Tag: baby boomer

Vegetables our way.

Okay.  Call me stubborn.  Old-fashioned.  Caught in a rut. But excuse me.

Aren’t certain rights guaranteed to us as human beings?  Aren’t we free to decide how much is enough and what is worth keeping?

When did the way we choose to cook vegetables become something we have no say over?

It’s bad enough we become used to something and suddenly it’s gone, with no warning.  Or we expect to find a certain size or flavor of something on the shelf and the next time we enter the store, it’s not there.  Or it’s new and “improved”, or the size is different which just means there are now 4 potato chips in the economy size instead of the prior 24.

But the price is the same.

(And you can’t get the package open without a flame thrower and wrench.)

Now, there’s more. Now, you can’t go to the store and buy a package of frozen vegetables and choose for yourself if you want to boil, steam, or microwave them…and you can’t cook just a part of the package.  Because some bored food technician decided that we must be sold a one-size package that must be microwaved all at once.

Excuse me?  

Seriously.  What’s up with this?  A relative told me he thinks It’s because the millenials  don’t know how to cook—or don’t want to.  I hate to believe that.  I know some very capable young cooks.  And I know for many cooks, the idea of buying frozen vegetables instead of fresh is a crime.  Yet research has suggested the nutritional value is about the same (depending upon how it’s prepared.)

But that’s not the point.  The point is … are you freaking kidding me?  Is this 1984 x 2000 and I will be told what I must do—and cannot do—in my kitchen?

It’s a small thing I suppose. Yet it just feels more and more like there’s one big conglomerate out there and they are in control of what we eat, what we watch, and how we think.  We’ve all accepted we buy hot dogs and buns in different quantities. We ignore the “best sold by” dates and consume things in the back of our refrigerators that appear to be edible.  We mutter incoherently as the grocery bagger puts the eggs below the watermelon and hands us the bag.  We bravely decide we’re going to eat eggs/bacon/lard regardless of what the latest government survey says will happen to us if we do.

But I can’t find a regular package of frozen spinach???

If my mother were alive, she would be at the manager’s counter with that look on her face.  And he’d be regretting he didn’t take the day off.  She always insisted on double-bagging.  And she often located the butcher, who might be hiding in the back, so she could get the cut of meat she was looking for.  After all, she was buying food for her family, and it mattered.

Maybe no one cooks anymore…except me and most of my friends.  Maybe we’re the exception.  But I know this:  we probably eat healthier meals than those who don’t.  And I’ll bet we enjoy them more.  And by golly, we should have the freedom to make them any way we choose.

And if this really is a “generational” thing, then consider this:  baby boomers spend the most across all product categories. That includes groceries.  Maybe it’s time we caused a ruckus.

Clean-up on aisle 7? 

You ain’t seen nothing yet.

 

“The only time to eat diet food is while you’re waiting for the steak to cook.”

Julia Child

 

 

 

 

 

Greeting Ourselves.

May is traditionally a time of graduation.  It’s also a month that is very unsettled in terms of weather, with winter not wanting to loosen its grip while spring and summer await impatiently backstage for their time to take a bow.  Throw in Mother’s Day for a healthy dose of emotion and you have a period of time that can make you feel a bit unsteady.   Recently, the zigzag of temperatures mixed with the mortar boards flinging in the air made me think back to when I stood on that overlook…wondering where I was going next, what would I become, and had I chosen the right road.

 Back then, it felt like I had forever ahead of me, and I was sure that no matter what path I chose, I would end up in the “right place.”  Since then, I’ve realized it’s not so easy to know which fork in the road is the right one.  More than once along the way it’s felt like I went the “wrong” way and would surely tumble into an abyss.  I’m a baby boomer after all.

I thought I’d be young a lot longer.

OTRAS (3)Lately it’s also felt like maybe part of me split off a long time ago…the part that had all those dreams and ideals and aspirations.  While my practical self waded through jobs, tax payments, mortgages, failed relationships, arthritis, and a few extra pounds, my “real” self was out there, waiting, for me to come to my senses so my “real life” could start.

Crazy.  And exhausting.  Maybe it’s time for the two to come together.

Maybe it’s time to realize they’ve both been in me all along.  I think that’s one of the great joys of growing older:  coming to peace with who we are.  Who we really are.

I ran across a wonderful poem by Derek Walcott that says it so nicely:

Love After Love —by Derek Walcott

The time will come 

when, with elation 
you will greet yourself arriving 
at your own door, in your own mirror 
and each will smile at the other’s welcome, and say, sit here. Eat. 
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart 
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you all your life, whom you ignored 
for another, who knows you by heart. 
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf, the photographs, the desperate notes, 
peel your own image from the mirror. 
Sit. Feast on your life.

 

What a nice image.  To greet all you are and have always been with love and acceptance.

To celebrate all of it, good and bad, beautiful and not-so-attractive, smart and foolish.

To welcome.

“The wound is the place where the Light enters you.”
        Rumi

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