To BP or not to BP? That is the question.

Let’s play make believe.

Imagine for a minute that you are a gas station owner — let’s just say that you’re located in a town north of Boston and that you had owned and run a Getty station for almost twenty years when a corporate deal that didn’t seem like a big deal at the time converted your Getty station to a BP station. It’s just a name, right? No one will care, you told yourself.

Just for the hell of it, let’s say your name is Jim Daaboul. And let’s say that this week is when the change-over to BP is occurring — a switch that’s been in the works for almost two years –at your gas station. What do you think you would be feeling as the BP signs were hoisted over your gas station amidst the coverage of BP’s two-month old, and ongoing, disaster in the Gulf of Mexico?

I’m guessing you’d be thinking something along the lines of this: “Fuuuuuuuuuuuuccccccccccccccccccccckkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk.”

Okay, now stop the pretending — what are you, five years old!? No need to pretend, anyway — Jim Daaboul is a real person! He owns a gas station in my town; you can read the local paper’s story here. Prior to reading his story I had been a de facto participant in the BP boycott. (It was de facto in that I never really patronized BP to begin with. So, Take that, BP! I am going to continue to not go to your gas station! Powerful stuff.)

The other reason I haven’t been fully on board with the boycott is that if I am voting against BP, then I feel like I am voting for whichever company I go to instead. So, please tell me, which oil company is the Good Guy? Have you done all your research and do you feel confident with your vote?

And, lastly, without removing any of the enormous and deserved blame on BP, I would also like to state the obvious, which is that oil companies exist because we as a nation use a royal ass-load of oil. So, it’s nice that we have a Bad Guy now — and they are definitely the Bad Guy! — but let’s just recognize that it’s a complicated situation. ‘Lotta ins, ‘lotta outs.

Meanwhile, north of Boston, there’s this guy, Jim. In the article Jim says,”I’m just a small guy. Customers need to look at the service, not the sign.” He also points out that BP supplies oil to other big-name companies, too. So you could be patronizing a Mobil station and filling your tank with BP fuel.

So what’s a girl like me, who likes to do the right thing, to do? This gas station is about 1/2 mile from my house. I drove by yesterday, the day this story was published, and I looked over to see a man (I’m guessing it was Jim) pumping gas; oddly, he looked up and we made and held eye contact as I drove by. It didn’t feel accidental. It felt like he was standing out there, at his shiny new BP station, and purposely looking at the drivers of passing cars, just waiting for someone to yell something obscene or to tell him that he should be ashamed.

I didn’t honk my horn or yell, “BP kills birds and ruins lives!” (Both of which is true.) But I also didn’t yell, “I support you, Jim!” And I didn’t stop to get gas, either. I looked away.

Will Power

I didn’t get the gene for will power. It is a lucky thing for me that I don’t like cigarettes and I’m not addicted to diet pills, or I’d be a lifelong resident of the Valley of the Dolls.

Most examples of my lack of self-control involve food. Here’s one from just yesterday: A neighbor stopped by with some chocolate; he had borrowed a stroller from us and the chocolate was a nice little thank-you gift. We chatted and then, literally, as he was walking away, I tore into the chocolate like a rabid ferret. My neighbor was still on the sidewalk in front of my house! That’s just not cool.

In my usual day-to-day life I can work around my apparent lack of self-control. I don’t buy loads of treats, because I would sit down and eat all of them, but I always keep a dark chocolate bar on hand, so when I need a little sumthin’ I can break off a square (or Trader Joe’s Nutty Bits — love). I am blessed with decent metabolism and, although I have been trying, unsuccessfully, to lose ten pounds for five years, I don’t usually obsess over such things. Because when it comes right down to it, my desire to eat delicious food and drink delicious wine is, almost always, either equal or greater than my desire to lose a little weight.

My lack of will power has become an issue of late, though, because of a new medication I’ve been taking. Without going into my whole medical history, I will just say that after years and years of explaining my symptoms to doctors and allergists and ear/nose/throat specialists and eye doctors, I was recently diagnosed with migraines. It was an oddly emotional moment for me, in the doctor’s office, because I had long ago given up on getting any relief from the ear-popping and headaches and car-sickness-like feeling I’ve had, a lot of the time, for years. And then, unexpectedly, this one doctor connected the dots that no one else had been able to connect. The fact that he is also quite handsome was making me feel uneasy, like I had somehow walked into a soap opera where handsome doctors have all the answers.

In the interest of time let’s just say this: It took me a while but I finally decided to take the medication. I can say without hesitation that I am more focused, I have more energy, I sleep way better, and I feel generally better than I have felt in a long, long time…and I’ve gained five pounds.

I know, I know — five pounds is not a big deal. But if you add it to that other ten pounds I mentioned before, things get a little dicey. And what if I’ve only gained five pounds so far? If it’s five pounds total, that is one thing; five pounds every two months? No. That’s not going to work at all.

My first thought was, Well, I have to stop taking it! Then, I got myself under control (I can do it for a few minutes sometimes) and realized that the medical issue would take precedence over my own vanity. And, perhaps, instead of cutting off my proverbial nose to spite my proverbial face, or shooting myself in my proverbial foot, I could go for some walks? Play tennis? Eat a little bit less? I mean, we finally have lettuce and vegetables growing, so it shouldn’t be too difficult.

Then, a few days ago, I took Caralena to my parent’s house and to run some errands. It was not a particularly fun day for an almost-five-year-old, but she hung in there and was great. So, on the way home, when she saw a Dunkin’ Donuts and asked if she could get a few Munchkins, I said, Yes, yes, you can! I ordered at the drive-thru: one chocolate, one glazed, and one jelly Munchkin. We were both happy; she was about to eat her treat of sugary goodness and — here’s the important part — I didn’t order any Munchkins for myself! I am putting this is both bold and italics, because who the hell could pass up one tiny Munchkin? Someone with serious will power, that’s who!

I was high on my own self-control and it felt good, I tell you. It. Felt. Good.

And then we got to the window. I paid, took the bag, and was about to drive away when the cashier woman smiled at me and winked — winked! — as she said these words: “I put an extra one in there for you.”

She put an extra one in there. For me. What?!? I can think of 8000 other times when I would have been thrilled if someone slipped me a free Munchkin. This wasn’t one of them.

And that is the end of this story. The End.

Wait – what? You want to know whether or not I ate it? Oh, please.

“What do YOU do?”

I find it odd that “What do you do?” is one of the first questions we ask when we meet people. (I gather this is an American habit so I guess we=Americans in this scenario. I’m also guessing The Question was originally, “What do you do for a living?” since, if you really think about it, “What do you do?” is a weird thing to ask. Ya know what else is weird? Inserting a long, parenthetical statement at the very beginning of an essay. Onward.) I mean, it makes sense to pose The Question at work-related gatherings but it seems to have wormed its way into the first few minutes of any conversation with someone new.

Up until a little over a year ago, when I was employed, I at least had an easy answer to The Question, one that people seemed to like: “I own a women’s clothing and shoe shop in Newburyport.” Done.

When I first closed my shop (thereby ending my own job), there was a grace period when I could talk to people about closing the business and why I made that decision. When asked what I was going to do next I said something like, “I have some ideas but first I’m going to take some time off.” People seemed to think that was fine. “You always come up with something!” they said.

Now that it’s been over a year since I’ve been employed I have come to dread The Question — I’ve even gone out of my way to avoid situations where I know it will repeatedly be asked (no speed-dating for me!). As much as I don’t think that people should be defined solely by their jobs, much of my own identity was clearly wrapped up in being the owner of a small retail business. Giving it up felt like losing a part of my personality.

I quickly filled all those hours with the other tasks; when you have a young child, a mother with a health issue, a husband, a house, and a dog, there is no shortage of projects. But even though I was constantly occupied, I still didn’t know what I was doing. When people posed The Question, I’d awkwardly ramble on and then end with a vague reference to “some ideas I’m pursuing.” I’m pretty sure I was getting some smiles and nods while people were really thinking, “Wow, she’s really letting it all go!”

With all due respect to the self-described SAHMs out there, I never considered “I’m at stay-at-home mom” as The Answer. Maybe it’s because I worked for the first three years of my daughter’s life, which is when women traditionally decide to be a SAHM. I also have some issues with the SAHM label — specifically, the “stay-at-home” part doesn’t work for me. I’d be more comfortable with something like “the running around like a maniac, trying to get everything done in the few hours that you are in school so we can spend after-school hours baking and crafting so you will remember me as a FUN mom and not one who was always stressed and talking about how I missed yoga AGAIN and –wait, how can we be out of wine?!” mom. I know — too long.

Most importantly, being a mother is only part of what I do. I am also a caregiver and advocate, a writer and editor, a household organizer and cleaner, a cook, and a whole lot of other things. (Holy poop-on-a-stick, I sound like I’m channeling Stuart Smalley!) And I’m also incredibly lucky that some days I find time to make soup (yesterday), write a blog post (today), or plant some flowers (it’s on the list).*

Depending on the day, my mood, and who’s asking, I now reply to The Question with a variety of answers — it can be anything from “I’m taking some writing classes,” to “Some days I just walk around my house and pick things up all day.” (I like to have one snarky option on hand.) It doesn’t really matter what I say because, in the words of Staurt Smalley, “I’m good enough, I’m smart enough, and doggone it, people like me.”

Of course, he also said, “I’m gonna die homeless and penniless and twenty pounds overweight.” No! I will not go into a shame spiral!

*I’m not going to get into the reasons why it doesn’t make sense for me to get a “real job” at this point but, trust me, it doesn’t make sense.

You are Here.

Our first stop after landing in Austin last week was a Tex-Mex joint we remembered from our previous trip — food is a major part of our love of Austin, so why postpone the pleasure?

After that, we decided to visit Zilker Park so Caralena could run around. We hopped in the (giant, size of a studio apartment in NYC) truck — it was the only “car” available after a little mix-up at the airport. David was fiddling with his iphone to get his fancy, talking GPS app running when I told him that we didn’t need it — I remembered the route to Zilker, or at least the general direction, from two years prior.

“Okay,” he said. “Which way?” The truck was not moving.

“Back to Cesar Chavez, towards downtown,” I said.

“Okay, which way is that?” he asked.

Granted, we had just arrived in Austin. But I could have told David to drive straight, right, left, or in reverse and he wouldn’t have thought twice. This was when it struck me that David — who is a CEO and a computer programmer and who pretty much can master anything he puts his mind to, from gardening to chess to whatever else he picks — has ZERO sense of direction.

This isn’t a pick-on-the-David post; I have seen it many times. Last year, when we visited David’s sister in PA, David was driving while his sister directed us to a pizza place in the next town. After dinner, we got back in the car, and David asked which way he should turn out of the parking lot.

I was shocked! How could you not know which way you had driven down a road a half hour previously? How could you not know whether you turned right or left to get into a parking lot? I’m fairly certain I could have navigated us all the way back to their house, down rural back roads, through corn fields. But when I expressed my surprise, David’s sister laughed and said that she is the exact same way when it comes to a total lack of sense of direction — and she is a smartie, too!

Clearly, a sense of direction has nothing to do with intelligence and it’s not something you learn; you either have it or you don’t. As a quick test, answer the following question to yourself, without thinking for more than three seconds: What direction are you facing right now? (I am facing south. That took me 1.5 seconds.) Now try this one: Point in the direction of your nearest post office, the one you visit. Was that easy or difficult?

In and of itself, this isn’t all that interesting; some people can roll their tongues and others can’t, but who really cares? It becomes compelling to me, though, when I think how this relates to how people envision space differently. I was very aware, when we were in Austin, of where I was not just within the city, but where we were on a map of the United States. And no matter where I travel, I constantly update this visual picture in my mind, of where I am in relation to other points, and where I am in relation to where I usually am, in the northeast.

The one time I got tripped up was when we were in CA last year. The confusion stemmed from the fact that, living on the East Coast, I am programmed to think that if the ocean is on your left, you are headed south. Obviously, this rule did not work in CA, and I remember a couple times where I had a second or two of a vertigo-like feeling, as my internal GPS re-configured itself.

So, when it comes to your sense of direction are you a Lise or a David? Is it part of my OCD that I always know in which direction I am facing? Perhaps. But I can’t imagine walking or driving around without a bigger picture in my mind, of where I am. For better or worse, I guess I am like my own little GPS.

Is retail dead?

David and I recently ate breakfast at a classic diner, the kind you don’t see much of anymore: a cramped, silver rectangle which looked out of place in its surroundings. We sat on stools at the counter and placed our orders with a craggy old guy who cooked it all on a small grill while making bad jokes about “the women’s lib.”

We paid more than we would have paid at the Dunkin’ Donuts down the road, but some of it was for the experience. (And some of it was for the generous amount of real, non-frozen spinach that went into David’s omelette. But, don’t worry, this isn’t another one of my fresh food rants.)

The next day, we had an appointment with our accountant for the annual beating. The accountant asked me whether I miss my business (I owned a women’s clothing/shoes/accessories shop for years). I replied that sometimes I do, but I know I made the right decision when I decided to close at the end of 2008; frankly, I don’t understand how any small, independent retail stores are still in business, especially in the Northeast, where the weather seems to become a more formidable enemy each year. The accountant voiced his opinion that “Retail is dead,” and we all discussed how online shopping has 100% changed the game.

It has been such a fundamental shift but also one that happened so fast; we went from driving to stores to see what was available and then deciding what to buy, to knowing exactly what we want and ordering (for the best price we can find) online. The only stores which have flourished are the big-box stores like Wal-Mart, which deal in volume and can afford to give us so much of what we “need” at cheaper prices and under one roof. Stores like mine — where I had to wait for the warm, sunny weekends when the tourists would show up, and only then could I start jumping through hoops to try to impress them with my inventory and merchandising? Yeah, those stores have a major problem on their hands.

Now that I no longer own a business, I rarely go to the downtown shops, even though they are just one town over. Why? Probably for the same reasons as many of you: I don’t have much time so I don’t want to drive over there and look for a place to park, only to find that the store doesn’t have what I need or they’re out of my size. Or, they’re closed. The internet is never closed, and my stuff gets delivered to my house!

Plus, like many people, I just spend less these days. I’m more careful. I usually know exactly what I want so there’s no fun in browsing around to see what’s available that I don’t need and can’t afford.

There is, however, an opposing force and that is my desire to spend my money on things that are more special, unique, not mass-produced. This is why I think art is the best gift. And this is why I love places like Austin, TX (where I will be visiting very soon — woohoo!), where they have somehow figured out a way to keep things, in their words, weird.

Is there a way to reconcile these conflicting desires? Is it possible that the very thing that seems to be the death of mom-and-pop shops, the internet, can actually be the savior in the end? Take etsy.com as an example. Hundreds (thousands?) of artisans who would previously have been selling at craft fairs now have a global audience for their goods. Phew, I was getting all mopey there, but now I’m feeling optimistic.

As usual, I think it’s probably all about decisions. Last Christmas, I made a list of the books I wanted to buy for gifts and how much they cost on Amazon. I brought it to my local book store and told the owner that I’d rather give her the business and she matched the prices whenever possible. (I told her to order the ones where she couldn’t match the prices, too; it seemed like a good compromise.) So, moving forward, I will still buy paper towels and t-shirts at Target. But when I do go online to buy gifts, I will remember that there is a whole world beyond Amazon.com.

As David and I were finishing up at the diner, another patron sat at the counter and ordered. He mentioned to us that eating in a diner feels almost like you’re in someone’s home. I replied that I would always choose a diner over a fast-food restaurant and he concurred. Too bad we’re in the minority. I can’t help but wonder how much longer that little diner will manage to stay in business. All I can say is, next time I’m in that town, I will definitely go back.

I’m curious. Have your spending habits changed drastically in the past few years? Do you shop online, at Target-type stores, malls, or in small boutiques? Do you care whether there’s a diner around?

Television. For Kids?

It’s been a rough February over here at Casa Carrigg Cancel, for one of us in particular: the small one. Caralena started off the month with the usual winter-in-New-England cold’n'cough combo. That got super-sized into a double ear-infection with fever, and it was all capped off by the appearance of the annual Vomit Comet — which, at that point, was really adding insult to injury.

Along with school absences, midnight laundry sessions, and trips to the store for more popsicles, there’s been another big side effect of illness: We have watched more kids’ TV in the past few weeks than we usually watch in many months.

And when I say “we,” I do mean both of us; when my kid is sick, she does not want me out of her sight. Together, we watched the good, the bad, and the ugly — everything from “WordGirl” and “Martha Speaks,” to “Dora the Explorer” and “Go, Diego, Go!,” to “The Fresh Beat Band,” a show that on a never-ending loop could possibly be an alternative to waterboarding.

As the days went by in a blur, I found myself wondering things like: Did Laurie Berkner specifically choose those phenomenally dorky back-up singers so that she would seem vaguely cool? Does anyone else think that a character named Handy Manny sounds like he needs to register with the local police department? Where are Max and Ruby’s parents? And, did the sloth from “It’s a Big, Big World” just smoke a big, big fatty?

More importantly, though, I observed that while there are some really good shows for kids in the say, under-six-or-seven-year-old range, there seems to be nothing of value for kids as they get older. Why do we go from truly quality options for younger kids (“Little Bear” is a sweet show, and I haven’t even mentioned “Sesame Street!”) to All Sponge Bob, all the time?

Maybe you’re shaking your heads, thinking, “You pathetic excuse for a parent! Get rid of that idiot box! Don’t let your kid watch all that crap!” Well, for the record, I don’t plan to let her watch those yucky Disney shows where slack-jawed girls look horrified as they say things like, “Wait — you mean I just signed up for a book group?!” (I now make a point of pausing on the Disney channel if I am flipping through the channels and I swear it is always a joke like this. I also heard one girl say something like, “No wonder smart people are so grumpy!”)

But if you’ve read any of my previous posts you must know me at least a little by now. Dig it: I am an “Everything in moderation” kind of girl. So, I have got to believe that there’s a middle ground, somewhere between a Hannah Montana marathon and killing my television.

And furthermore, I like my television; it’s where I watch shows like “Top Chef,” “Modern Family,” and, lately, the Olympics. I have no problem with Caralena watching some TV at the end of a day that’s been filled with school and friends and learning and fun.

I know that as kids get older there is homework and after-school activities and less time for TV anyway, but even if you only allow your child to watch a show on Saturday evenings, it’s still an issue if there is nothing but total crap to watch.

So, I ask those of you with older children, is there really nothing out there? There is PBS Kids and Noggin’ for the younger set; how can there not be a station for the slightly older kids? (Please don’t say Disney — are we really okay with that being the only option?) Why does PBS not have shows for the slightly older kids and tweens?

Am I being grossly naive; is the answer that there is no station because, without commercial advertisers, it could not exist? Has anyone ever experimented with a model that would charge for quality kids’ programming without commercials? Am I the only one who would pay for that? Or do your older kids just watch movies?

Or did you get disgusted and actually get rid of your television? Who knows, maybe I’ll end up doing the same. For now, it’s back to our regularly scheduled February. I hope it will be illness-free from here on out. I can’t take any more of “The Fresh Beat Band.”

The Big Purge

First off, do not fear — the Big Purge in question is not preceded by a food binge. I’m talking the purging of stuff, and I am obsessed. “Hoarders” is so 2009; I am currently shopping around my brilliant reality show idea: “Purgers.” (I may rethink that name.) It will feature me, at my computer, as I list items on ebay, Craig’s List and Freecycle, as well as my trips to Mailboxes Etc to ship various items. I smell daytime Emmy!

Looking back, I spent much of my 20s and 30s amassing stuff. It started with parental hand-me-downs of couches and pots and pans, and continued with wedding gifts. Once I moved into a house with an attic it was all over; I don’t think I threw away anything for the next eight years. I’m not talking mementos like photo albums or my wedding dress. More like…well, boxes of totally outdated computer manuals, for example. Rolls of promotional movie posters from when my dad owned a video store. A huge (and weirdly pornographic-looking) electric back massager. A broken antique dress form. About 8000 cassette tapes. And much, much, much more. The thing about the attic is, it’s the attic. You can just shove stuff up there, shut the door, and not deal with it!

Until you have to deal with it. When we decided to move from that particular house, my husband worked long hours and I was in charge of packing, while at home with a non-sleeping infant. During one of her rare naps, I wandered around in the attic, so sleep-deprived and so, so freaked out. What was all this stuff? Apparently, it was ours, but then why hadn’t we needed any of it in the three years we’d lived there?!

In the end, I had to hire some guys to help me throw most of it out the attic window into a pick-up truck and haul it away. Somewhere north of Boston there is a landfill with my name on it. That’s the bad news. The good news is, I vowed to never let that happen again. Years later, I’ve stayed true to that promise. See? Sometimes OCD can work to your advantage — you just have to be compulsively obsessed with the right things!

In my current house there is, literally, nothing in the attic. Okay, that’s because there’s no real floor up there, but there’s also very little in the basement, where there is a floor. The garage, I will admit, could use some work — but it’s nothing to be ashamed about, and nothing I can’t handle with a spring yard sale or freecycle session. Ooh, I think I will begin my Ode to Freecycle now.

If you are not already on freecycle, I encourage you to check it out. It makes so much sense. The basic premise is that you have things you don’t want but someone else might want, so instead of throwing things into the landfill, why not offer them up?

Signing up is a bit clunky (it’s all volunteer-run) but once you’re in, all you do is send an email to your local group, stating what the item is. Hours, if not minutes, later you will have replies from people who are willing to come pick it up, whatever “it” is — or you can meet them somewhere if you don’t want people at your house.

A few of the items I’ve given away recently on freecycle: an orange cone (like for road work), an old wallet, a bar stool, a dog crate, some men’s dress shirts. Someone is coming today to pick up a clock radio I bought at Target years ago and then didn’t like and put in a closet and found this morning.

Sure, I could put this stuff on ebay or Craig’s List, but then I would have to take photos and write good descriptions and ship things, and I’d probably end up with $30 in the end. We all know that time is money. And no one ever complains on freecycle, because it’s free.

You can also request items, which I never thought I would do but did just this morning. What made me change my mind? I asked myself, Why would I buy more plastic Littlest Pet Shop figures when, surely, there’s someone local whose kid has outgrown theirs? If I’m not happy with the free ones for whatever reason, I can always put them back on freecycle.

Other items I’ve recently seen requested: a composter, Diego party decorations, wooden shutters, women’s ice skates size 8, and a waffle iron. Ya know, I think I had all of that in my old attic.

Live to Eat: Part 2 of 2

Image by Mike Licht, NotionsCapital.com via Flickr

Although I certainly didn’t mean to wait almost two months before writing the second part of Live to Eat (here’s the first part, in case you missed it), it probably worked out for the best because now I’ve had some time to give the whole “local meat only” thing a test. (Also, apparently, we are coming up on a little-known, week-long celebration of meat called, appropriately, Meat Week. How’s that for me being timely and topical?)

I’m sure that, in addition to your jobs, and dealing with winter and other stresses, you’ve been thinking of me often and wondering whether I survived on only local meat (although, I guess I wouldn’t be writing this if I hadn’t survived, so that may not be the nail-biter I was going for). You probably spent some sleepless nights, wondering whether my experiment would have a big impact on the future diet of my family. It was, frankly, rude of me to keep you out of the loop for this long.

In a nutshell: In the past eight weeks I have eaten meat probably two to three times a week (down from at least four-five servings), and I’d estimate that at least 80% of that meat was purchased at a local farm and prepared by me in my own home. Considering the major holidays that were celebrated during this time I was, frankly, impressed with myself. I was also surprised by how easy it was.

To be clear, part of why the experiment was so easy was that I was not hardcore about it. I still cooked soups and pastas with chicken stock, and a couple of times I shared entrees which contained meat and just left the meat for David. One time, when friends were over, I made a warm beet and bacon salad and it looked so good there as no way I was going to pass it up (it was, by the way, really really good — let me know if you want the recipe). And, lastly, I even totally forgot my experiment several times; I’d be socializing and perhaps drinking some wine and, without even thinking, I’d pop some meat-filled appetizer into my mouth. Whoops!

Overall, though, I’d say I decreased my meat intake by about 60%. And since I do almost all the cooking around here, David didn’t have much choice but to come along for the ride. (He does, however, hold a lot of business meetings over lunch, so for all I know he could be tearing up a rack of lamb or a Cornish game hen on a regular basis. If he is, more power to him; I’m not one to foist my experiments on anyone else.)

So, to re-cap: Blah blah blah local, blah blah blah yay me. Who cares, right? I mean, yes, I do feel a sense of satisfaction when I think about what I am not ingesting. But my diet was really quite healthy to begin with. Where we have real problems is with the diet of a certain someone else who lives here. Hint: It’s not me, or David, and it’s someone whose height is still measured in inches. And it’s not a dog.

I’ve noticed a couple of things about parents, their kids, and their kids’ diets. First, parents do not like to talk about what their kids will or will not eat; it somehow seems like a personal failure if your child does not love raw broccoli on top of brown rice. And second, once you do get the parents talking, you have opened the floodgates and you will hear some funny and some disturbing stories, many of which will involve projectile vomiting, and all of which will make you feel better.

I’ll start the true confessions. Here’s the biggee: My daughter does not like ANY vegetables. None. Not even corn-on-the-cob, not even if I melt orange cheez-product over them, no, no, none. I used to be able to sneak some in there in a meatloaf, but now that she is four+ she will examine anything on her plate — anything that is not a chicken nugget, white rice, or fruit — and point at the tiniest speak of green and say “What is THAT?” And once she has asked that question, it is over. Unless, of course, you are from that school that thinks kids should not be allowed to leave the table until they’ve eaten all the veggies. Insert projectile vomiting story here.

To make matters worse, the list of things that she will eat is constantly being edited. Example: Until recently, she would happily eat a hard-boiled egg (all “yellow part” had to be removed) but then, one day, she decided that didn’t like eggs, either. It is, conversely, rare for an item to be added to the list. This girl is stubborn like a mule (neither David nor I can figure out how that happened) and even my desperate pleas, like “ALL KIDS LIKE CORN ON THE COB!” are useless.

The point is, my daughter will not be joining the local meat experiment any time soon. We already have so many dietary constraints that I’m just happy I was able to switch her from the gross, dino-shaped nuggets to Bell and Evans. Seriously, a small triumph.

And that’s what were all about over here. The small triumphs.

[I'd love to hear about what you or your kids are eating or not eating. And, ya know, while I enjoy some parenting advice from time to time, I'm not so into it when it comes to the topic of food, since I really feel like I've tried everything and I'm doing the best I can -- and, also, that I was the same way at her age and it will all work out fine in the end -- so, if you would, please save the "Dora popsicle=child abuse" rants for one of those Moms-Being-Mean-to-Each-Other forums. There's plenty of them out there.]

Ten Good Things

Note: First thing this morning I stated that I would update my blog today. Cut to end of day: It’s New Year’s Eve, I have 45 minutes until it’s time to leave for dinner and I have not showered or changed…so, it looks like Part 2 of Live to Eat, which I was intending to write today,  will have to wait for another day (another life?) when I have more time.

For now, I will take the suggestion of my friend-and-neighbor, Jonathan Sherwood, and whip together a Top Ten list. Because anyone who has ever had a writing assignment knows that it requires way less thought to write a list. And that is good news because as I write this there is a dog trying to play a game with me, and a four-year-old having a full-blown conversation with me, despite the fact that I’ve plopped her in front of Fetch with Ruff Ruffman, her new fave. So without further ado, I present to you…

Me, in Mill Valley, August 2009.

Ten Good Things from 2009

Was 2009 a flawless year? HA! Not by a long shot. There’s a lot going on behind the scenes, as I’m sure is the case with many of you – things that never get posted to Facebook or Twitter. As we get older, life gets more difficult, fraught with losses too painful for words and challenges we never knew existed. But in a way, that’s what made me write this, as a reminder of all the excellent memories and accomplishments from 2009. It could also be called Ten Things for Which I Am Really Grateful. In no particular order:

1) Trip

We had an amazing trip to California in August. We visited the north and south, spent time reconnecting with friends we hadn’t seen in years, went boogey-boarding, swam, ate good food, and relaxed. It was truly one of the best trips of my life.

2) Escape

Last February, we spent the entire month in FL and, despite the utter weirdness of that entire state, it was spectacular to escape the cold and snow and swim in the perfectly heated pool every day. Lucy the bulldog was with us, and we spent lots of time with my parents. The drives down and back were actually fun, and we saw family along the way, as well as cities like Savannah and Charleston. A total adventure.

3) Garden

While in FL, David and I both read Animal, Vegetable, Miracle, and decided to plant a garden. In the end, David did 90% of the work but I greatly enjoyed the fresh produce all summer and into the fall. It changed the way we think about food and we are already planning next summer’s garden (golden beets, anyone?).

4) Tennis

A silly one, perhaps, but fun nonetheless — David and I separately started playing tennis earlier this year (me with my parents, and David with his friend Jeff) and it’s turned out to be a fun hobby that we can also do together. I got a sweet new stick for Christmas (that’s a racquet, if you’re not up on the lingo) and we joined an indoor club. We’ve already played a few times this month and while the suckage level is quite high at this point, it’s something I look forward to continuing in 2010.

5) Cooking

Another excellent new hobby of mine! It’s funny, because, historically, I’d always hated cooking — I mean, just the list of ingredients would make my back start to spasm, never mind all that chop, chop, chopping. These days, I am on a cooking and baking tear. I’m constantly looking for new recipes and learning new things about combinations and techniques. And the pay-off comes in numerous ways: we eat better, we save money, and I have fun!

7) Izzy

On a sad note, 2009 was the year I lost my Lucy, and I still miss her all the time. I knew I could never replace Lucy, but aside from missing her specifically, I also found that after about six months I also just missed having a dog. What can I say — I just love having a four-legged friend here, lazing around and making me laugh. And despite all my claims that “my next dog will just be a pet: no sleeping on the furniture, no expensive food, no falling in love ” (me with it, that is), along came Izzy with the ridiculous spot over her eye and I was left powerless. She can be a naughty puppy for sure, but ask anyone who has met her: The Izzer is gentle and mellow and a great addition to the family.

8) Work

Oh, wait — you didn’t think I meant ME and work, did you?! Hahaha: NO. I am in early retirement. I meant David. He’s had some great professional success this year, well deserved after all his years in the trenches. He is currently the founder and CEO of his new venture, Performable, and I am really happy for him.

9) Milestones

Oh, uhm, I turned 40 this year — I guess it’s debatable whether that’s a good thing, but I think we get to choose so I’m going to say YES. David and I also had our ten-year wedding anniversary and that one is more black-and-white. (It’s good.) In addition, Caralena turned four this year and it is such a fun age. The thing about these milestones is that they make you think, about what you want and what you have and I can never think about any of that stuff without coming to the same conclusion: Man, I am lucky.

10) Friends

People can talk all they want about how FB is lame, and silly “older” people like me have taken it over to talk about our lame lives blah blah blah. I say, FB is as good as the friends you have who also use it. I have had a blast on FB this year, reconnecting with “long-lost” friends from high school and college and NYC, and receiving great recommendations on books, recipes, Christmas gifts and way more. I’ve seen new babies, heard happy and sad news, and bantered with people as if we hadn’t been out of touch for 10-20 years, and I’ve loved all of it. I look forward to hearing more from all of you soon.

Happy New Year!

Live to Eat: Part 1 of 2

This morning, my four-year-old daughter asked me, “Do steaks grow on trees?” (I have since been notified by a friend that this was a “Martha Speaks” reference. If you’re not in the know, “Martha Speaks” is a PBS show about a dog who ate some alphabet soup and now can talk. It’s cute, as far as these things go.)

When I replied that, actually, steaks come from cows, she started laughing and said, “That’s the silliest thing I’ve ever heard!” Normally, this may not have jumped out at me, but her timing is very interesting (even if it is coincidental, again because of the talking dog) because she hit on a topic that has been very much on my mind lately, and that is my life as a carnivore.

But first, a few words about me and food in general:

I love food.

I love eating food, drinking food, making food, talking about food, and reading about food. I even love tweets and Facebook posts about food — it makes me happy to hear what my friends are eating, and I’ve exchanged some great recipes via Twitter and FB.

For me, the answer to the question, “Do you eat to live, or live to eat?” is so obvious that the question need not be asked. The same goes for many of my close friends, and I don’t think that is a coincidence. For me, any version of the perfect evening would necessarily include a great meal.

I’ve already written about the food-intake changes we’ve gone through over here; between our participation in a CSA (summer and winter shares now), David’s constant bread baking, my new-found love for cooking and baking, and David’s amazing garden we are on a specific path.

I guess what is happening now is a logical next step on that path, albeit a more difficult one. The issue I’m struggling with is this: If I care so much about where my produce, milk, bread, and eggs comes from and what may be sprayed all over it, how could I not care about the meat I eat?

Recent books, such as Jonathan Safran Foer’s “Eating Animals,” and recent movies, such as “Food Inc.” have stoked my fire, although, in the nature of full disclosure, I should say that I have not read or seen either work in its entirety. I almost don’t need to — just hearing Foer’s interview on WBUR’s “On Point,” or seeing the NOW interview with filmmaker Robert Kenner was enough to get me on board on a few basic points:

- When we eat “factory farm” meat (99% of all meat eaten in the US, according to Foer), we are eating meat that lived and died inhumanely, and

- we are contributing to the #1 source of global warming, and

-we are eating animals that have most likely been injected with antibiotics, and who walked around in the dark, in their own feces, stepping on other sick or dead animals.

I know: Gross. Sorry. To make it even worse, you’ll see that I’ve presented a trifecta: One ethical issue, one environmental issue, and one health issue.

To his credit, Foer does a great job (in this interview, anyway — I’ve heard him called “self-righteous” and worse in various reviews) of reminding us that there is a whole world between meat-eaters and vegetarians. (Interestingly, actress Natalie Portman read his book and immediately went vegan.)

About two weeks ago, when I decided to start working towards a diet that is free of factory farm meat, I entered this “whole world,” or gray area; I am not a vegetarian and I actually have no plans to become a vegetarian. As it is, I’m sure I eat less meat than most Americans (that’s not saying much), but when I go out I usually have a nice piece of beef or fish. I guess I won’t be doing that anymore. I didn’t even have turkey on Thanksgiving. (Yes, I realize how pathetic that sounds but it just further illustrates how meat has become so important and ubiquitous that wankers like me can skip one portion and act righteous.)

To drive home this point, Foer states, in the “On Point” interview: “”The essential question is not, ‘Is it right or wrong to eat animals?’ That is a distracting question…The important question is, ‘Is it right to do the things we’re doing? Is this farming system something we can stomach? Is it something we want to support with our money and, in effect, with our votes?’”

His real-life examples are great. He talks about how, if you knew that your neighbor had a pregnant pig in their basement, left in total darkness in a cage so small that the pig couldn’t turn even around, and it was never allowed fresh air and had never been outside, you would likely call animal control in your town. It is unlikely that you would give your neighbor some money to support the cause. (My addition: You probably wouldn’t put your name on a list to get some of the bacon, either. Remember, the pig is standing it its own poop and always has been.)

And, in case you’re wondering, the answer is yes, I do see that this is a slippery slope of ethics and opinions and misinformation. Truthfully, I have no idea what I’m doing, but I’m guessing that most vegetarians would argue that I’m not doing enough, and most average American carnivores would argue that, well, meat is delicious and I should shut up and keep eating it.

I say I haven’t eaten factory farm meat in two weeks but that’s not really true — I’ve eaten soups that are made with chicken stock. Can I really omit chicken stock? Do I have to? Of course not — I don’t have to do any of this. But now that I’ve really spent some time thinking about that nasty meat in the supermarket, I don’t think I could eat even a juicy burger without wondering what “extras” I was consuming.

Plus, I have way more choices than 99% of the world’s population. My farm stand sells meat from a local farm (you know, a place where animals walk around outside and eat grass and are not injected with drugs), so, for a premium, that is what I’ll be eating when I crave meat. And a new vegetarian take-out just opened in my town; I had a delicious stuffed pepper from there for lunch today. So, you know, I won’t go hungry (I’m sure you were concerned).

But I don’t know what to do about the chicken stock — sorry to obsess, but I use it to cook everything! And while I’m asking questions, have I ruined any restaurant meal for the rest of my life? And what do I do about the whole fish situation? Jeepers.

At this point, what I’m saying is quite simple. I’m not trying to convince anyone of anything, because I’m not that person. (And, in turn I hope that no one will try to talk to me about how, if I’m going to eat meat from the local farm , I might as well eat my own dog, because that connection is not there for me.) Who knows, maybe I will give up after two more weeks, but I doubt it; I haven’t eaten at McDonald’s in years, not since I really thought about what I was ingesting when I ate there.

For now, all I’m saying is this: I will pay attention to what I “live to eat.”

(Part 2 of 2 will bring the focus back to my daughter and her eating habits, and the inevitable discussion about chickens and chicken.)