Day Two of the Apple Diet

Walking along the streets yesterday, I realize that I’d picked the wrong time of day for a constitutional. It was dinner preparation time. Smells from people’s cooking clouded the air. I swear that I smelled a grilled steak with garlic bread and onions. And here I am, eating nothing but apples.

Stickers on fruit exasperate me. Yes, this is a first world complaint. Two or three stickers are on each apple. Removing them requires some thumb-nailing. One typically comes apart as five or six tiny pieces.

The apple diet is an Edgar Cayce thing. My wife and I discovered Edgar Cayce in our late teens. Cayce was as a clairvoyant who claimed to channel information from his higher self while in a trance-like state. People wrote to him for advice, especially about their health. We came to learn about Cayce through books by Jess Stern.

Cayce made a lot of predictions that didn’t work out. But some of his notions intrigued us, and we adopted some of his eating and healing guidance. One of those things is the apple diet. On it, you eat nothing but apples for three days. You also drink water. Black coffee is permitted, too. The idea is that eating only apples will detox you or cleanse your system of its toxins. We’ve done this diet many times before, but not in several years. Now in our mid-sixties, battened down against COVID-19, limited in diversions because travel is restricted, we thought we’d entertain ourselves by eating only apples. I mean, I’ve been working on a jigsaw puzzle, but the pieces don’t taste as good as apples. I’m doing this to be a supportive husband, though. That’s what I tell myself. Several times a day.

We went out on Thursday and bought a variety of apples totaling enough for two people eating six apples a day for three days. That makes some number that is two times six times three. Beyond that, it’s pretty easy. Put six apples into a bowl each morning. Peel off the stickers, wash it, slice it up, and eat it when you’re hungry.

It’s not bad, as diets go. (That’s what I tell myself. Several times a day.) Limited in scope and duration. Easy to follow. And we like apples. I wouldn’t want to do it for longer than three days, though, although I do like the cleanup. Much easier than the messes made by plant-based burgers, pasta, fish, etc.

The most interesting part of this are the looks received from the cats when I bring in a plate of sliced apples. They’re like “Hey, what do we got?” Sniffing is exercised. Then comes the stare. The stare says, “Seriously? Where’s the real food?” The stare is fraught with betrayal and disappointment.

“I know how you feel,” I answer. Their expressions change to pity. One of them pushed a piece of kibble to me.

Seriously, the apple diet is not bad. That’s what I tell myself. It’s. Not. That. Bad. At least I still have coffee.

Saturday’s Theme Music

“It’s gonna be a bright, bright, sunshiny day.” Already is. H/t to Johnny Nash for those words and the song they’re from, “I Can See Clearly Now”, from 1972. That’s my theme music today.

Today is Saturday, January 8, 2022. Man, the year is flying by. As this is the late Elvis Presley’s birthday, let’s pause for a moment to imagine an 86-year-old Elvis.

39 degrees F right now but we expect a high of 49 degrees and a low of 32. Not bad for a winter day in our valley.

On happy news, our zip code, 97520, has reached the 80% vaccination rate for our eligible people. Yea, us. On a less happy note, the zip codes around us are mostly mired around fifty to sixty percent, including the large city nearby, Medford. Of course, the Omicron variant has cases zooming to record levels.

Stay positive, test negative, wear a mask as needed, and get the vax and booster when ye’ can. Hope you have a bright sunshiny day. I’m gonna go get a hot, hot, black cuppa coffee. Cheers

A Vivid Dream

It was a short, intense, vivid dream.

A white bearded man wearing a blue plaid shirt was chuckling with happiness. “I just learned that I have a best-selling novel.” He was carrying a dish and walking as he spoke. “For the hell of it, I checked to see if anyone else in town had a NYTimes bestseller, and there is. It’s a good thing I checked. What are the chances that a town as small as this would have two NYTimes best selling novelists?”

We, watching him, agreed, that was amazing. We were pleased for him because he was part of our little writing group.

He took the dish to a drawer. Pulling the drawer out revealed a faucet. Water gushed out when he opened it. As he laughed, asking, “How am I supposed to fill this with so much coming out?”

Then, in a startling shift, I was the man. I closed the faucet some and ducked the bowl under the stream and back out, filling it. Satisfied, I shut off the faucet and closed the drawer.

Dream end.

The Rescue Dream

I was a younger person, male, bearded. I’d just arrived in a large green valley. Trees climbed the valley slopes. Pleasant weather welcomed us. At the valley’s floor, a river met an ocean.

I’d come to the valley leading people to safety. Now, just after arriving, I was told that they had to be taken away because the valley wasn’t safe any longer. After venting about the change and my belief that the new arrivals wouldn’t be happy, I set about looking for them and informing them the valley was now dangerous. Some were skeptical, forcing me to keep explaining, “I understand, but something has changed and it’s not safe for you here.” Reluctantly, person by person, family by family, people agreed to leave until I was down to one person.

This man was a fisherman. I saw him fishing down on the shore. He wore a red and black flannel shirt, a khaki fishing vest with matching floppy hat, and blue jeans, and was smoking a pipe. As I prepared to go down to him, I saw him get hooked — by his own hook. He was smiling about that, declaiming it as, “No big deal.” Then something began dragging him up and down the beach, back and forth. I have no idea what had him, but it used the hook and fishing line. As I gaped at the spectacle, an old man calmly walked along the beach. Coming to the line, he stuck a stake in the ground and wrapped the line around it a few minutes. The line went taut, stopping the fisherman’s crazy ride.

Dream end.

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