Saturday, May 28, 2011

Movies that Make you go Green


published in The Fauquier Times-Democrat Weekend on May 27, 2011

As I’m thinking about finishing this column, I pinch off a piece of my husband’s tilapia. It is baked (of course) with “tandoori masala,” garlic, and lemon. (Tilapia is fish, I would like to remind you. If you didn’t know that, I don’t want to know what sort of image your mind just conjured up.)


The fish, if I don’t say so myself, is delicious. Darn. That’s inconvenient because this column is all about my thinking about becoming a vegetarian. For me, thinking and food have rarely gone together. In the presence of food, I become a lovesick teen. Thinking? Who needs to think?


This vegetarian thing may just be a transient running through my head. Perhaps I won’t be quitting meat completely, going cold turkey, or going tofurkey, if you will, but I want to start thinking about my food a little more.


Perhaps I will be like that woman in California who told me she was a vegetarian while helping herself to fish and chicken. Acknowledging my puzzled look, she explained her family’s dietary decisions: “We don’t eat mammal.” Something about that statement, although accurate and succinct, made me feel like a cannibal for partaking in the eating other mammals.


Maybe I could just stick to being a non-mammal-eater or eater-of-non-mammals. Don’t accuse me of trying to be trendy. Forty-four is a little late to fake fashionability. What will come next? Henna-hands? A nose-ring? Wait a minute; I was born in India, brought up in a Hindi-speaking, Hindu household. Being a vegetarian with a nose ring and hennaed hands should be neither foreign nor particularly fashionable to me. If anything, it should come naturally. (Isn’t it great how I can say that without getting into trouble for ethnic stereotyping?)


So if I’m not trying to be fashionable, why am I thinking about becoming a vegetarian? It stems from watching two movies lately: “Food, Inc.” and “Supersize Me.” I should probably have stuck to the sort of leisurely movie you save for the afternoon when you have the excuse of a small mountain of laundry to fold. Instead, we watched “Food, Inc.” last weekend. The month before that, we had just watched “Supersize Me.”


“Supersize Me” is the documentary by Morgan Spurlock http://super-size-me.morganspurlock.com/  in which he embarks on a one-month, medically supervised diet of McDonald’s meals, three times a day in 2003. The filmmaker has certain rules in his personal scientific experiment: He must try everything off the menu at least once, and if the server asks whether he wants to “supersize” his meal, he must answer in the affirmative. Also, because he wants to simulate the impact on the typical American, this New Yorker (at 6’2” and 185 lbs.) drastically cuts back his physical activity and replaces his former mode of transportation of walking and biking with cab rides. By the end of the month, he has gained almost 25 pounds.


The movie we watched last weekend was “Food, Inc.” Released in 2009, it exposes the negative aspects of mass food production. Here, an investigative reporter tries to follow the chain of our food supply, and finds that all the spokes of this wheel return to cornfields in the Midwest.


There are sobering images of meat processing plants and chicken “factories” in which the birds are crowded together and never exposed to sunlight. Barely able to support their weight, these chickens have been engineered to grow bigger in a shorter time. The film also shows how smaller farmers are being crowded out of their livelihood by multinational corporations who protect their patents and assets with investigators and legions of lawyers. It also shows the impact of the processing plants on the immigrant community, and the impact of poverty on health.


On the other hand, there are a few rays of sunshine, and fortunately for me, they are featured toward the end of the movie. One of these is a farmer/philosopher by the name of Joel Salatin of Polyface Farms in the Shenandoah Valley. Located 8 miles southwest of Staunton, Virginia, this farm does not ship its food, since its philosophy is sustainable, local agriculture. People do travel 150 miles or more to get there and to get to the free-range chickens, their eggs, or to the pasture-fed beef. If you want to get more information, the movie’s website is http://www.foodincmovie.com/, and the farm’s website is http://www.polyfacefarms.com/. The farm is open and camera accessible. They do offer tours and apprenticeships. There is also a twelve-hour tour called the Polyface Farms Field Day that starts and ends at 6. This one is offered once every three years, according to their website, and it will be available on July 9th this year.

I’m going to see if I can rope any of my family into going there. I hope I won’t have to resort to drastic measures to help convince them that it would be a wonderful daylong “staycation.” Perhaps I will just have to withhold meat from people’s diet.

Sunday, May 22, 2011

Living with Lazarus


published in The Fauquier Times-Democrat Weekend on May 20, 2011

As the cashier lifted our tomatoes off the scale, I gasped to see that the single, sheer bag sagging with the ripe, red fruit had rung up at $ 18. (Of course, you knew tomatoes were fruit.) How many 79¢ cans of tomato sauce could you get from this single bag of tomatoes? No wonder it seems easier, cheaper, and faster to eat junk food. How many meals could I make out of $18 worth of spaghetti sauce and noodles? No wonder obesity is a problem that ironically plagues the poor disproportionately. It’s not that they have too much to eat; they have too much of the cheaper, calorie-laden, over-processed foods, and not enough of the wholesome, fresh, and nutritious foods.


Home economists might disagree, showing how easily one can whip up smoothies and homemade soups and granola. If Karla Seidita of Cheesecake Farms comes over to give me in-home demos (preferably daily), I will happily agree.


Why am I suddenly interested in tomatoes, when there is not a hint of Italian in me? Tomatoes are a heart-healthy food. So are oatmeal, almonds, avocadoes, onions, garlic, walnuts, fish, soy, and whole grains. Avoiding red meat, dairy, eggs, starchy foods, excess salt, fried, fatty foods are also good. In other words, chuck out the fun and flavor from your diet and toss in regular exercise, and with the weight reduction that likely ensues, you have a recipe for success.


The other day, I walked up the hill with my husband. He, having lost 45 pounds since November, took the ascent in stride. I, having gained ten since then, huffed and puffed beside him. I felt like the little pig and the big bad wolf rolled into one.


What a great and beautiful irony this was. Six months ago, my husband nearly died, and here he is now, affirming the advice on eating healthier and on the importance of the simple, daily walk. It’s like living with Lazarus.


In case you haven’t heard, (according to Robin Earl, the first editor at this newspaper to run my writing in 2005, everyone in this county knows the story), my husband suffered a massive heart attack and sudden cardiac arrest on Nov. 8th at age 52. He was unconscious for the first five days of his twelve days of hospitalization. He came home on Nov. 19th, used a walker for one day, rode in one of those electric wheely-carts during our first grocery store outing, and has improved steadily, having just completed his cardiac rehab therapy at Fauquier Health’s Wellness Center. Many of the medical staff have dubbed him “The Miracle Man.”


I am so glad that I do not have to face life alone. I am keenly aware of others who have recently lost their lifelong mates, and I am humbled and amazed and frightened all at once. How close did we come that day? Our life is a supreme luxury. Thank you, again, for your prayers.


In case you don’t know the story of Lazarus, I’ll introduce the Biblical one. I should say “a Biblical one” as two are mentioned in the New Testament. Having grown up in this country from the age of five, I dodged the Bible until I was nineteen. Therefore, I am sensitive to those who might be unaware of allusions to “Jonah” and things like “manna from Heaven.”


There are at least two Lazaruses mentioned in the New Testament. I say “at least two” to cover myself in case you know of others elsewhere in the Bible. This particular Lazarus was the brother of Mary and Martha, all friends of Jesus. If you recall, one of the sisters (Martha) was a bit of a workaholic worrywart punctual organizer type (we all need these kind of people, even if we don’t particularly like them) who got ticked off once when she was doing all the food prep while Mary sat at Jesus’ feet, soaking up His words. Martha was annoyed that she did not have the services of her sister, the Chief Kitchen Aide and General Gopher.


These sisters once urgently summoned Jesus to their home: their brother was sick and might be dying, and they needed a miracle, and they needed one right away. Jesus took His time and sauntered into town some three days later – after Lazarus had been found to be clinically dead, wrapped up and buried in a rock tomb. The sisters wailed. Why hadn’t Jesus come sooner? He could probably have saved their brother. If only he had come sooner. If only the brother had taken better care of himself and kept his weight and cholesterol levels down and exercised regularly. If only, if only, if only…


What they hadn’t accounted for was the fact that Jesus, being Son of God, could handle emergencies at any time, because time is as much a creation as this earth is. They didn’t need to call 911. They just had to call on the Son.


I needed, and am glad, I had the services of both, because living with Lazarus is great. The man is worth his weight (current and former) in tomatoes.

Saturday, May 14, 2011

The Volunteer Cook


Published in The Fauquier Times-Democrat on May 11, 2007


Volunteering, like cooking, can become a curse. Four years ago this week, I was hit with a double-whammy when I had volunteer to cook the rehearsal dinner for sixty to seventy cast and crew of Fauquier High School’s musical production that my two eldest daughters were in. Had I really volunteered? I think so. Maybe. Perhaps someone had asked and I hadn’t known how to say no. The trick is in making you believe you volunteered…


This confession is not to be mistaken for horn tooting. With at least one child in elementary, middle, and high school, no one is more anxious to fly below the “volunteer” radar level than I am. But every once in a while, I do get caught. The “Let me think about that” stalling technique, polished to perfection in a house full of kids, is useless. The Volunteer Coordinator takes you seriously and actually calls you back. Like a dog on a very long leash, you are running gleefully away when…yank! You’re called again.


I’m afraid to find out how much effort - volunteer and otherwise - goes into set construction, costuming, advertising, printing, recording, coordinating, etc. these amazing productions require. I’m afraid to know because I don’t want to feel guilty, and motherhood is guilt-laden enough. And who can ignore the duplicity of a woman who moans and groans before cooking each meal for her own family, but delivers a big meal with an even bigger smile for others.


Long before the emails to borrow crock-pots and the piled-high Costco shopping and frantic food preparation, my husband warned me to steer clear of this “opportunity.” At any of these points, he could have chided me, but he did not. I should be grateful, but after twenty years of marriage, frankly, I am just a little suspicious. Perhaps he thinks I’ll learn my lesson.


Well, believe me, I have learned my lesson. The next time I volunteer to feed sixty teens, I am going to adopt the health habits of a woman I knew in California. Her solution to everything (asthma, colds, weight, teeth) was to eat all things in their natural state. Cook nothing; crunch everything.


Let’s see how this plan would work. We’ll have to agree on giving up meat – anything requiring the application of heat to be safe to eat. Not only will you be kinder to animals and our environment, you will also save money. Hey, I can envision incorporating this plan for my own family.


Imagine this. It’s 6:00 PM. You have a splitting headache, and your toddler has just crashed for an ill-timed nap that says you are going to have a late night, and it’s not going to be courtesy of David Letterman. You haven’t thought about what’s for dinner, and then you remember: that’s right! We only eat raw food!


You pour a bag of pasta into a colorful platter. The maximum your cooking effort is going to require is a little cutting. Pour out a bag of pre-washed baby carrots. Slice up a few bell peppers. Now, isn’t that attractive? That’s half the appeal. You’re done with dinner, and it’s only 6:03 PM! The stove is cool and clean and only a cutting board and knife are dirty. You clean up from that exhausting affair; it is now 6:04 PM.


Your family sits down to eat, or shall we say crunch, dinner. Only the aroma of a hot meal is lacking. We could petition the air freshener industry to bring out a new product line: chicken soup, freshly baked bread, etc. For now, use apple or cinnamon scents, and let’s agree before hand that you are never allowed to use the kitchen air freshener in the bathrooms. The incongruity would be too much to swallow.


Also tough to swallow will be that pasta. It will be calorie-dense, so a quarter-cup will make an entire serving. But since uncooked pasta is harder to eat, you’re not going to be wolfing the stuff down. You may LOOK like wolves as you toss your heads back in an attempt to grind the stuff, but that’s yet another benefit for your molars and mandible.


Dessert’s going to be a cinch. You toss a couple of oranges at everyone. Your family looks at you with intense admiration. Unlike dinner, these are juicy and flavorful. A couple of centuries ago, the inclusion of oranges would have felt like Christmas itself. I think we can agree to peel them first, since that isn’t chemically altering the fruit. Now, wasn’t that dinner colorful, nutritious, and marvelously simple?


I’m going to have so much more time that I’ll be waiting by the phone to volunteer. I’ve decided to step up to the plate and agree wholeheartedly the next time I’m asked to make dinner for my kids’ groups. I’m just wondering, though - how many kids will step up to plates like these?

Sunday, May 8, 2011

How to get a full-grown woman out of a shell


published in The Fauquier Times-Democrat Weekend on May 6, 2011


How is it possible that my daughter is turning 21? Is it really over two decades that I had my first encounter with the baby girl who is now a young woman? This person, who is half of me and half of my husband, but wholly her own person, introduced me to the perplexities of motherhood.


How the child survived the early years, I do not know. It probably has more to do with the grace of God and the supervision of my husband than my own skills. The very fact that I somehow botched the Biblical spelling of the child’s name when filling out the birth certificate in the hospital not be the sole indicator of my incompetence. (The ensuing years would pile further evidence in like the $5 video bin at Wal-Mart.)


In Philippians 4:2, there is a caution to two women to stop arguing: they are Syntyche and Euodia. Knowing that the former meant “fortunate” (but apparently not knowing how to spell it), I filled in “Synteche” on the birth certificate. I have since consoled myself that the pronunciation “SinTEEkee” is much prettier than “SinTYEkee.” So my variation (code word: misspelling) actually worked out better. That consolation is usually gone when we are in a waiting room and the receptionist scrunches up her face and ventures a shaky “SINtesh?” Now, if you happen to be an expert in Greek, and are laughing because I have spent twenty-one years also mangling the pronunciation of the name, do me a favor. Keep your expertise to yourself, and stop showing off. I’m not sure whether my dignity (or my daughter’s) could handle that after 21 years of mispronouncing a misspelled name.


Despite this rocky start, she’s done fairly well. The kid is majoring in electrical engineering (just like mom did), but is planning to teach high school or junior high-level math and/or technology (just like mom is). Having volunteered and worked with schools in Baltimore, she has decided that she would like to serve underprivileged children of inner cities.


Unlike me, this child is always well prepared and early to arrive when she goes anywhere. (In all her years of public schooling, she never once missed the bus.) As a matter of fact, that’s how she landed her first summer internship while at Johns Hopkins. There was to be a scholars’ brunch or luncheon on campus in her freshmen year, and we were discussing her intended attire. Should she wear Indian clothes or Western business attire, she wondered? This was a great honor, because with daughters leading our chain of children, I am usually on the receiving end of wardrobe advice. “Mom, why do you keep wearing that?”


She arrived twenty minutes early for a scholarship luncheon for the corporate sponsors, dazzled them in her business suit, and was given a personal introduction and recommendation to the corporation that hired her. One thing led to another, and she is a Student Alumni Ambassador, and was chosen to speak at University events. She’s even on the University’s home web page in a video “We are the very Model of a Modern University,” a spoof on the Gilbert and Sullivan’s “Modern Major General” song from “Pirates of Penzance.” Visit http://modeluniversity.jhu.edu/ and click play. The president of the university is on right after the maniacal-looking blue jay mascot playing the piano, and then Synteche is the one in the bottom right corner of the nine featured students. She’s also there a minute and thirty-five seconds into the video in front of a microscope. Oh, yes – and everyone in there happens to be lip-synching.


Ironically, she was in Fauquier High School’s production of this same musical under the direction of Kevin Mettinger. (Of course, you’re going to see “Hairspray” at the high school this weekend or the next, aren’t you?)


Synteche’s coming home this weekend. You might think it was for her birthday or for Mother’s Day, but it is actually to see the musical at the high school, and it has nothing to do with her younger brother manning the spotlights backstage. A devotee of the stage, she always tries to get home whenever Kevin Mettinger works his directorial magic on stage. Like an expert jeweler, he knows just how to get the students’ talents to shine.


Synteche, who was homeschooled for the greatest number of years, from kindergarten to seventh grade (notice how the eldest child always gets the brunt of things?), was so painfully shy, that she would prefer to nibble her fingers than engage in conversation with anyone. That, by the way, is simply part of her personality, and has nothing to do with homeschooling. The rest of the kids could, and often would, talk people’s heads off. She is the only non-talkative one out of the six. Theater got her out of her shell, and it’s going to get her out of Baltimore this weekend.


Happy 21st Birthday, Synteche! May God bless you as you enter official, full-fledged, adult life.