and rear my kids in this lifestyle - but maybe you can, and maybe you can learn from our story. For now, for me and for Gene, that path has placed us firmly in the whole food plant based camp, with a life goal of being fully vegan as we wear out and use up our animal clothing. This lifestyle seems to bring together all the aspects of the things that I hold nearest and dearest to my little heart - social justice, environmental justice, an end to cruel farming practices, a reduction in diseases of affluence and preventable death and disease...and it is so profoundly simple at the core that it boggles my mind. During the weeks of this course I have been exposed to reliable, data-driven evidence that our current eating habits (including the over-valuing of meat and dairy and the near absence of whole, unprocessed vegetables, fruits, legumes and grains) are, literally, killing us - and this information is neither novel nor unknown to the institutions and individuals that drive our food machine - and it is a big, dangerous, scary machine at that. </span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">This is our story, today:</span><br />
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">I would not trade this process, although it has taken me nearly three decades to get here, for anything. I have gone through a lot of “phases” - vegetarian, pescatarian, low carb, grass fed, rearing and killing my own chickens for meat and eggs, home cow-milk dairying all in an attempt to find health and wellness, get my husband’s cholesterol, blood sugar and blood pressure in check, and stave off what I saw as the inevitable in myself - every woman in my family has died, so far, from hearth disease or cancer, and most younger than necessary. And while that process took time that I could consider “wasted”, it has left me with a profound sense of gratitude. I have a very rich understanding of the complexity and confusion that even the best intentioned among us faces when trying to decipher and decode nutritional reality from the fairy tales spun around us by corporate agri-business giants, food scientists, our own government, and lobbyists.</span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4M6ooklSzdIl0qLxltE2wkEEeJ9_iACLOQwNgse4YqZl2vxrD_9XhjvSlWpLoCMPWj2n1PP-R0fzs43-XE6IqVuIg6sr52NsgvKmeEYSWiuFR2kz-oZFu-AJC00OmgN8KOKwDqw/s1600/cns603-2.13-exsalus.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="484" data-original-width="1200" height="129" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4M6ooklSzdIl0qLxltE2wkEEeJ9_iACLOQwNgse4YqZl2vxrD_9XhjvSlWpLoCMPWj2n1PP-R0fzs43-XE6IqVuIg6sr52NsgvKmeEYSWiuFR2kz-oZFu-AJC00OmgN8KOKwDqw/s320/cns603-2.13-exsalus.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif; font-size: x-small;"><i>click me, read me, love me</i></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">We have been Plant Based for 336 days, and Whole Food Plant Based for most of that time, probably around 300 days. Initially in order to ease the transition for my husband I used some “fake meat” products, mostly taco meat type crumbles and fake chicken strips. He also initially struggled with the absence of oil, and would wander into the kitchen during prep time asking if I needed to add some. He read package instructions and tried to correct me - “but the package says to use vegetable oil.”… I used these moments to begin to retrain his thinking around food preparation citing Drs Campbell and Dr Esselstyn, and encouraged him to take a more active role in cooking. It helped that my work schedule shifted to evenings, leaving him at home with a recipe to prepare for my return home in the late evening…this was a radical departure from our traditional roles, and it was good for both of us on many levels. Involve everyone in the household by sharing responsibility for meal prep and planning - it breeds a natural interest! </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">By the time we made the change to plant based eating we had been in process for about a year, experimenting with various vegetarian meals, and were already consuming much more variety in veg than the average American, but most of that was roasted with a little oil. After reading “How to Prevent and Reverse Heart Disease” the oil went out the door. Still his desire to make the change for his health was at odds with his palate and I had a hard time eliminating the fake meat products. Then one day, about a month into our process, I pointed out the relative cost of legumes (canned even) and fake meat during a grocery shopping trip. He was shocked to discover exactly how much money was going toward those processed and refined substitutes. He agreed to give legumes a try, and after a couple weeks of adjustment he was “converted”. He now even has “favorite” legumes and grains! Take opportunities to effect change and educate whenever and wherever they present themselves - if saving money is what gets someone to make a change for the better, roll with it!</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">We (humans) tend to fetishize food and apply a “live to eat” philosophy to our consumption rather than eating to live. A lot of money has been spent developing foods and flavors that addict us. I’ve spent hours trying to create big thrills in the kitchen before finally realizing that instead of trying to beat them at their own game? I just needed to play a different game altogether. I have gradually removed the fussy, multi-step vegan recipes that had me trapped in the kitchen and replaced them with large containers of pre-cooked and prepped grains, legumes, fruit and veg. These can be quickly tossed in bowls and topped with some simple, fast oil-free sauces and dressings. That means that after 32 years of playing “home chef”, endlessly tied to the kitchen trying to please everyone, I get a break - I get to be free, more or less, from the daily grind of appeasing. </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">The responsibility of preparation of the bulk of our meals - or the components of them - still falls predominantly on me. But gradually there has been a shift in that as well. It is important that my husband know what I do in the kitchen and why, so that he can replicate it in my absence and explain and share with others just how simple this lifestyle is after the initial adjustment phase. His weight loss and increased health were so profound and so obvious that he’s faced a lot of inquiry. He’s become a strong advocate for this lifestyle which piqued his interest. As a side benefit he has a glimpse into what I have been doing for the last nearly 30 years of our marriage on a daily basis in the kitchen. Our household labor has been divided neatly along traditional heteronormative gender roles for much of our marriage. That needs to change. Last time I checked there were two adults living here, and both of us have thumbs! </span></span><br />
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<span style="-webkit-font-kerning: none;"><span style="font-family: "georgia" , "times new roman" , serif;">We recently had one of those spousal heart to heart talks in which I asked him to openly share just how committed he was to this lifestyle. If, I asked, I died tomorrow, would he be at McDonald’s by evening? He says he will not. He says that this lifestyle has become important to him not just for health reasons, but for environmental and animal welfare reasons as well. Looking at our grandchildren he knows that he wants to be here for them for as long as possible, and knows too that he wants them to have clean air, clean water, clean soil that grows clean and healthy food. He wants them to live life, and someday join us in not eating death - not exploiting other animals by subjecting them to the horrific factory farm nightmare we relegate them to now. What began as an experiment for his physical health has become a way of life, a vision for the future, a mission that neither of us can imagine giving up. </span></span></div>
Melissa Morgan-Oakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03924231630580404009noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19093186.post-32295908206698240582019-05-01T20:59:00.002-04:002019-05-01T21:01:01.946-04:00Green ThingsSometimes I feel like one - like a hearty little green plant - endlessly growing regardless of substrate or rainfall, sometimes a little brown, sometimes struggling with fungus gnats, or root rot, but overall endlessly growing - like it or not. Call me kudzu. Unstoppable. Take your glyphosate and shove it.<br />
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I finish my eCornell Plant Based Nutrition certificate in a couple more weeks. I don't know what the direction is with this, but the concept of Lifestyle Medicine keeps cropping up. If that personality test thinks I should be a drill sergeant, and I am "stuck" as a nurse by education and circumstance, and I feel like an advocate down to my toes, and I need a "thing" that pulls together all the things that I care about - environmental issues, social justice and advocacy, health and wellness, and all the things nearest and dearest to my little heart, then...really Lifestyle Wellness Coach pops to the top. Heal the planet, heal your body, heal the babies, heal the world.<br />
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Eat plants. Move your body. Be mindful. And I can help you do all of that. One step at a time.<br />
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I was up this morning at 5:20. Not by choice, but by cat. Sometimes this makes me want to live cat-free. But today I was grateful - even if it took a little effort on my part to become so. Thank you, cats, for quiet space to <a href="https://www.headspace.com/">meditate </a>and do <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Strong-Vinyasa-Strength-Stamina-Rawlings/dp/B01GUP29C0">yoga</a> before a busy day of errands and hiking. We have been putting off registering the cars here, waiting for some tax paper from NC that just never showed up. And there was banking that needed two signatures, and filing some paper at the registry of deeds.<br />
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But once that was done, we went to <a href="http://www.superfreshcafe.com/">Superfresh! Organic Cafe </a>in Brattleboro for lunch, then headed into the woods in Wendell State Forest. We are participating in the <a href="https://newenglandtrail.org/get-on-the-trail/net-hike-50-challenge">New England Trails Hike 50 Challenge</a> this year, in part to ensure that we get out, and in part because I am a patch whore. I am hoping for 100 miles by the end of the season. This trail encompasses parts of the Metacomet Monadnock trail which we hiked extensively in the 1990's to early 2000's. It is odd for Mr. W to have a weekday free, but today he had one. And I think we maxed it out.<br />
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The hiking was beautiful, if chilly and less than sunny. It is nice to be back in native air, and surrounded by native flora and fauna. A little strange - we saw a couple of woodpeckers, but no other wildlife. Not a deer, bear, squirrel. Not a bird other than the woodpeckers. Two mosquitoes. That was it. I don't think we have ever been out and seen nothing - not even a scat. </div>
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We have been listening to the <a href="https://www.foodrevolutionsummit.org/broadcasts/?utm_source=blog&utm_medium=ad&utm_campaign=frs19&utm_content=sidebar">Food Revolution Summit</a> which we learned about last year and gained a huge amount of knowledge from. Each day they broadcast three interviews at 11am, 12pm and 1pm eastern standard time, then are available for 21 hours as replays on demand. Give it a look and a listen. I have learned a lot, and found a lot of things to think about and research. Plus? recipes! I made Heart Beet Hummus the other day. Delicious. Of course...you can't really do much wrong with hummus. But maybe that is just me. </div>
Melissa Morgan-Oakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03924231630580404009noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19093186.post-72691389787699417372019-03-10T16:05:00.000-04:002019-03-10T19:33:11.111-04:00Because Right is Right<div>
A long time ago Ms. Oprah started saying "When you know better, you do better." I think I said this so often that my children wanted to duct tape my mouth shut...but it is true. And there are a lot of steps - and missteps - on the road to "knowing better".</div>
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Like...I believed that by eating locally and "humanely" raised meat I was helping the environment, reducing suffering, and making a good ethical choice. I now know this to be untrue - in fact, locally raised and grass fed animal products do MORE harm to the environment - the animals live longer to reach slaughter weight, which means more food consumed, more water to maintain them, more land that isn't growing food crops for our use, but instead crappy feed conversion ratios that benefit already heavily subsidized commodity crop growers - but misuse grains that could instead be fed to humans, thereby ELIMINATING hunger from the planet. Well...now I know that was nonsense. I took great care of my birds. And then I killed them. I took their lives quite literally with my own hands, and then consumed their bodies because "chicken tastes good". </div>
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And...I believed that being vegan was complicated and expensive. This is simply not true. Our meatless lifestyle has already saved us a small fortune. When people complain about the high cost of being plant based, I ask them what they are eating. They list off processed, packaged foods and convenience foods, all of which do carry a hefty price tag. We don't touch those. The closest we get to processed is soy milk to make yogurt, poly bagged frozen vegetables, or for occasional diversity a bag of Beyond Beef crumbles or a block of tofu (I dearly love tofu). </div>
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The truth is that beans, especially beans from dry, cost a really mere fraction of the cost of animal flesh products - and about half what eggs cost per serving. (The numbers above are slightly outdated, but are within the decade). Beans, brown rice and steel cut oats are bought in bulk when possible. Our grocery bill in the new world order is generally about half of what we spent when omnivorous. We shop deals, sales, and a place in Greenfield called The Barn where I have been scoring cheap stuff since 1988, and have no problem setting aside a couple of hours to blanch and freeze stuff that comes our way at a significant discount. For the average consumer, the time to freeze bulk produce might not be in your plan, which will bring that bill closer to 2/3 of your old expenses - but still, just by keeping it simple and avoiding processed and packaged foods, you will save <i>a lot</i>. If you put your faith in scientists like <a href="https://nutritionstudies.org/">Dr. Campbell</a> or <a href="http://www.dresselstyn.com/site/books/prevent-reverse/about-the-book/">Esselstyn</a> (et al, and "al" is growing by leaps and bounds daily), then you know that the processed stuff is killing you almost as fast as the meat and dairy were and you shouldn't be eating it anyway. </div>
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The question that follows on the heels of the money issue is the time issue - and I too fell for that initially. After all, how could I possibly find the time to make the rather complicated, multi-pan, super fancy recipes featured in Vegetarian Times or at various online sites? Well. We don't. On holidays we might dabble into the complex with a batch of <a href="https://blog.fatfreevegan.com/2010/11/thanksgiving-meatless-loaf.html">Thanksgiving Meatless Loaf</a>, garlic mashed potatoes, roasted butternut with sage, red onion and nutritional yeast "cheez", and maybe she rich and hearty vegan mushroom gravy. The rest of the time we live on "bowls". Bowls for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Bowls make me happy. Bowls are fulfilling, and can be fixed in the direction of whatever flavor profile you're in the mood for. To wit:</div>
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<i>Breakfast bowl #1 - this is mine - brown rice and red beans topped with tamari, a bit of sesame oil and flax meal, accompanied by a large pear.</i></div>
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<i>Breakfast bowl #2 - Gene's - soybeans, oatmeal, homemade soy yogurt, cinnamon and flax meal, and...his own pear. </i></div>
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Some days the fruit is in the bowl. Some days I have oats myself, other days I want savory. The basic ingredients list for both of these breakfasts are ready to go, at all times. How? <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Instant-Pot-Multi-Use-Programmable-Pressure/dp/B00FLYWNYQ/ref=sr_1_3?hvadid=323189813501&hvdev=c&hvlocphy=9001741&hvnetw=g&hvpos=1t1&hvqmt=b&hvrand=13306379023627668971&hvtargid=kwd-422605752139&keywords=instant+pot+6+quart+cooking+pot&qid=1552244286&s=gateway&sr=8-3&tag=googhydr-20">INSTANT POT MAGIC</a>! Batches of rice, oats and beans are made every 3-5 days and put in tupperware in the fridge. Soy yogurt is made once a week in a large batch in the Instant Pot. More about all that another day.</div>
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Lunch is generally a bowl of leftovers topped with hot sauce or tamari, or occasionally one of the sauces from <a href="https://www.amazon.com/How-Not-Die-Cookbook-Recipes/dp/1529010810/ref=sr_1_1?crid=2USDB4MO6RHKT&keywords=how+to+not+die+cookbook&qid=1552244976&s=gateway&sprefix=how+to+not+%2Caps%2C149&sr=8-1">How Not to Die Cookbook</a> or <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Prevent-Reverse-Heart-Disease-Cookbook/dp/1583335587/ref=sr_1_4?crid=2PQFZPDFJKOAQ&keywords=how+to+prevent+and+reverse+heart+disease&qid=1552245001&s=gateway&sprefix=how+to+prep%2Caps%2C176&sr=8-4">How to Prevent and Reverse Heart Disease Cookbook</a>. I've also pulled flavor profiles and ideas from <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Thug-Kitchen-Official-Cookbook-Cookbooks/dp/1623363586/ref=sr_1_1?crid=GR2B7AFCHM7Y&keywords=thug+kitchen+eat+like+you+give+a+fck&qid=1552245090&s=gateway&sprefix=thug%2Caps%2C147&sr=8-1">Thug Kitchen</a> and <a href="https://cookieandkate.com/2018/29-vegan-dinner-recipes/">Cookie and Kate</a> - although I am very very cautious about NO extra fat added in, and NO reliance on processed items like fake cheese or non-wheat pastas and regularly modify recipes that call for things like peanut butter, apple juice, or cooking oil. <i><u>Whole. Food. Plant. Based.</u></i> Although not technically diagnosed with heart disease, Gene was close enough that I consider it prudent to follow Dr. Esselstyn's advice (mostly). No nuts - nuts are a gateway drug in this house - and no processed oils. There is fat in fresh, unprocessed food, yes even veg. And we add flax meal for GLA, although the science is a little muddy on that. For now, better safe than sorry. That means the things we eat are not cooked in oil, not even a little. We add 2 ounces of avocado to dinner or a half ounce of flax at breakfast. That's it. </div>
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The other day lunch was Chipotle - a salad with sofritas, fajita veg, a couple of salsas, and a shared tub of guac which we count as a fruit. No dressing, a little tabasco on top. We have fruit with lunch most days, although not at Chipotle - we get more than enough in those bowls!</div>
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And dinner - this was last night. Thai Red Curry veg (snap peas, peppers, onion, garlic and mushrooms) over rice and beans. No fish sauce or oil...umami comes from miso and tamari. Here some processed things sneak in - red curry paste, for example. Most nights are much less glamorous. Some days and nights are frozen bagged veg over plain brown rice and beans. And it's delicious, because now I can TASTE the food instead of all the crap on top of it. I roast a lot of vegetables in the oven without oil. Roasted cauliflower and Brussel's sprouts are big here. Kale and spinach, lightly steamed, are usually on the menu at least 4 nights a week</div>
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Which brings me to another point. We have been conditioned by marketing to believe that food needs to be sexy; that by virtue of our challenging and difficult lives (...?...) we "deserve" treats, ease, decadence. I don't buy this. I am pretty sure it's crap. And I am not saying we need to suffer. I am saying that the food we eat now bears no resemblance to the food we were designed and have evolved to eat, and the hyper palatable crap they're selling us is lethal. Yes, I said lethal, and I meant it. You want to stray off the reservation a couple of times a year with some red curry paste, or a bottle of wine? Fine. But that shouldn't be daily or even weekly. Not because you don't deserve it - on the contrary - you DESERVE to be well. You DESERVE to not eat a plate full of death. You DESERVE to not consume processed, damaged, damaging junk. You DESERVE to be healthy, to be happy, to be content, to be in a body that fits you, to not take five prescriptions to cover your body's misery at the poison the marketers and the government want you to consume. And YES you will stumble and make less than optimal choices - and that's ok because you are human. Just pick up where you were at the next opportunity - don't allow one moment of decision making to rule your head.</div>
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One of the things that rings over and over in my head is this - when confronted with the truth, physicians and nutritionists, diabetes educators, those involved directly with (allegedly) helping people to live healthier and longer lives will occasionally say things like "Oh, but people just can't stick to that sort of lifestyle. We have to make allowances to increase compliance."</div>
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Bullshit.</div>
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Tell people the truth and let them choose. But TELL. THEM. THE. TRUTH. Don't be like my mother's diabetes educator telling her she could have anything she wanted "in moderation". That crap is addictive. Would you tell a recovering cocain addict they can have a little coke, in moderation? Would you advice a recovering alcoholic to sip on that drink at that party so they don't rock the boat and make themselves stand out by declining? Then support and educate people about dietary choices the same way. Don't lie about "moderation" because for most of us when it comes to our achilles heel foods, moderation isn't an option. it simply doesn't exist. Educate them on things like how to shop, how to make food ahead (even without an instant pot), how to bring flavor into your life in new and exciting ways, how to be patient and know that in six weeks your tastebuds will regenerate and as long as you don't go kicking any sleeping dragons of desire by cheating, you really will survive just fine on beans, rice and vegetables. In times of stress or joy, you may find yourself looking toward the candy display at the register, or eyeing the peanut butter. Stop. Take a breath. Look the food in the eye and say "That is poison. That food will kill me. If I eat that, I will be putting myself at risk of diabetes, heart disease, cancer." Most of the time as I am moving through my day I can avoid eye contact with the evil. I don't put myself in situations that might be "tempting". I try to control where I eat when out with friends, planning ahead what I will and will not have. I decline "bites" of other people's "better" (read standard American!) food. At this point, their food usually makes my stomach turn. </div>
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And provide a way for people to come back from bad choices. This is a process; it is not overnight success for most people. I have had two 1-ounce pieces of chocolate in the last 9 months, both offered by people I did not want to offend, and in both instances I accepted my choice and then got right back on the wagon (so to speak). Sometimes we get wine, and usually regret it. Ethanol, regardless of the source, is a poison, and no amount of excuse will change that. We are not perfect, we are human. We are just conscious and aware of the choices we make, the effect they will have, and we think long and hard before making any trade-offs. What we don't do, ever, is hate on ourselves for being human. Forgiving yourself, if you need to call it that, allows you to get back on the whole food pony. Bashing yourself is useless, counter productive, and feeds into the lie that you are expected to be perfect all the time. Find a group; I highly recommend that if you need help with portions and sticking to plan you consider joining Bright Line Eating. I have never come across a more supportive, loving group of people - and I am NOT a member myself. Once you join you will be placed in a sub group of like minded and supportive people who have been on this journey long enough to have great insight and advice. Worth every penny, and a great use of the leftover grocery money and prescription co-payments and OTC antacids you WON'T NEED ANY MORE!</div>
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Your doctor may have a small cow (no irony intended). Ironically although our doc in NC was in agreement that the food is killing us, he was adamant and positively paranoid about vitamin B-12 supplementation (we do take 1,000 mcg once a week which is the only supplement we take) in spite of both of us having normal levels of B-12. The new-to-me doctor here in MA, Gene's former primary, is also neurotic and blames anything he can on the vegan diet while at the same time giving lip service in support. He fussed over the B-12 in ways he didn't ever fuss over the piles of scripts - or the undesirable side effects of medications - he stuck in Gene's hands when we lived here before. He also was concerned about iron (we both have normal hematocrit and hemoglobin levels), and refused to believe that Gene's blood pressure is normal until I submitted a list of recent BP's. He wanted to know why Gene wasn't testing his blood sugar daily (well, because it was 89 and 87 and 92 and 85 for weeks and weeks...so we stopped!). </div>
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So that's my good news rant. You have choices. There's science to back this all up (the peer reviewed kind, not the pseudo-stuff paid for by the people who are trying to sell you something). There's no controversy, really. There's people trying to lie. There's people trying to give you excuses. But there isn't any actual proof that a whole food plant based lifestyle does anything other than....well...save your life. And that, my friends, is the good news I said I had. </div>
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Melissa Morgan-Oakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03924231630580404009noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19093186.post-11210675977302518712019-03-08T10:05:00.000-05:002019-03-08T10:05:53.071-05:00FOODThat "on this day" feature on Facebook can create a lot of introspection. Today there was a profile picture from a year ago featuring a slimmed down right-size-body "mostly vegan" me next to a still overweight omnivore Gene. It brought up a lot of feelings for me. We have been on this lifestyle journey for something like 276 days, combining the concepts of <a href="https://brightlineeating.com/book/">Bright Line Eating</a> with a <a href="https://nutritionstudies.org/whole-food-plant-based-diet-guide/">whole food, plant based lifestyle</a>. We began BLE in a sort of last ditch attempt to get Gene back into some kind of healthy body. Reflecting back on the journey both before and after BLE and whole food, plant based eating entered into our lives has made me grateful. It has also made me very, very angry at my own actions, at the waste of my time and my life and extremely resentful of the American food system that is more concerned with money than with truth or health; disgusted with our government for allowing big ag interests to dictate guidelines that they know are not only false but downright deadly, and that continues to encourage and insist that consumption of foods KNOWN TO BE DANGEROUS are somehow "essential" to our health. From dairy to meat to processed foods - at the end of the day the science shows (and will continue to show) that the food is killing us. And our government not only allows this to occur. It PROMOTES the eating habits that will continue to lead us to our graves. Am I being dramatic? No. I would be if it wasn't the truth. We are sick, and we are dying, and the people who should protect and serve us are so thoroughly corrupted that they are standing by and watching it happen. Shit, they are digging the holes and slamming the coffins shut.<div>
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Food for me is a fraught issue and always has been. I grew up with a mother who was overweight and hated it, but seemed unable to get a handle on her body weight. She tried different approaches over the years, including a "keto" type diet that appeared to work - until it didn't any more and she ballooned back up to above her previous weight plus a bunch. Filled with self-loathing at her "failure", she drowned her pain in bowls of pasta and butter, and a not insignificant amount of Darvon and Valium. I knew food was dangerous. I watched it hurt people. And I struggled personally with weight and body image for all of my life. "You are chubby, but not fat. Yet." was what I heard. If I started to nudge up the scale, my fatness was noted, commented on, and I was taken to task by my mother and my grandmother. Exercise was what was needed, I was told. And "watch what you eat", a nearly impossible task when the world of food information is so corrupted, and the person buying the groceries has issues of her own. And it tasted good. It filled holes I didn't know I had. A nice baggie of thin sliced deli roast beef slathered with mayonnaise and salt (hole the bread), or a spoon and the Peter Pan peanut butter jar can go a long way toward comforting a hurting girl. Of course they will also make her fat, and kill her eventually, but hey. Meat is on the pyramid. So are peanuts. It's all good. Anorexia and bulimia take care of the rest, right?</div>
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Except it's not all good.</div>
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The addictive potential of foods is something that I suspect will be much more widely studied in the future - and is being studied now. The brain that evolved to keep us alive in the face of constant danger and constant lack has been glutted in recent time with all of the things it so desperately craves for survival. Fat and sugar are not just abundant in our modern world - they exist in quantities that are embarassingly wasteful. Already there is growing public awareness of the addictive potential of processed and refined foods, and some growing awareness of the addictiveness of dairy from <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Casomorphin">casomorphin</a>s. When people ask about how we eat, and I respond that we do not consume meat or dairy, very little alcohol, and no processed or refined foods, cheese probably ranks as high as booze on the list of things people believe they cannot live without. </div>
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The idea that we "deserve" to be happy, indulged and 'spoiled' with food and goods is a new one. Historically we didn't have the time or space for indulgence, and we were, in many ways, healthier for it. Now - now we are affluent in ways we don't even recognize, whining endlessly about our lack and our needs - while killing ourselves with a glut of the most dangerous and unhealthy foods on the planet. Meanwhile we are spreading our affluenza around the world as fast as we can. And in truth, the food we eat in the standard American diet actually encourages and causes auto-immune disease, depression, anxiety, obesity, cardiac disease, diabetes, cancer, and on and on and on. </div>
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We're <a href="https://climatenexus.org/climate-issues/food/animal-agricultures-impact-on-climate-change/">killing the planet</a>, too. <a href="http://www.cowspiracy.com/facts">Animal agriculture</a> is <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2017/dec/04/animal-agriculture-choking-earth-making-sick-climate-food-environmental-impact-james-cameron-suzy-amis-cameron">well documented</a> as the leading cause of environmental devastation when taken as a whole - if you include "production" (that means raising animals in ethically intolerable ways, feeding them biologically incompatible foods, in numbers that blow your mind), slaughter (another word for that is killing), transportation, etc. And don't get me started on the oceans. We have fished them to the near-extinction of multiple species and show no indications of letting up. </div>
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How dare I speak, right? I hear you. I mean a few years ago right here on this very blog I posted about raising and slaughtering chickens in my front yard. I held chickens hostage and stole their eggs for food. I sold those eggs at a profit so I could buy more feed and make more eggs and more chickens to kill for more meat. Get off your high horse, Melissa. Or "Here she goes again...".</div>
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Yup. Here she goes again. Because every step I have taken to this point has been a quest for knowledge and truth, a search for truth endlessly blockaded and stymied by fake and pseudo science, by big ag, by other people searching for truth who thought they, too had found the answers. So have I taken lot of wrong turns? You better believe it. Would have been helpful if the people with the money hadn't been throwing blockades and banana peels all over my path. Bastards. </div>
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If the big "they" had just told us the truth from the beginning, it wouldn't have taken so many wrong steps and broken paths to get to here. </div>
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The truth is that no other mammal consumes milk after infancy, and none of them consume the milk of other animals (say, humans drinking the milk of cows for example). Nature gave us all perfect infant food in our own bodies - breast milk. Now I am not going to get into the politics of "breast is best", or the mom-bashing over formula that I see all the time, except to say this: we all make decisions based on the information we have at hand. If you are a working mother, and your pediatrician tells you that it's ok if you feed formula, you will believe them. If you are a poor mother and your pediatrician tells you that WIC can help you by providing supplemental food, and one of those foods offered is formula, you are going to take it. Again, greater forces are at work under those decisions than meets the eye. It is in the best interest of the dairy industry to addict your babies as soon as possible. It is in the best interests of formula manufacturers to sell their product by any means necessary. Individuals who make choices based on shitty information (also called lies) are not to blame. The government and large medical organizations who bow to lobby pressure however...that's a different story. </div>
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The truth is that ALL refined sugar (that includes maple syrup and honey - which is food for bees, not people) is too high in calories for most humans to consume safely, and has addictive properties similar to those of cocaine. And artificial sweeteners are just...artificial. And have a host of problems from artificially jacking up blood sugars to damage to the nervous system to keeping the addiction to "sweet" going in our badly damaged brains.</div>
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The truth is that until very recently in human history the "gathering" made up the bulk of what went into your body. The "hunting" was wasteful of time and energy, didn't provide enough calories to feed the village, and was a supplement consumed irregularly and in very small quantities - a deer for a village, perhaps, or a rabbit for a family. (Not a rabbit EACH, roasted, with a pile of processed oil-rubbed potatoes and a teensy side of something that was once greenish.) The women, children and old people fed the village. The men went out and "hunted" - probably with beers and a group of like-minded men who were too lazy to pick berries and cut leaves and grasses. </div>
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The truth is that we can change. If you had told me a year ago that Gene would be asking why we hadn't had soy milk yogurt in a while, and when could we have some again? I would have laughed in your face. If you had told me that he would not only no longer consume animal products, but express contentment and peace with that, I would have called you a crazy liar. And yet...here we are. If you see him, ask him yourself. I'm always the evangelical mouthpiece. But he will answer if asked, and his answers surprise the people who've known him longest.</div>
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I have one kid who says he isn't going to change his eating habits because after all, he's going to die anyway, may as well die happy, just ten years earlier. My mother said that a lot.</div>
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Yup. He is going to die. And maybe ten years earlier. But he is going to suffer. Maybe it will take a few more years to catch up with him, as it did with his father. But he is going to suffer - and if he continues down the path and still doesn't change? Well. Diabetes causes vascular damage. Diabetes lose fingers and toes, vision. They develop cardiovascular disease - strokes, heart attacks. They lose control of their bladders. They don't just up and die. They suffer for a long time first. So yeah, die ten years earlier, after twenty or thirty of misery. Or not. I am hoping for not myself. I am like that. I like to hope. </div>
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It would be easy to wallow in anger - that the answers are so clear, so simple, and so EASY - and that I myself missed them and fell for the Atkins bullshit a decade or so ago really pisses me off. The answers are even CHEAP. And we are having trouble listening, because our ears and eyes - like mine were - are blocked up with addictive things that the government is going to keep encouraging at the risk of pissing off the big ag interests that give them so many dollars a year that they are scared to say no. And it goes beyond that, really, into some nefarious, sneaky mafia-like behaviors and scenarios that also make me sick. Why can't the National Geographic photographer photograph your confined feeding operation, Mr. Meat-Man? Why can't the people see inside your chicken sheds and your pig barns and your slaughterhouses? Why? Got something to hide? Scared, much? Afraid that if people see the misery and death and horror that they ingest daily, they might...oh...STOP? I am more afraid that they won't. </div>
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This is rambling and ranting, I know - but you have to admit I am good at both. I don't care today because I am angry. Someday maybe I will make more sense and have an outline. Today I just wanted to rant. Tomorrow...well, tomorrow I'll talk about the good news. Because there really is good news. Cheap, easy, clear good news. </div>
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Melissa Morgan-Oakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03924231630580404009noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19093186.post-22030879053506924402018-10-16T08:26:00.001-04:002018-10-16T08:33:59.873-04:00(my)PassionI think I was born hippie. Maybe it was the time (quite likely). Maybe it was the place (less likely).<br />
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When we moved here I thought I "knew" so much about race and inequality - and I was so wrong. It's much worse than I thought, and so deeply in us. We are so isolated in the north and surrounded by unrelenting whiteness, and so those of us who don't consider ourselves racist can pretend it's a thing somewhere, but after all rational people aren't like that and MOST people aren't like that. Right? And the problems in our own schools and lower income communities are simply about density and no jobs or...something. Right? Then you get here and the blinders get all ripped off - and this isn't even the deep south - and suddenly you're like "WHO ARE THESE HUMANS AND WHO THINKS LIKE THAT?" Then you dig deeper and discover the deeply entrenched social justice issues that affect everything from voting rights to schools - all aimed at keeping a group down, and keeping people riled up against one another - and...it's such a tangled mess. I'm living in a state with voting districts that are shaped like snakes and octopi. I am living in a state that's probably about to enact voter ID laws that will further marginalize the have-nots, regardless of skin color. I live in a state where a man can smoke a bowl, get out of his truck, and get killed; standing while black. I am looking to move back to a state that is deeply racist and pretends it isn't, which is super easy when your towns are 99.3% WHITE.<br />
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Then there's the planet. Poor thing. We get given this amazing gift and what do we do? Rape the ever loving crap out of it in a short-sighted gluttonous assault. We suddenly "need" meat three meals a day (not including snacks!) which is so destructive to the environment on so many levels from water use to land use for commodity feed crops that could be growing plant-based foods with 1/10th the water and land waste and we would be PERFECTLY HEALTHY - hell, we would be HEALTHIER!! But we continue to kill ourselves and the planet and the powers that be come up with new ways to compensate for those of us leaving the meat and dairy markets by touting Keto or Paleo as the new cure-all when the science clearly shows the exact opposite is true...the organism has subsisted on the planet for millennia with meat as a side dish, not a main course. And we are stuffing it with all this animal flesh and fat, while our cancer rates and heart disease rates continue to skyrocket. Sometimes in my more paranoid moments I think it's intentional - cut down on the population by killing 2/3 of us off with food. Last man standing, holding a carrot and a bunch of kale, wins.<br />
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Then there's the animals and the small humans - and I go back in my child-mind to the picture of Jesus from Sunday School, all white and blue-eyed, with his long hair and beard, surrounded by a rainbow of small children and small animals, dove of peace seated on his shoulder. "Suffer the little children to come unto me..." and "Whatsoever you do to the least of my brethren..." and ok yeah He didn't mention animals, but really. I have never been able to put the cow on my plate completely into a context that makes sense, and that's even harder now, having watched all these things...could we raise animals for consumption without ethical quandaries? Maybe. But that's not what we do now. What we do now are things that any ethical person, witnessing in person, would want to report to someone - immediately - to make it stop. BUT WE EAT THAT SHIT. And kids - talk about an abused group. Kids and old people - the groups we all say we care about, but never put our money where our mouths are.<br />
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And on it goes.<br />
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Trying to find "a passion" in all of this is like trying to choose which of your children to throw off the life boat first. "But I love the people and I love the planet and I love the babies and I love the animals and I love the snakes and the bugs and the birds and all the things and..." what do I do with all that?<br />
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Death and dying has been and continues to be very important to me, in the way birth is. The arrival and departure of a soul should be sacred; it should be an occasion marked not with solemnity, but with respect and awe. When we lose that we lose our humanity. Hell, we've lost our humanity.<br />
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I am not perfect. I fall, fail, make mistakes - but I keep open and willing to learn and grow and change. And I am seeking truth endlessly. I find nuggets and store them away, but hoarding does me no good - the nuggets MUST be shared. They must be spoken, they must be set free.<br />
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So what, then, is my passion, my calling, my "thing"? This has been a topic around here lately as we both wander through mid-life, coming to grips with the past, making sense of it, and moving into the future.<br />
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My kids, grown now, are still my passion - but in a different way. Now my focus needs to transition to their children. All I have learned, I can share with them. Make them all sugar free, flour free, and vegan, and get their parents breathing down my neck (insert evil laugh here). OK, maybe not - especially in a world where pizza and Pepsi are everywhere - but at least introduce them to the natural world in a way that creates awe and wonder and the reverence for all life that we lack - and if someday they chose to opt out of the animal-cruelty based food chain, then good for them. Teach them that all humans matter. Teach them that all animals matter. Teach them that THEY matter.<br />
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Outside of that, I feel like I need to find a crusade that brings all of my passion into play. Advocacy, which is ironic because that seed was first planted by the shrink last year, but I have not been able to find the path to it yet. I need....a foundation of my own, with an endless budget - I shall save the whole world! I suppose I also probably need to make enough money to feed myself, damned capitalist system. But I would so rather just give myself away to the things that ignite me. Who needs a paycheck when I am talking about restoring sanity and humanity?<br />
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For the time being, still lacking a clear direction, I want to get certified in plant-based nutrition (for which I require that green evil we all so depend on in the modern world). In my perfect world I would go back to school near-full-time, gain degrees in nursing, social justice, nutrition, education? I am not sure what best suits the rambling, incoherent path I seem to be on. Actually it isn't incoherent. I mean, at the core of all the things I am passionate about lies the same thing.<br />
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Melissa Morgan-Oakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03924231630580404009noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19093186.post-28377748885662065432018-10-15T09:08:00.004-04:002018-10-15T09:08:59.753-04:00And an Update for Jacinda<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Hi! We are well! This weekend we went to a Charlotte VegFest, which must be done again the next time one is near me, or maybe I will just get one up of my own, and a town called Gold Hill where it rained so much that we gave up and went to the mall, where we bought discounted organic tea from the clearance section of HomeGoods. Nothing cures dampness like retail.<br />
At <a href="https://veganclt.com/charlotte-vegfest/">Charlotte VegFest</a> we found:<br />
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<a href="https://www.farmersfirstcoffee.com/">Farmer's First Coffee Company</a> - they aren't "just" fair trade. The coffee in this bag was grown by this farmer. He gets paid about 4x what conventional growers are paid, which allows him to pay his workers, provide healthcare for them and his own family, and send his daughter to university. If I could drink coffee like this every day, I would be very happy.<br />
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<a href="https://www.hempeplantprotein.com/">Hempe</a>, which is tempeh made with garbanzos and hemp seeds. It was being sampled in a mock chicken salad. We came away with three boxes and a free cookbook. I have seen this at Whole Foods, but like tempeh it is a little out of the price range for proteins here. But as a splurge item, something different now and then, it can stay on the menu.<br />
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Dr. T. Colin Campbell - author of <a href="https://nutritionstudies.org/the-china-study/">The China Study</a>, father of Dr. Thomas Campbell MD, who is proving to be well worth his salt in the areas of nutrition and lifestyle, and my hero in many ways. At a time when the political machine was gathering steam to shove us all further and further along the path to increased animal protein consumption, this man stood with the science, and paid professionally for it I am sure. But truth is truth, and while many may run, hide, or play politics, this man has stood firm on the facts - animal products are bad for us and the earth.<br />
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Read some signage at this booth, I am not sure who's it was, but I am always game for a little buddhist thought inserted into my day. One of the reasons why it is harder and harder for me to identify as Christian is because there seems to be no built in awareness that hurting things and trashing the planet goes against the teachings of Christ, which to me seems to fundamental to the whole thing. I am discovering more and more teachers over the generations who have shared this conclusion with me. Unfortunately, they are all mostly dead. Say you are vegan or don't eat meat to the average person on the street who identifies as Christian, and you get some push back. Dare I say a lot of push back. Also hazing. And a lot of snark. SO very Christian. Jesus loves a good bully.<br />
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Found out about this potential place - <a href="https://secure.qgiv.com/event/brotherwolfanimalsanctuary">Brother Wolf Animal Sanctuary</a> near Asheville, which will be some 80+ acres of space dedicated to healing and homing animals and - at least for short visits - humans. I like to imagine a world in which we don't need a place like this.<br />
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Decals from <a href="http://www.goodsandevil.com/">Goods and Evil</a>, and also a t-shirt. Decals remaining are for my car. My new/used car which replaces the one I totaled in August - and, because it is used, it gets stickered all to hell. Like my laptops have been for the last decade.<br />
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Namaste. And I thought you would particularly enjoy the bee one.<br />
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See. My mother would be so annoyed by these. But they please me immensely.<br />
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I started making <a href="https://www.pussyhatproject.com/">Pussyhats</a> - late to the party, but then I haven't had the freedom to contemplate getting to a march so it wasn't like I needed them. I am making two. One for me and one for whoever comes along - could be Gene, could be you. I understand from MaryAlice that there are lots of marches and etc in the county...there are fewer here, and rarer. More in Charlotte, and always seeming to coincide with work.<br />
And this is Gold Hill, NC. We had already visited <a href="http://www.nchistoricsites.org/reed/reed.htm">Reed's Gold Mine</a>, which is the site of the first documented gold find in the United States. But this place had popped up as part of the <a href="https://www.carolinathreadtrailmap.org/trails/trail/gold-hill-rail-trail">NC Thread Trail system</a>, so we wandered out - it is a short 2.2 miles, flat, along an old rail bed. Unfortunately it was 1.) Sunday - everything is closed, all the cars at the church and 2.) it was raining and I had no hat and 3.) and this was really the corker for me I think, there were a lot of gunshots. I heard a shotgun clearly, and a smaller gun in the opposite direction. All were repeated firings, but not like a shooting range. Could have been someone plinking or shooting in their own yard, or could have been someone hunting in the area. It's just not something we think about, we silly northerners, where hunting is not allowed on Sunday in many areas (like MA). So instead we looked at locked buildings and wandered into the ones that don't have doors.<br />
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Later we came home and ended up watching a stupid sports-ball thing until midnight. Something about Kansas and the Patriots. I don't care much about football, but I can be amused by a good game. And that was a good game. Yoshi, however, was not impressed. "Just PUT ME TO BED!"<br />
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See you soon (no really). Also whatever you do, do NOT watch the movie <a href="http://www.nationearth.com/">Earthlings</a>. It will ruin your dinner. But do watch <a href="https://veganmovie.org/">Vegan Everyday Stories</a> which features, among other things, an 8 year old vegan activist. Reminded me of small Talitha saying she wasn't eating meat. Wise child.Melissa Morgan-Oakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03924231630580404009noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19093186.post-23355077839142454312018-10-15T08:27:00.000-04:002018-10-15T08:27:32.003-04:00(self)CompassionAll roads lead to where you are meant to be.<br />
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Martyrdom serves neither the martyr nor the community, most especially in the form we have come to know it. Once in a while a prophet comes along who's example shines a light on the path, but by and large the average attempt at martyrdom falls remarkably flat. All that sacrifice and self-flagellation... and nothing to show for it in the end except a wounded soul.<br />
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Self-compassion is a key element of Bright Line Eating (which is going really well, by the way). We will all at some point stray from the path of dietary perfection - this weekend for example surrounded by samples of assorted vegan things, we both succumbed to "tasting" - very verboten. The key to success is not allowing that moment of less than optimal choice to dominate and overrule your desire for health and well-being. So when a Bright Line Eater falls off the wagon (so to speak) the trick is to get immediately back on - not the next day, not the next week, not on Monday, but IMMEDIATELY. The problem is that we (women a lot, and men too) will castigate, brow-beat, and generally terrorize ourselves with so much negative self-talk that we crumble and believe we are undeserving, we have failed, we cannot possibly succeed, we suck, we will be forever in a wrong-sized body, captive to our addictions and gluttony...so what to do but grab another Milky Way. BLE, when experienced with self-compassion at its core means that instead of all that you gently silence the negative self-talk, reach out with all you have, and give yourself a giant internal hug. I do this with visualization in which I see myself as a child who has made an honest mistake and feels genuinely bad for it. She does not get spanked. She gets hugged, encouraged, and loved to pieces, until we wipe our eyes and remember that we can choose better.<br />
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Self-compassion really is also at the heart of many religions, although it is veiled in allegory (and even, in some cases, illustrated by symbols - no, I am not a <a href="http://www.themasonictrowel.com/masonic_talk/stb/stbs/49-09.htm">Mason</a>, but I have studied with one). This means that the heart of the religion or system of belief is wrapped in - and occasionally, I would argue, obscured by - stories with political and moral nuggets buried within them. And often, I would also argue, in Christianity which is the predominate religion of the west and the one with which most of us are most familiar, we miss the actual meaning of the tale by refusing to apply cultural relativity to the words in the book. If I view the bible's teachings from a 2018 western perspective and without learning the original meaning and intent of the words, I will surely fail to understand the moral of the story. Context is everything. I am sure this happens in most religions, but I am very certain that it happens with the Christian bible - read<a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00BL3JXYE/ref=dp-kindle-redirect?_encoding=UTF8&btkr=1"> this book </a>for a bare surface scratching on this issue.<br />
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Although Christian systems offer up Jesus as the literal lamb of sacrifice, the idea of self-compassion lies buried in there as well. If I can't forgive myself, then all the forgiving God does is without real effect in my life. God can let me off the hook, but I can keep myself there!<br />
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But this is not what I wanted to say today. I wander so easily. I blame middle age - oh wait! No! I embrace myself for my meanderings!<br />
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Self-compassion requires self-awareness first, I believe, for how can I forgive myself and love myself and embrace myself if I have no idea what it is that brings me back, time and again, to the same failings? And denial can be so strong as to overwhelm the discovery of truth. Self-compassion must be a process.<br />
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This means - I forgive myself for killing hundreds of chickens. I forgive myself for keeping laying hens. I forgive myself for myriad other things I have done to animals over my lifespan. I do this regardless of whether or not I possessed the right knowledge at the time to make better choices. Regardless of whether I knew, in the moment, right from wrong. Sometimes I did. Sometimes I did not. But I forgive myself. Now I can embrace myself, cry a little or a lot, and move forward with renewed commitment and an open mind - learning more as I go, working on the spots where I stumble, being open to knowledge and change.<br />
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<br />Melissa Morgan-Oakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03924231630580404009noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19093186.post-52789269158220338682018-10-14T07:17:00.000-04:002018-10-14T07:36:02.491-04:00(com)PassionI find the development and evolution of self to be endlessly compelling. What I have often lacked in spite of a fair dose of self-awareness is the development of true self-compassion. I like to keep myself on the coals, so to speak; to hold myself accountable for both the things I have done and the things I could have prevented, and sometimes even things that have absolutely nothing to do with me, but if I can get a creative enough angle, I can MAKE them about me. Once hung and pilloried, with the blood of martyrdom coursing down my face, I internalize my shame and keep myself humiliated; bad, wrong, failed. I am, after all, a Horrible Human Being.<br />
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Or am I?<br />
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In most (dare I say all?) religion there is an element of compensation for "sin". In Christianity in particular those sins are hung on Jesus, who takes the abuse for us and thereby allows us to live free and clear, coming forth "white as snow" or "sinless". Go, and sin no more. Some have taken this idea to it's extreme - "If Christ is in me, I cannot sin. Therefore what I do, I do without shame." This same philosophy seems to infect the minds of radical Muslims flying into certain buildings, or kidnapping and raping into subjugation young women, or blowing up perfectly nice villages. Oh wait. That was us...<br />
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But I digress.<br />
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The primary piece if information that I believe we are supposed to glean from religion or a spiritual path is really more about self-compassion. Learning to see our failings, fallings, "sins" (and those who have sinned against us); learning to accept our collective fragile humanity, and then - and this is the part where I think most of us miss the boat, let the boat go, shove the boat way, way far away - not in the sense of denial, but from the perspective of liberation - CHANGING. GROWING. LEARNING.<br />
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This weekend we went to Charlotte VegFest, which was an amazing thing for me on a lot of fronts - certainly preaching to the choir, but there's always new songs to learn. We listened to a few speakers - most notably Dr. T. Colin Campbell (swoon) about whom I will speak in a later post. But for now I want to focus on the idea of compassion, expanding on it's presentation by <a href="http://www.plantbasednationusa.com/">Shabaka Amen</a>, who was the first speaker of the day, and who said something that stuck with me: "You cannot be passionate about animals until you are compassionate to yourself". This may not be an exact quote, but that isn't the point. The point is that unless we are able to be compassionate with ourselves - really nitty gritty down and dirty open and honest about what we are and how we could be better, we cannot be truly, deeply passionate - or compassionate - about "others" (animals, people, bugs, etc).<br />
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That thread from that morning speech bled into the rest of my day. Ronnie Tsunami mentioned, in his talk, a few documentaries that I had not seen before (and here I thought I had them all covered!). Specifically he mentioned <a href="http://www.nationearth.com/">Earthlings</a>, which he said he got about ten minutes into before converting to veganism. After last night I know why. I don't recommend it unless you know yourself to be self-compassionate, because your complicity in what you see on the screen could have you needing therapy or possibly an inpatient stay. How bad is it? Well. It had me up for a couple of hours trying to figure out how to feed my carnivorous pets ethically. That bad.<br />
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But again, I digress.<br />
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Near the beginning of Earthlings the screen is alight with quotes, some known, some not. One that stuck with me was this:<br />
<br />
The Stages of Knowing:<br />
1.) mockery<br />
2.) violent opposition<br />
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3.) acceptance<br />
<br />
That's what I woke up with in my head today, questioning, ruminating. Where am I on that scale? Am I truly accepting? Am I externally compliant and internally mocking or opposing? Am I justifying the actions of myself and others, which I think might be in-between opposition and acceptance?<br />
<br />
In further research this morning, I came across the work of <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/William_G._Perry">William G. Perry</a>, an educational psychologist who developed a detailed theory (<a href="http://perrynetwork.org/?page_id=2">The Perry Scheme</a>) of intellectual and ethical development in college students, the framework fo which is a nine-step progression from dualist thinking ("right is right and wrong is wrong and that's that!") to relativist thinking ("right and wrong change with perspective and awareness") to commitment ("I believe this or that, but I am open to learning and changing as I go.")<br />
<br />
Further (extremely) simplified, those nine stages or progressions become something, from what I have read so far, like this:<br />
<br />
1.) The Garden of Eden:<br />
<br />
In this phase, we believe a thing is true because we have been told that it is true. This is your basic garden variety religious or cultural education and inculcation. At times there are dualities within the scaffolds of our assorted indoctrinations, but they are usually justified or explained away by some intellectual sleight of hand. Think: "Mommy, if God said don't kill, why are we at war?". The adults fabricate some rationale, vaguely aware that they are spewing bullshit, or perhaps truly believing the righteousness of the cause, depending on where they are in their own journey of self-awareness and development. Also in this category are such nuggets as "But Pastor said..." and "The government entity knows best." The corollary from Earthlings would be mockery. I now what I know, and what you know is wrong. Idiot.<br />
<br />
2.) Anything Goes<br />
<br />
This phase is where I think most of us get stuck. In this phase, we are deeply - maybe unconsciously - aware that there are no right answers, that right and wrong are entirely dependent on the perspective of the individual - but in order to conceal this little fact from ourselves we engage in denials and justifications for our thoughts and behaviors that range from deeply held religious beliefs to strong secular attachments to any bloody effing thing that keeps us from looking at the thing that makes us culpable, PLEASE DEAR GOD DON'T LET ME SEE. This I think brings us - this need to keep the self unaware and "innocent" of who/whatever's blood, to justify our actions - to the point of violent opposition. We are the most adept at denial, and will use whatever skills come to hand to indulge that denial.<br />
<br />
3.) Critical Thinking<br />
<br />
Or, you know, acceptance. If I objectively and without rancor to self or others evaluate the facts and the sources of those facts, then I am able to approach all new information with an open mind - a mind that seeks knowledge and awareness, a mind unafraid of change and unafraid of truth. The alternative is, of course, a mind that continues to be slapped shut and rejects all new information that might result in expansion of awareness and understanding.<br />
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<b>You cannot progress to acceptance without self-compassion. If I am truly forgiven, if I am truly and deeply compassionate with myself, then the new information is not a threat. It is merely a window that lets more light into my world and clarifies my beliefs and awareness.</b><br />
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Stay tuned...<br />
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<br />Melissa Morgan-Oakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03924231630580404009noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19093186.post-59601936371037672052018-08-13T13:42:00.000-04:002018-08-13T17:12:51.013-04:00Saving Your Life<i>(*all lab results and personal information shared here has been with full permission of Mr. Wonderful)</i><br />
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Why are we posting this? Because we are not the only humans on the planet who are being given horribly mixed messages about food, lifestyle, activity and exercise, health and well-being. We're not the only people who have been sold a bill of goods around food "choices". We are not the only people told to just "eat everything in moderation and exercise more", and then felt the shame and disappointment when that doesn't work - AGAIN. We know that for us, this is working when nothing conventional thinking has offered us has - in fact even the fad things I have tried (Atkins! Zone!) have all been bullshit in the end. At it's core this is about truth and science and reality. For some of us, moderation isn't "enough". We need <a href="https://brightlineeating.com/book/">clear, bright lines</a> to guide us and keep us safe. We need the freedom of fewer choices in a world that bombards us with half truths and untruths all day long. We need to obsess and think about food LESS, not MORE. The choice of what's on the menu today is already made. Follow the plan. Learn and grow as you go. And never forget to love yourself enough to trust your gut.<br />
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I had wanted to do this entry on Thursday last week, which represented the 60 day mark of the <a href="https://brightlineeating.com/book/">Bright Line Eating</a> program to which we committed in June after our drive back from Massachusetts. I had been up there for three weeks. Before I left there had been some intense conversations with Mr. Wonderful about food and lifestyle choices. See, when we first got together, Mr. Wonderful was a single dad manorexic looking guy who drank screwdrivers, smoked too much, and appeared to subsist entirely on chocolate marshmallow ice cream topped with bananas and maple syrup, and a steady stream of road cycling. He was muscled from riding, but his lifestyle choices were not really in line with a long range potential for good health. When I moved in with him in December 1991, I brought with me two kids, three meals a day, and snacks. We both smoked. I quit in 1993, he struggled more than I did with nicotine. I dreamed of being a vegetarian. I tried being a vegetarian. I gained 30 pounds. We rarely used convenience food, but the balance wasn't all that great - meat was a big part of the day, we didn't eat enough vegetable and fruit, and we ate a ton of bread products. Compared to the "average American household" we were doing well. Except that...we weren't.<br />
<br />
Meanwhile, my weight ranged on a kiddie coaster scale, and Mr. Wonderful steadily put weight on. He tried to quit smoking, which only added more pounds. Then he did quit smoking, finally, and that added even more. He rode aggressively and was disappointed that riding didn't have more control over his weight and health - after all isn't that the cure? "JUST EXERCISE MORE! EVERYTHING IN MODERATION!" Then we added alcohol back in. And...more pounds. I ranged from "chubby" to "one point from obesity on the BMI chart". He did the same. I joined the YMCA and learned to swim, and swam daily until I swam a mile on weekdays and two miles on Saturday and Sunday. My laps were neatly recorded in an excel spread sheet. My weight didn't change. He rode his bike when he could. My blood pressure, blood sugar, and cholesterol remained in check. His did not. Not even close. He found himself taking "old-man meds". This was depressing because it just didn't feel like HIM. We tried different things, different eating plans. I would make all his meals...but he is a grazer and would snack. I struggled with snacking myself. Neither of us was happy with our weight, and his blood pressure and blood sugar and cholesterol were alarmingly out of control even WITH medication. I saw myself becoming a widow before I was 60. I could see it coming, like a freight train with me tied to the tracks. In 2015, while living in Plymouth, I recommitted to being vegetarian. I told him I would no longer be cooking meat at home. This worked well, and I think we both had some benefits. We kept dairy in, however. We definitely ate better. We went to the health club 3-4 days a week. I walked every day, 3 miles a day, with the dogs. He joined us on weekends. But it still wasn't enough.<br />
<br />
When I moved to NC I had lost a bunch of weight, but whether that was a result of grief, super low thyroid, or vegetarianism I do not know; I suspect all three. Disappointingly, meat sneaked back in - it had made a re-appearance when the young woman we brought with us to help us get settled expressed her need for meat. For her, we said, for her...and began to eat it. Gene continued to snack. He is particularly fond of sugar - candy, starchy vegetables, popcorn, alcohol. I am particularly fond of sugar as well, but in a different form - cocoa powder, potatoes, and wine. It just was not a pretty picture. Having lost weight, I watched myself snack it all back on. After all, I said, work was stressful. I stress-ate. He hit a high of 196#. I was almost back up to 120# - I prefer to be under 110#. The lifestyle was out of control, and I knew that for me it was unsustainable. But what about him? He seemed depressed about the situation and seemed unable to see choices. He talked about genetics, and said this 'was just the way things were'.<br />
<br />
In the early spring of 2018 I bought into <a href="https://members.foodrevolution.org/">The Food Revolution Network's</a> annual summit. I remember we were in the car and listening to a free live session when the offer to purchase came on. I just bought it. I figured that we could listen when on road trips, and maybe he could find some nugget of hope, some alternative to the depressing idea of out-of-control genetics killing him slowly. Anything to get him away from statements like "I'll probably turn 65, retire, and die." He had reason to be depressed, and good reason to see a bleak future. In April of 2018 his lab work looked like a cardiac event waiting to happen. His weight was at an all time high. His blood sugar was 127+ in the mornings ON Metformin. His blood pressure was around 150/90 WITH two meds. His cholesterol had hit an all time high as well - total was 208, triglycerides 336 ON A STATIN. In short, he was not kidding when he said he might just turn 65, retire, and die. Something had to change.<br />
<br />
While I was in Massachusetts he ate no meat - as an experiment to see if he really missed it. The older he gets, the more ethical questions come up for him about eating animals. He isn't a cruel man, and sadly our meat comes with <a href="http://www.cowspiracy.com/">a dose </a>of <a href="http://www.takepart.com/foodinc/index.html">well-documented cruelty</a>. He didn't tell me this until we were on the way home, listening to more Food Revolution Network stuff. The various presenters talked about the dangers of processed foods, expressed documented concerns about meat, looked at food as medicine; food as the way to health. They described genetics as latent potentials, not die-cast futures. They gave back control to the individual by presenting peer-reviewed nutritional science. Not Pollan's "eat food, mostly plants" ideology which never felt 100% right to me because it really avoids the blatant environmental issues around meat - never mind the cruelty issue for a second - but a more honest "eat whole food, plant based, no meat, no dairy" concept. This sort of eating plan is also <a href="http://www.dresselstyn.com/site/">well documented</a> and <a href="https://nutritionstudies.org/the-china-study/">supported in peer-reviewed science</a>.<br />
<br />
And then they brought on Susan Pierce Thompson, PhD, creator of Bright Line Eating. As we drove along listening she synopsized her beliefs and her program. Processed foods - flours, sugars, alcohols - are, for many of us, addictive. Whole foods are what we were genetically designed to eat. Flour and sugar are the legal food equivalent of heroin and cocaine. When we stopped for a potty break we discussed what she was saying. It felt very true. <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dBnniua6-oM">Yes, food is addictive</a>. We joke about it culturally, but it isn't a joke at all - the science bears it out. The brain has been compromised. Damaged by the drugs hiding in our food. And most of us have been eating it since we were born.<br />
<br />
"We could try it", I said. "I can get her book, and read it, and we can just...try it."<br />
<br />
"I have to do something. I'll try it." he said. And in that moment I saw what I had been waiting for - the spark of survival drive that just might be enough to change our future.<br />
<br />
Home we came, and I ordered the book. I read it and ordered a copy of The China Study. We discussed the plan. I wanted to make it whole food plant based, and if he really couldn't stand it, he could add in a piece of meat now and then. Three meals a day, portions weighed. Anything not on the list and not at the right time of day is "Not My Food", and therefore off limits. It isn't a choice any more. It's just the way it is. No snacking. No candy. No wine. No cocoa powder. The inner conversations are healthy. "I recognize that you want that, but it isn't yours. Why do you think that you want it? What is something else that would make you feel good that isn't food that's not yours?" Inner family work. Healing. Allowing our brains to recover from lifetimes of addictive foods - literally - and lifetimes of proteins unhealthy for humans to consume day in and day out, three meals a day. Learning food triggers. No blame, no shame, no guilt. Awareness, acceptance, and self-compassion. Being mindful of emotional or behavioral impulses to consume food that isn't "mine". Healing the gut, the heart, the mind. The whole thing.<br />
<br />
We began on June 11, 2018. Fresh start. I bought tons of vegetables. I cleared the house of things like honey and maple syrup and gluten free flours. We had a "last binge" and work up feeling...like shit. And we said good-bye to it all and stepped into a new normal.<br />
<br />
At first it was hard, and I was deeply grateful that I hadn't picked up any work hours. The shifts I work are usually 8am-8pm. I leave home at 7am (no later than 7:09 am to be precise) and get back anywhere between 8:30 and 11pm, depending on the day. Being home meant I was free to focus on weighing, planning, and learning what worked. At first eating all of the food the plan demands was difficult. We literally could not finish meals, especially at night. Eventually we have found things that work, and only sometimes are too full at supper now. I will share a typical day at the end of this post. I learned to bite, lick, and taste less (I do taste occasionally, I have peace with that, because I am the cook and I need things to be palatable for a fairly picky man). I had a horrible feeling of shame when I returned from grocery shopping one day and popped a grape into my mouth without thinking. I sat down and thought about this - was that <i>really</i> the end of the world? Was I going to allow that one slip to destroy me inside? Or was I going to give myself an internal hug, and talk about how to avoid a similar misstep in the future, with lots of love and self-compassion? I did the latter. And we moved forward.<br />
<br />
We talked about the hurdles. His afternoon habit of returning to the cafeteria at work for a snack and coffee was a hard one; so too the piles of food that seem to grow from the furniture in corporate offices. And the "leftovers" after meetings which he felt guilty about "wasting". I have worked a couple of days and felt myself mindlessly reaching for my Milky Way Midnight Mini "treat". I stop myself, redirect, and get a cup of tea or decaf instead.<br />
<br />
Thompson talks about imagining yourself "wearing bunny slippers" during the weight loss phase of her program - take it easy on yourself, worry about exercise later. Losing weight is hard. You release stored up toxins from fat cells into your body. You may be tired. You may experience cravings as the brain tries to get it's drugs back. So reduce your decisions. Don't add in an exercise regimen until it feels right. We had already established personal routines - I walk, he walks and plays table tennis - and we kept those up, with occasional skips if it just didn't feel right. Self-compassion again. No obsessing about anything.<br />
<br />
Last week he went to the doctor for a scheduled follow up. I knew he had lost weight, and I knew his blood pressure and blood sugar were down. I wasn't sure what the rest of his labs would show, and I was definitely not sure how his doctor would respond to this allegedly "restrictive" eating plan and lifestyle.<br />
<br />
I didn't need to be concerned. After the weigh-in showed a nearly 30lb weight loss, and the blood pressure check revealed a normal BP, the conversation went something like this:<br />
<br />
"Wow. I am amazed. What have you been doing?"<br />
<br />
"My wife and I are on this plan. She thinks the food is killing us. We eat basically vegan, three meals a day, no snacks."<br />
<br />
"Your wife is right. The food is killing us. But...I believe strongly in genetics, especially with cholesterol, so let's do some labs before we take you off all your meds."<br />
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I was chomping at the bit, but anxious. What if the doctor was right about the genetics? Would that just throw him back into that defeatist, depressed mindset where he was left feeling out of control of his own life, his own destiny? Would he give up? Head to the snack bar? Run to the store for dead animal parts? I worried. Then the labs came.<br />
<br />
I WORRIED FOR NOTHING.<br />
8/3/2018 labs show:<br />
Total cholesterol - 145 (highest was 208, normal is under 200).<br />
Triglycerides - 121 (highest was 336, normal is under 150).<br />
Fasting blood glucose - 84 (highest was 134 while ON Metformin!! Normal is 65-99. He stopped taking Metformin in early July because his morning sugars were in the low 80's)<br />
<br />
Weight this morning (8/13) - 166.2 (highest was 196). Blood pressure yesterday morning off of one med but still on the second - 127/70. Not perfect...but we are getting there. Blood sugar, which he checks once a week or occasionally after a meal was 107. I think this will come down too, and most days it is down to the mid-80's.<br />
<br />
Me - well I've lost ten pounds. I feel really good. I love my food. My skin looks better, my sleep is better, and my tummy is very, very happy (I have IBS but... the symptoms are basically GONE). I don't feel deprived, and he says he doesn't either. I think twice in the last 60 days he's had beef cravings, and has had steak, measured portion of course. When we get closer to goal weight we will add back in things cautiously - for me that may be soon. He would say he misses popcorn. I mostly miss my cocoa powder. But...for me those foods are a slippery slope, gateway drug, danger, and my life is worth more than the fleeting pleasure. There's other things. Like, oh, living healthfully, having more energy, not destroying our bodies with food...all that.<br />
<br />
The plan is now easy and feels right. If a thing calls to me I just have a little internal chat about what is and is not my food. It isn't perfect, or always easy - but then when were we promised a simple and easy life?? I think we spend way too much time rewarding ourselves, or making excuses for bad choices. The truth is we don't "deserve" food. Hunger is not an emergency, and there are things in life WAY more important than appeasing some stomping internal child who wants wine, or a candy bar or a piece of meat. Like being alive to see my grandchildren grow. Like not having a slow, lingering horrible death from a preventable disease, but living long enough to get hit by a truck or something. Like that. As Thompson says, this lifestyle isn't "extreme". Extreme is having your limbs cut off or losing your sight to diabetes. Extreme is a health care system that will collapse at some point under the revenue burden of failed "treatments" for preventable diseases. That's extreme. Eating a giant salad for supper...that's fucking simple.<br />
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I said I would share a typical day...I do a lot of prep when I have time, so the assembly of meals is much simpler now. We have a repertoire of things we like. We often mix and match proteins and vegetables from a core of liked flavor profiles. We weight nearly everything unless we are out, and then we read menus ahead and have a plan, or we bring food. I prepare the veg and protein separately. I find keeping them separate to be easier for me. This is an average day - I am not giving quantities, just know that we each consume the correct amount for our respective x and y chromosomes based on Bright Line Eating:<br />
<br />
Breakfast:<br />
<br />
Soy yogurt (made in our instant pot with <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Vegan-Non-Dairy-Yogurt-Starter-gal/dp/B079WV8YY7/ref=pd_sim_325_7?_encoding=UTF8&pd_rd_i=B079WV8YY7&pd_rd_r=MTAC5B1F9PXWNZ53FAJM&pd_rd_w=Dep0f&pd_rd_wg=Mvx0U&psc=1&refRID=MTAC5B1F9PXWNZ53FAJM">this starter</a> from Amazon)<br />
Oatmeal prepared with soy milk<br />
Fresh fruit, usually a combination of berries, stone fruits, and banana<br />
Flax seed and walnuts, ground.<br />
Generous sprinkle of cinnamon or my breakfast blend of cinnamon, cardamom, turmeric and ginger<br />
<br />
Lunch (really this is today's lunch for me!):<br />
<br />
Roasted cauliflower from last night<br />
Hummus<br />
Blueberries<br />
<br />
Dinner:<br />
<br />
Big (really, 8 ounces of salad is a lot!) mixed tossed salad.<br />
Zoodles with homemade red cabbage and bell pepper pickle and Thai peanut sauce<br />
Tofu<br />
<br />
There's always a bunch of vegetables prepped in the fridge, and usually two or three protein choices as well - tofu, tempeh (also made at home now), or bean salads with flavors that lean toward Mexican, Mediterranean, Thai, what have you. Sometimes the vegetables are cooked, sometimes they are raw. Fat is limited, more than Bright Line Eating recommends, based on <a href="http://www.dresselstyn.com/site/articles-studies/">Dr. Esselstyn's work</a> around heart disease and fat intake. We do consume some fat, however. After reading his work and looking at Gene's labs and knowing his history...I am not kidding, he was a cardiac event waiting to happen!! Our fats are tiny amount of walnuts, maybe a teaspoon of oil in a pan to keep the tofu from sticking, or a little avocado. No big amounts; nothing more than teaspoons. Breakfast occasionally is tofu and a baked potato or brown rice with fruit.<br />
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Goodness, this has gotten long. I am SO very good at that. I will end with this...<br />
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<span style="text-align: center;">This is Gene in December of 2017. </span></div>
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This is Gene last Thursday night at Barcelona Burger, waiting for his bean burger and salad.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizZ6dGviSVTQVo-bVawKCMcaUz9M1jj0Vs8OwHnaTSR7aXpy5I97gPB4pjKEf2eWUtX6hcrMCwASO5FExB02oSV5XXZcnVtRXvj1oeBy4WdADtBxQSo3Q4QhDlX_1aeGZJCctQsA/s1600/gene+now.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizZ6dGviSVTQVo-bVawKCMcaUz9M1jj0Vs8OwHnaTSR7aXpy5I97gPB4pjKEf2eWUtX6hcrMCwASO5FExB02oSV5XXZcnVtRXvj1oeBy4WdADtBxQSo3Q4QhDlX_1aeGZJCctQsA/s320/gene+now.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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If I had any more feelings in my heart about these images, I would burst. I am proud, happy, relieved. Even if we get hit by a bus and never see old age...by God we tried our damndest to escape genetics and a faulty, flawed, disastrous, horrific food system. And so can you. <a href="https://brightlineeating.com/book/">The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. </a> You can be good to yourself. That doesn't need to involve food.The gratitude, it overwhelms me!Melissa Morgan-Oakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03924231630580404009noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19093186.post-77576174745413782012018-08-07T09:06:00.001-04:002018-08-07T09:06:53.487-04:00And Still With No Solid PlanThis weekend I attended the <a href="https://www.inelda.org/">INELDA End of Life Doula</a> training class in Raleigh. When I signed up I did so because I just felt like it was a thing I needed to do, without a real firm grasp of why or how. I still don't have a firm grasp on the plan...and I am going to just let that be OK for now. I did come away with a deeper feeling of commitment to the dying - and I really hadn't thought that possible. Some people seemed to be walking away with an almost evangelical commitment to this work as a life's calling. I didn't get that spiritual high, but then I can be very pragmatic and skeptical. And, too, many of those expressing commitment with evangelical fervor have less experience in death and dying. For me, this isn't like a new revelation. It's more of a no-brainer. As Susan said "All roads led you here." Although I feel like the work of an End of Life doula is in the first place of extreme importance and in the second something I can easily see myself doing, I still have the many unanswered questions of a natural born skeptic. What about my nursing license? How does the insurance work if you have that license? How can I appropriately balance the "mandatory reporter" nurse side with the "doula: keeper of confessions" side? Which one takes precedence? And on and on and on.<br />
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I am a nurse, both by profession in my current iteration and by "calling", for lack of a better word. I feel very strongly about death (and birth, as those who've known me a long time can attest). The excessive medicalization of the two greatest transitions in our existence on this sphere has disturbed me since I came to understand that they were taken from us by the (allegedly well-intentioned, but let's be real - today it's about the money) western medical model. The discovery that this thing had been taken away without any solid reasoning beyond convenience and profit bothered me. It seemed to me, growing up, that both birth and death were extremely natural processes that only quite rarely became complicated enough to require some kind of intervention - and yet we willingly handed them over with a quick brow swipe and a "thank God that's all out of MY hands!" Women drugged into pseudo contentment, feet high up in the air, blue-tinged babies dragged out of dope-lazy birth canals - or worse, women cut open like sides of beef when their labor didn't progress according to the narrow statistical "curve" model created by some sexist, meddling quack named Freidman...grandma dying "peacefully" medicated (or so we are assured by the staff who were probably in another room when it happened) in a nursing home bed while the kids and grandkids were at work and school.<br />
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Gone the natural progression of our lives from birth to death, gone the sounds and smells of birth and death in our homes, gone the bedside sitting at both labors, gone the intimacy, the proximity, the depth of these most sacred of passages. Instead most of us continue to cling to the "shallow and complex" life afforded by that dubious miracle that is modern western medicine. Let someone else do it. It's too hard, too scary, too painful. Give me drugs, just get it over with. But research begins to show that our removal from these most basic nitty-gritty beginnings and endings (on both counts) is actually less healthy for us than the relative trauma of intimate participation. Some of us feel that in our bones, and know the trade off isn't worth the loss of intimacy, of selflessness, of the most painful and yet most beautiful expressions of love that occur in those spaces.<br />
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The death of simple and deep. We are trading out the painful reality of human existence for this artificial alternative that allows us to remain "above all that", allows us to move forward lacking awareness (of self or of others), avoiding pain, running from reality. Abandoning the people who love us at the very moment when they most need us. Abandoning <i>ourselves</i>.<br />
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I am idealistic. But at my core very, very simple. Why is there injustice? Because we have allowed ourselves to fall prey to propaganda spin, turning "us" against "them", produced by a bunch of white men in suits who have no interest in our awakening to the truth that there is no "them", there is only us, thereby lining their pockets with our blindness. Why is the food killing us? Because we got over-involved with some magic chemical voodoo to "fix" food, resulting in processed crap that destroys our bodies, with a huge shift in the macronutrient percentages we have successfully eaten for 50,000 years. Why is birth so hard? Because we allowed more magical modern voodoo to bring us these trojan horse gifts that transform the majority of births into a loss of feminine power and a destruction of immediate bonding with newborns. Why is death so scary and taboo? Because we gave grandma to the hospital or the nursing home to "protect" ourselves and our children, so now grandma doesn't die in the living room, cared for lovingly by her deeply exhausted family, thereby depriving us of the experience of the good death.<br />
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Don't get me wrong. I am GRATEFUL for much of what we have. I am glad that, after 36-48 hours of protracted naturally initiated labor, there is an OR. I am grateful that there are places we can turn to when our loved one, dying at home, becomes terminally agitated in a way that we cannot control. I am less grateful for white men in suits and Monsanto, but that's another tale for another day. I am glad that WHEN THERE IS REAL NEED there is help at the ready.<br />
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But the decisions about when and how to intervene...those are much more complicated. How is it that a patient can spend some number of <i>hundreds of days</i> in a hospital bed, have innumerable procedures performed on them, each time with no explanation to the family that the patient will not regain function, will not improve, will never speak, will never swallow...the only reason is a padded bottom line. Otherwise the compassionate thing, the morally right thing, would be to sit down with that family and tell them the truth - she/he has had a massive stroke/horrible heart attack/whatever it was that put you here. She/he will not have any sort of meaningful recovery. She/he will not speak again, will not be able to communicate, will continue to decline. There is nothing we can do, and the best hope we CAN offer you is hospice at home, or transfer to a long term care facility that can support you through her/his end of life process. Her/his <i>death</i>. It isn't a dirty word.<br />
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I suppose the dirtying of the words birth and death goes back to that so very American puritanical prudery and skewed religiosity so particular to us here. Birth means someone got pregnant, and if someone got pregnant, someone probably had sex. And sex, like death, is a thing we both obsess over, desperately want, and despise at the same time. Death means someone is dying, and what if the Christians are right and he/she goes to hell, but what if nothing happens and it's all for nought (untrue - even if there is no heaven and no hell, there is still the NOW, and the NOW matters so very deeply because we are all so connected...but I digress), and how do I feel about the ending of life and so on and so on - again simultaneously obsessed with and fascinated by, yet terrified of and repulsed by. Plus there is decay and odor, and grandma might soil herself and someone might have to clean it up.<br />
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There I go ranting again.<br />
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My point here, today, is this - I still have no solid plan. I came away with a lot of good information. I feel like the independent "hanging a shingle" death doula track may not be right for my anti-social self. Most people seem very able to give elevator speeches and "reach out" to the community with death cafes and stuff - like <a href="http://lisatinkham.norwex.biz/en_US/customer/shop">Norwex</a> parties only for death education...how do you keep that from becoming self-promotion? I simultaneously like and am concerned about that idea of the death cafe. I am pretty sure half the people in the room can give the first names of their table mates. I only remember 3. Faces I remember, but not names. It was sort of like work, really. Are you dying? Yes? OK. You definitely have a name, and I will remember it, and use it. Are you the immediate support? Yes? Good. I will probably remember your name, and will use it after asking you if it's ok and confirming what your loved one prefers to be called. Are you an administrator? Yeah. I'll get back to you on that whole name thing later, maybe in a year or so. All this "networking" nonsense? Nobody networked 50,000 years ago and people still died and got born attended by invisible people mostly lost to history. As it should be. Handing out of business cards, "making connections"...really? Are we entrepreneurs selling ourselves, or are we servants called to care for the dying and their families? I lose it in there somewhere. I'm here to serve, not sell. But first I need to take the first step. Whatever that looks like. I just still have no plan.<br />
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<br />Melissa Morgan-Oakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03924231630580404009noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19093186.post-54277675530383886012018-07-17T08:55:00.002-04:002018-07-17T08:59:21.845-04:00It's NaturalI think I miss my father most when I wipe my ass. He was the only other human being I ever knew who would willingly and openly admit how hard it is to get it all. We would moan about this topic the way frustrated housewives bitch about muddy footprints. He came by this earthiness honestly. My paternal grandmother farted in front of me regularly, and when I got old enough to tell her to "say excuse me", she reprimanded me, saying that God put the air in and intended for it to come out - no apology necessary. I tried this at home. My mother was not nearly as accommodating of the almighty as GW was. "Hold it in" was her motto on most topics. It was never mine.<br />
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I've always been fascinated by and drawn to the functioning of the human body and the human mind. Interruptions aside, I probably would have been a doctor of something. But life wins in the end, and who we are isn't about the degrees we hold, it's about the cumulative experience, how we allow it to teach us, how we open ourselves up to and meet the act of living. <br />
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<a href="https://www.inelda.org/">INELDA End of Life Doula</a> training class is coming up, and in the initial pre-class work we are introduced to the idea of the End of Life Doula, the various activities an EOL doula may perform, the ways in which an EOL doula can facilitate conversations and communication between family members with the dying person. We were asked to think of the death of someone near to us and reflect on how that death was - what could have been different, what sort of conversations could and should have taken place, how the wishes of the dying person were accommodated. I think the biggest gap for me at Dad's end of life is in the idea of legacy. He wanted very much to talk about it, and we tried, but I lacked the language and the skills to give him an outlet for that. I regret this deeply. The instructor talks about having made an audio recording about 40 minutes in length where he asked his father things he had never dared or thought to ask before. It was some months before he could listen to this legacy journey, and when he did he found it immensely healing -it brought his father back to him in a real and powerful way. I wish I had done this. I have two or three short recordings, not conversations, but clips culled from my answering machine - my favorite being my final birthday message, left for me a mere 14 days before he died. It was that important to him - sleeping 18-20 hours a day, barely awake when he was awake, calling me to say happy birthday was a priority. I know that feeling - more intensely in the last couple of years when that greeting of a loved one has been thwarted by estrangement - but I digress.<br />
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This class will open up new pathways into the end of life experience for me. I have no idea where it will lead. I intend to become certified, which will require a minimum of three willing volunteer families who allow me into their space at an unbelievably delicate and precious time. Navigating the challenge of having clinical nursing skills that MUST BE set aside will be new. Being present, active listening, facilitating communication, holding space - all of those things are the things that I so very desperately long to do with my patients now, and most of the time cannot because time ties my hands behind my back and Medicare holds me hostage to an iPad. (The irony of this apparent skill is that if you are not dying, I will rattle on, ignore your thoughts and feelings, and generally be the biggest personality in the room wherever possible. But if you are dying or birthing it becomes the one space where I am easily able to lay myself down. I wish I knew why. Anyway.) I look forward to that part of this work. I am looking forward to discovering new ways to give meaning to legacy, and hope I can be of value to someone who struggles with that. It will honor that man, who sat in that chair, pointed at me and said to his home hospice nurse "...she's goooood...." to which she replied "Yes, she is. She really needs to come work with us."<br />
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How very right they were. And how very hard I resisted. But in my life the times at which I have felt the most present, the times at which I have felt the most comfortable and connected, I was either attending a birth or attending someone and their support system at end of life. You can run, and you can run faster, but in the end you cannot hide. What I am, I am. And what I am is a death professional. Whatever form that takes.<br />
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(don't worry - soon we will talk about knitting or quilting or something, I promise!)Melissa Morgan-Oakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03924231630580404009noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-19093186.post-27595097991378584962018-06-22T10:33:00.004-04:002018-06-22T10:33:39.927-04:00Red Pill Blue PillThe last time I was here I was ranting about addiction, diet and brains. I will probably do more of that today. For Lorrie, who commented on my last post, there is a video at the bottom of this post that may help. I don't have a copy of the 2AAT book right by me at the moment, so don't remember what my exact directions were, but I believe this will help with twisted stitches questions.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqiWxzJJFvPqsaB4oSDVbeqqru-5FEwP-yITTFPeUV06fY1clV0-S1QA0oJDc63zM0y8ojUmo097WYiz_T3BvA_ElqafS_lOssw1PPJxLcoRAr6-GVJSQ9yW6Q9PnX7z9xgqCiuw/s1600/fullsizeoutput_c52.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="465" data-original-width="640" height="232" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqiWxzJJFvPqsaB4oSDVbeqqru-5FEwP-yITTFPeUV06fY1clV0-S1QA0oJDc63zM0y8ojUmo097WYiz_T3BvA_ElqafS_lOssw1PPJxLcoRAr6-GVJSQ9yW6Q9PnX7z9xgqCiuw/s320/fullsizeoutput_c52.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Now on to the ranting. For Jacinda I may throw in a picture or two, although of what I do not know. Maybe lilies and cats. Just bear with, please. I do have a point here. Or maybe I have no point and am just ranting aimlessly again - but after a decade of menopausal brain stoppage, maybe this is a thing I need to do. VENT.<br />
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I have been eating "mostly vegetarian" for about three years which, combined with grief, resulted in a loss of about 12 pounds - not a lot, but remember I am 4'11". Recently I had re-gained some weight, and this upset me. Having been in what the author of Bright Line Eating calls a "right sized body" for the first time in three decades, I was displeased to see it changing back to the chubby-but-not-quite-obese body it had been in the middle bit of life. My body had disappeared from my daily thoughts - I didn't obsess, I didn't fuss and worry, I just WAS - and I was very displeased to lose that freedom. The gain began in response to work stress. Too much wine, too much chocolate, too many little cheats...and all the parts of my brain that demand the unhealthy woke right up and started jumping around like ranting, raging addicted toddlers.<br />
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<i>(Chance bringing a plastic mouse to his clearly idiot humans who don't eat meat)</i></div>
I was also increasingly concerned about Mr. Wonderful's various health/weight issues that seemed unresponsive to medication or exercise, and were really setting him (screw him - ME!!ME!! I DON'T LOOK GOOD IN BLACK, OK?!?) up for some unhappiness in the future. Enter <a href="https://brightlineeating.com/book/">Bright Line Eating</a> but with a whole foods plant based diet at it's base. To update, we have been officially doing BLE for 12 days. I have lost 3.8 lbs. He has lost 6.4 lbs (Men. How do they do that. Every. frigging. time). More - MOST - importantly, his blood sugar is so normal that his medication has been halved, and at some point will likely go away entirely. I will never say that BLE, or any "diet" or "lifestyle change" not in line with the standard western diet (which we are liberally exporting around the globe with disastrous results) is easy. But I will say it is do-able. It has been my experience that things worth attaining are not easy...so would we really expect health to be any different?<br />
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<i>(<a href="http://www.hawkmountain.org/">Hawk Mountain</a> stop in PA on our way home - would dearly love to return to do more of their trails)</i></div>
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As a result of reading the BLE book, I picked up a copy of <a href="http://a.co/e3yitzM">The China Study</a>, which is Thomas Campbell II's book on nutrition and health. About a chapter in I was recoiling and gasping at the idea that cancer could be turned on and off in rats by modifying the amount of animal protein in their diets. It just tumbles down from there - cancer, obesity, heart disease, diabetes, autoimmune diseases...he confronts them all and with massive data (thousands of studies, not just his own, that clearly document a strong connection between animal protein in meat and dairy and negative outcomes on human health) proves just what our way of eating has done to us - and continues to do.<br />
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His recommendation, and his lifestyle of choice, is plant based, whole foods - low fat, lower protein - and that protein from plants. He cites doctors <a href="http://www.dresselstyn.com/site/">Esselstyn</a> (well known cardiologist from The Cleveland Clinic who's groundbreaking studies in heart disease and diet SHOULD be explained to every cardiac patient on the planet) and <a href="https://www.ornish.com/">Ornish</a> (who allows much more dairy and egg whites, but still has amazing results), among others. They all come to the same conclusion. A plant based diet is preferred. Campbell is pretty specific, and his studies on those cancer rats indicates that keeping protein - plant based of course - to around 10% of our diet is ideal - this number is more in keeping with the diet of rural Chinese who, until we exported McDonald's and Starbucks and KFC all over their map, had remarkably low incidences of most of the disease that plague us here in the United States of Fast Food (God, Country, and Mickey D's!).<br />
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So why don't we eat this way, or tell people to eat this way? Why do most doctors hand their patients disjointed and conflicting handouts while making vague statements like "You should think more about diet and exercise..." with no real statements about what they KNOW from science WORKS? The most commonly cited reason: "These diets are too extreme. They are too complicated and difficult. Most people won't succeed."<br />
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Wow. Really? Because truth is hard to hear and takes work to follow, we should sugar (literally) coat it and prate about moderation? For my mother, moderation meant "I will, at dinner today, eat only a half a box of Mueller's angel hair pasta with a half a stick of butter and a half a jar of Ragu original and a little less shaker cheese, instead of the whole box, stick and jar." That totally worked. Not.<br />
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<i>(Stairs - not always easy to climb but generally worth the effort to see the view)</i></div>
What really got me yesterday was the connection, clearly made in multiple studies, that links consumption of cow's milk with a host of diseases that plague not just children but adults as well. Juvenile RA. Type 1 diabetes. Then on to a host of autoimmune problems that left me glad that I never really liked milk. I was the child who had to be harped at, and even then I would refuse to drink it. "Then you will have water!" Great, thank you. Pass the ice cubes. Pass all the plants. Maybe I can revere of control this Hashimoto nonsense, or maybe my Reynaud's will stop making winter painful. Or...maybe I can delay some other horror heading my way. Who knows. Just...plants, yes please!<br />
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<i>(It is 'yeller squash' season - and Thank Troy, my tummy and freezer are FULL!)</i></div>
So yeah, choosing healthy is not always easy, especially in a world where toxic marketing is aimed at getting us to do the easy things in order to line a few pockets. And I can see how this way of life might be viewed as "extreme". And in a very short sighted way it may appear complicated. Know what's more complicated? More extreme than a diet that will save your life, reduce environmental damage, make it so there's enough for everyone? Heart attacks. Strokes. Insulin injections. Losing a leg. Losing your vision. Premature death from a disease easily prevented or reversed with diet. Per capita spending in the US on health care jumping from around $4800 in 2006 to over $10,000 in 2016. Five of the <a href="https://www.cdc.gov/nchs/fastats/deaths.htm">top ten causes of deaths in the US</a> attributed to lifestyle choices and preventable illness. That's extreme. That's complicated. Eating plants is a fucking cake walk by comparison.<br />
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<i>(It is also magnolia season, which smells citrus and spice and everything nice)</i></div>
Things come together in my life in weird perfect storm ways. I am also reading <a href="http://a.co/eMQCE26">The Master and His Emissary</a>, a book about how our brain is divided, what the two sides do (or what we sort of think we know about what the two sides do based on research), and how our current culture favors left brain thought, and how damaging this can be to us culturally and socially - and individually. All that left brain literality, all that reliance on reason - some of which is very good, for example when it comes to NOT running out for a chocolate bar or a run through a drive through for a burger and fries. But at the same time, the other side of our brain, the right, needs to be allowed expression. If not, why we might find ourselves hyper-protectively ripping kids from their mothers and putting them in detention centers while we prepare to ship the adults back to...oh wait...that happened. Oops.<br />
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<i>(Frankie strongly opposes the separating of families and incarceration of children under the current regime's "illegal alien" intolerance program)</i></div>
All of this sounds extreme and depressing, right? The world is in turmoil, our president is a whack doodle surrounded by other whack doodles, we are eating ourselves into <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/WALL-E">WALL*E's</a> world (everyone in a scooter, bones melted, phones to faces, sucking down big gulps and throwing the trash to a hoard of specialized robots), we are inhumane, hyper protective, fearful, hiding behind the rule of law to cover our selfishness and on and on and on and on. DEAR GOD, WE'RE ALL GONNA DIE!!<br />
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But...we are all gonna die anyway. Just think about this for a moment. And really, in the life of a universe - or even a planet - our time here is a fleck of dust. This too, shall pass. So then...what do we do? Cry? Hide? Run? Quit? Shop? Eat? Drink?<br />
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<i>(Or just go kayak, which I highly recommend.)</i></div>
I propose a happier alternative. Tolstoy, in <i>The Kingdom of God is Within You,</i> expounds on what he sees as the three conceptions of life that drive man's actions. In the first, the individual is embraced - he calls this the animal view of life. In the second, one embraces society - this he calls the pagan view of life. In the third, the whole world is embraced, and he calls this the divine view of life. From this view, it's all about love, man. He goes into this in greater detail than I care to here, but at the crux lies this kernel - in the first two, the scope is limited and the outcomes protective of self or of the immediate family, then larger community, then state, then country and so on in varying degrees of commitment and with willingness to sacrifice part of one to save one closer to one's self. But in the third worldview - the divine - life is not defined by "my" self, "my" family, "my" community (and so on) but by the idea that there is one underlying eternal factor - Christians would say God, Muslims Allah and so forth. "The motor power of his life is love". Uncle Leo has very, very few kind words for churches, orthodox clergy etc. ("It is terrible to think what the churches do to men").<br />
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<i>(Dude has a point.)</i></div>
This thinking aligns fairly neatly with thoughts expressed by Marcus Borg and others of emerging church thought. Borg speaks a great deal to the dichotomy facing Christianity in the modern world. We have, at the moment, two ways of seeing the Bible - the first is that the Bible is the literal word of God (you must believe in arks, virgin births, and the holding back of rivers, or you are damned!). In the second, the Bible is viewed in a historical and metaphorical manner. In the first, the literal understanding of the Bible, there is much to protect, much to insist, much to demand, much to feel shameful and guilty about. God is angry, and you better make sure you follow the rules or you are in deep shit. The core of the belief system is easily threatened, and must be protected at all costs. In the second...well, we are dust, and the Book - all the books - have some stuff in them that can help us to be better, nicer, kinder, gentler dust. There is nothing to defend, nothing to protect, nothing to war over. There is just a law of love, a global concern for humanity, for the planet, for everything. I feel like some notables may have mentioned this in their teachings...wait, what was that guy's name again? Oh yeah...JESUS (and others, but being reared Christian his teachings are the most well known to me).<br />
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This takes me back to right and left brain, maybe just for a second. Left brain - right hand; that kind of thought really enjoys the literal interpretation of the Bible. It loves the structure and rigidity, it defends rigorously, it squashes opposition. Right brain - left hand; this kind of thinking sees meaning in metaphor, embraces the creative, questions the need to defend at the expense of others. In general we tend to view left brain as "masculine" and right brain as "feminine", which really does a disservice to the brain, especially in our male-dominated society which values the masculine above the feminine; it mocks men who embrace their "feminine side", pays men more than women for the same work, dismisses social injustice with a wave of the hand because those injustices feed and protect that which is important to the left brain, etc. Left brain says "You don't look like me, worship like me, eat like me, act like me. You are other and must be assimilated, or destroyed." I envision left brain in a well-cut dark colored suit with a red tie. Right brain - who I see wearing tie-dye and cut-off's, with a joint in one hand and a peace sign in the other - says "Look at all these amazing and different ways of being! The world is truly a magical and awesome place". We are, according to this author, shutting off the right brain gradually over time and with ever increasing success.<br />
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I spent part of this morning looking at ways to increase right brain activity, which I think is a way to help in the process of healing what really is brain damage cause by food, environment, religion, etc. Here's a few ideas - because I think they are important and will make awareness and change easier to accomplish. Martha Beck <a href="https://marthabeck.com/2011/10/turn-on-your-right-brain/">has some ideas</a>, most of which arose from a bit of writer's block she experienced. She calls it The Kitchen Sink method, and it really works. I know because I have used it myself without realizing that's what I was doing at the time. This Australian lady at the Memory Foundation <a href="https://youtu.be/HiJTKzPSPo4">has a video</a> on ways to stimulate right brain. Actually they appear to have a couple. Livestrong <a href="https://www.livestrong.com/article/192141-how-to-improve-your-right-brain/">has a nice list</a> of right brain thinking activities. Meditation is a good start, really. Quieting the mind allows both sides more space. I sometimes visualize sunlight cascading down into the right side - NOT the left at first, and not evenly into the hemispheres...but into the right. Then it gets stopped up and cannot go further until the left side takes action (left brain likes action). The left must then open a series of locks, or floodgates, to allow the light to cascade into the left brain, and then down to my toes, gradually filling the body to the very top. But in the visualization, the left has to choose to allow communication with the right if it wants that sunlight - and it really wants it. I just want left brain to be active and participatory in encouraging connection between the hemispheres. I want it to have a choice.<br />
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I did say I had some happy news, or a happier alternative or whatever. So here's my happy news. We do have choices under all these layers of conflicting information, societal pressure, advertising mind-fucks, crappy parenting, traumatic events and so forth. Once you know these things, you can choose, even if it is tiny infinitesimal steps in a direction other than trapped. It won't be without complication, it will not be simple, it will not be without backsliding, failure and pain - although clearly we're all in pain already or we wouldn't be expressing our discomfort in our societal behaviors.<br />
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I choose to always keep looking for truth. I choose love. I choose health. I choose to think outside of myself. I choose to find ways to counter the negativity and fear we are endlessly fed. They may be small ways, but they are ways. I choose the red pill.<br />
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Oh, and Lorrie, here is your video. If this doesn't help, please comment below and I will try to get my hands on my own book. :)<br />
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<br />Melissa Morgan-Oakeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03924231630580404009noreply@blogger.com0