My head is larger
my balls hang lower
my feet are wider
and longer, too
I’m getting shorter
and my hair is thinner,
just giving the next gen something to think about.
Six Days, Seven Nights
I’m feeling so much better today. The cold seemed to have taken a cruise of my body for six days and seven nights. They really seemed to party in my eyes, for that was the worse day and lasted almost two days. The cold briefly ported in my chest at the end, and barely visited my throat in the beginning. Although I didn’t walk and exercise as much as desired, I wrote every day. There was no vomiting, and bowel movements were normal. Severe coughing only struck the last two days. As illnesses go, it was pretty mild and short, and I consider myself fortunate that I feel almost completely well today.
Thanks for indulging me as I complained about it. Time to write like crazy, at least one more time. Cheers
The Green Tooth (An Abridged History)
I’d forgotten about my green tooth.
How did I forget? It was right in the front of my upper set of teeth. Dark green, it beckoned others’ curiosity, disgusting them. I saw that in their expressions.
The tooth was a product of playing blind man’s bluff in our Pittsburgh cellar in the dark. The cellar had a few steel support poles. I ran into one in the dark and broke off the bottom half of my tooth.
That was fifth or sixth grade.
We were a lower middle-class family struggling to get by. It took a few months to get my tooth repaired. Meanwhile, I walked around with half a tooth in my grin. Already a little shy, retiring, self-effacing, and insecure, I took to smiling and talking less. When I spoke, I mumbled, to avoid showing my teeth. Eventually, though, I received a nice fake white tooth on a post.
Then I knocked it out.
It was replaced.
I knocked it out again.
This happened several times. Eventually, that fake white tooth turned green. Nothing I could do about it. So I endured, thirteen years old, with a green tooth. A perforation developed in my upper jaw bone. The summer I became fifteen (the year I met my wife), my upper gums became swollen and infected. I solved that by thrusting sharp objects into my gum and squeezing until the pus burst out. It was a little painful and bloody.
Did I mention that I’m not too bright? That’s pretty evident by now.
I moved in with my father that summer. The perforation remained. My gum would become swollen and infected about once a year. I’d heat a steak knife, cut it open and drain it. I got pretty good at it. Yes, I know how lucky I am that the infection didn’t worsen and kill me.
I did this alone because my adventures with my tooth upset my parents. They were exasperated that I kept knocking it out. That exasperation spread to me. I also became aware of being studied and judged. I didn’t like the judgement I heard. I became overly self-conscious, and secretive about my tooth and what was going on with it. My mumbling increased.
Eventually, I joined the Air Force. Uncle Sam replaced my post with a pink, plastic denture. That lasted about ten years. I’d break that tooth off, too, then glue it back into place. I struggled to eat with it, so I’d take it out, usually wrapping it in a napkin so that others didn’t see it. Of course, that left a tooth-sized gap in my smile.
My wife would sometimes need to remind me not to forget it after I’d taken it out.
A metal bridge replaced the pink one. Also uncomfortable, held into place with little silver holds that wrapped around my bicuspids, Seeing those metal things, people would ask, “What are those silver things on your teeth?” I’d explain it was my denture, and offer to show it to them.
It was pretty flimsy. The bridge would end and twist. I’d try fixing it. Eventually, a new fake tooth on a new post was installed.
Naturally, I broke it off. While eating a hamburger, in fact. I glued it into place. It broke off again. That became my regular thing: glue it into place, and then break it off while eating.
After years of going through all this, I had a new, permanent bridge implanted. It cost me thirteen thousand dollars, but it was worth it. By then, I was fifty years old.
It’s interest how such a trivial matter affected me and my life, and how much of it I’d forgotten. Most of us have something like this that shapes us.
When I think of all the things that others endure, I’m fortunate that it was so trivial.
But I still mumble.
Fitbit Incongruencies
My miles remained up, at forty-five for last week, but my total floors were down by thirty, to eighty-seven, and my steps were down by over ten thousand, to ninety-nine thousand, nine hundred, ninety-two. No change to my resting heart-rate, at fifty-six.
Putting together how the steps could be down by ten thousand while my miles are down by less than two, I realize it’s because I did more arm exercises. I had chosen to focus on those. I’m also focusing on exercises to improve my hamstrings, abductors, and adductor muscles. By my observation, they don’t count much toward my goals because of the way the Fitbit registers exercise movement. I’m going to research that to see how I can change it.
Not A Bumper Sticker
“One of the important things with Russell and the elite athletes is that none of the foods he consumes are inflammatory foods, which means no yeast, no mold, no dairy, no gluten,” Goglia said. “Dairy’s like eating moderately hard phlegm. It adversely affects oxygen. No dairy, no breads — muffins, bagels — nothing that is yeast, mold and gluten-bound. So starches are always one-ingredient guys like potatoes or rice or yams or oatmeal. If it’s got more than one ingredient in it, he couldn’t eat it.”
Paragraph from an ESPN article about Russell Wilson’s nine meal, forty-eight hundred calories a day diet to lose weight. Russell Wilson, a professional athlete, is the Seattle Seahawks’ quarterback. He’s trying to get down to two hundred fifteen pounds. This diet has helped him. He’s gone from two hundred twenty-five pounds and sixteen percent body fat in March, to two hundred fourteen pounds and ten percent body fat now. Of course, he exercises and conditions hours each day.
Overall, there’s a lot to think about here. No dairy, no gluten, no yeast; is it a diet you could endure?
Is it a healthy diet?
The Prune Solution
A study begun in 2001 concludes osteopenia dried prunes can improve bone density and strength.
My wife was instantly all over that. Old distrusts arose, however, as she regarded the bag at Trader Joe’s. “They look like giant raisins.” Distaste crossed her face. “I hope they don’t taste like raisins.”
My wife and I are the raisin version of Jack Spratt and his wife. I love them; she hates them. I suggested we buy some for our away kit. Everyone has an away kit, don’t they? Away kits are packed with emergency supplies so you can survive or flee from natural disasters like a tRump Presidency. Raisins are rich with nutrients and have a long shelf life. I thought they’d be ideal for the away kit.
My wife gagged. “I’ll die before I eat raisins.”
She has firm opinions about foods. She loves mushrooms and swoons over onions in any permutation but peas appall her. Don’t even bring up lima beans with her unless you want to witness her horror. Meanwhile, I’m not fond of mushrooms. I eat them grilled in various dishes and pizza (like, of course), and they’re great in a spinach salad, but I won’t eat them out of the jar, as she does. Peas are number five in my list of favorite veggies.
She also loves figs. I can’t say I love them, but I do eat them. I didn’t until recent years, though.
The thing about prunes, though, is, they might be great for bones, but they do have certain other side-effects. So…ahem…the next morning….
Eating my first prune, I read the bag label after reaching home and stowing our purchases. A serving size of prunes was five. Knowing of their side effects, I stopped at three. Call me a pessimist, but I wanted to see what happened in my body after those prunes joined the fray. Sure enough, the next morning, quite abruptly, my bowels sent a flash message to my brain: “Get to the bathroom now! Hurry, hurry, hurry.”
Without sharing too much information, everything was fine for that movement, along with the other two morning engagement. By that third, I’d decided, maybe I’ll ease into the prune solution.
You know, just to be prudent.
And that’s why I wrote that whole thing.
As for my wife, she announced, “They do taste a lot like raisins.”
“Not to me,” I replied. “They have a slight cherry sweetness to them.”
She nodded in agreement. It appears the prunes are acceptable.
Time to write like crazy, at least one more time.
Hungry Today
My wife and I are on day eight of the ten day green smoothie cleansing fast. I’ve modified mine for my writing needs, permitting myself my mochas. Purists will be disgusted that I’m allowing myself sugars, milk, coffee and chocolate. I accept their umbrage. My weakness humbles me. I’m disgusted, too. But I need to write and this is part of it. That’s a shameful confession.
Other than that, I’ve been dealing okay with the smoothie fast. We are allowed raw vegetables, nuts and seeds as a snack on it. This is my third time this year doing it with my wife. Three days were endured the first time (for me, while she went for forty-one), five days the second time (she went for ten). Now I’m going for ten with her. It’s been cool so far but suddenly, today, I’m hungry. Pizza, sandwich and pastry visions are torturing me.
Meager strength comes from recognizing this is my choice. I’m doing it to support my wife. She suffers RA. Foods create imbalances, and imbalances cause flares of pain, inflammation and stiffness. That’s just the surface stuff. Other things are happening under the skin, heightening stress and anxiety, because we don’t know what will manifest itself next.
It’s cleansing for me, too, and I need cleansed. I’ve had a typical American middle-aged diet of too much processed food for too long and celebrating too frequently and too much. Then I erred and ate the same thing everyday. That is not actually good. Although my breakfast meal of choice was organic oatmeal with walnuts, and blueberries or other fruit and berries, that extended diet (I followed it for over a decade) caused digestive problems. My body needs variety to stay balanced.
Of course, it’s bizarre and ironic but appropriate that we have people starving elsewhere, searching for anything to eat to sustain themselves while we pursue this smoothie fast. Appropriate because this is the state of the world, isn’t it?
Ironic, too, that I write about having the same diet everyday and sit here, drinking my customary quad shot mocha. Not ironic, but pathetic, yes? The day may change but the saboteur is often me damaging myself despite my self-awareness. And damages aren’t limited to what I eat and drink, but thoughts born of low self-esteem, waning self-confidence and worldly weariness.
So I’m hungry, hungry for change. The fast and those cravings are symptoms of a deeper malaise. Author, fix thyself. Continue reading “Hungry Today”
In Context
First, the preamble.
I was going to call this post, “The Cleanse”. But that has so many possible meanings. Some aren’t good. It depends on the context. For example, someone shouts, “I just got fucked.” The statement has multiple meanings, even, or especially in these days. If they amend it to, “I literally just got fucked,” we still don’t know if someone humped them or they suffered grievous injuries (emotional, mental or physical) from someone else’s actions.
Kind of surprising, context counts also for recognizing people. I said hello to my wife’s friend at the coffee shop, and she responded, “And who are you again?” She later told my wife she was embarrassed that she didn’t recognize me, but that I was “out of context.” Our assumption is that she only knows me in context, when I’m with my wife.
Okay, the importance of context sown, I’m working on a cleanse. No one is being harmed, as it’s a 10 day green smoothie cleanse, with recipes and process based on JJ Smith’s book, “The 10 Day Green Smoothie Cleanse.” My wife been on it, first completing 44 days, and then returning to begin another 10 day cleanse. Her cleansing is to help with her RA.
It has helped. All her test results show tremendous improvements, and she’s sleeping, moving and thinking better. Kudos to her.
Her results so pleased her, she hectored me to join her.
I was reluctant. My primary issues are number one, coffee, number two, beer, and number three, food. In conjunction with them, I like coffee, and my writing practice is anchored in hiding in a coffee shop with coffee and writing. As for the beer, I like beer. I usually drink it only once or twice a week. I’m more prone to have a glass of red wine in the evening, but giving that up little bothered me. The third issue, food, is that I like food. I take comfort in its taste and enjoy eating. I like eating sandwiches, pizza, pie, ice cream, cobb salads, avocado and arugula salads, potato salad (especially, my mother’s, which is the world’s best), pasta, veggie cheeseburgers, steaks, pancakes, bacon and eggs with hashbrowns or home fries, Chinese food, quesadilla, burritos —
I could go on, but I think the list has established my food attraction. The smoothie fast would negate eating, except for nuts, celery, and other crunchy green vegetables.
We finally agreed on a modified approach. I would continue with my coffee habits so my writing process isn’t interrupted, because it’s taken me years to develop this habit, and writing is my escape, but would otherwise follow the green smoothie cleanse. I’d try it for three days to gather impressions.
Today is day three.
###
So I have impressions gathered. One, it isn’t bad.
Smith’s book is well-organized, with a smoothie recipe a day for ten days. Smith also provides a nicely consolidated shopping list. We made a copy of it and off we went. I used pears instead of apples and most of my smoothies had slight pear overtures. One big smoothie is made each morning. The smoothie is then consumed as breakfast, lunch and dinner. Preparing it takes me about ten minutes, and clean up is easy.
How do I feel, you ask? Hungry, but otherwise GREAT.
It’s actually astonished by how much better, and how different I feel. I consider myself in good health, based on my lack of complaints, ability to bend, walk and lift without issues, and the lack of medications in my life. I’ve wanted to lose weight and was aware of that weighing on me (sorry) but also deal with a mild wheat allergy issue. Nothing major plagues me.
Yet, I’m impressed by how much better I’m feeling and sleeping in just two days, and my increased energy. I think the best analogy for illustration is that while I normally feel good overall, I had moments when it felt like my sixty year old ass was dragging an additional twenty pounds. Besides that, after walking three or four miles, my feet would hurt when I got home, and after hours clicking and typing on the computer, I felt it in my right wrist and fingers. Anyone dealing with computers who is sixty can probably relate. This ninety to one hundred degree weather also often leeched huge volumes of energy out. I wasn’t used to that impact.
Now, after two complete days of the green smoothie cleanse, I have no pains. Seriously, and literally, in the traditional sense, NONE. To which, I’m like, WOW.
Yes, I’m hungry sometimes. It’s not a sharp hunger but a dull, slightly removed ache. Most intriguing, the smoothie awakened me to some zombie eating habits I’d developed. Like, I’m going to sit down and read a book, but first I’ll get some cheese and crackers, or some fruit. Or, I’m hungry, what time is it, what is there to eat? Or, let’s turn on the telly and watch “QI” or “The Night Of” (since “Happy Valley” ended, and “Orphan Black”, “The Americans”, “Stranger Things,” “Dark Matters” and GOT are all on one sort of hiatus or another). While we’re at it, what do we have to nosh? Or, out walking and smelling food grilling, the impulse surges to act on an impulse to go have a bite and a beer. Likewise, on a hot day, ah, let’s have a cold one. But, no, the cold one must be a green smoothie.
So, it’s cool. I’m enjoying the cleanse. Yes, it’s modified, or I’m cheating, whichever way you prefer to address it, because I still enjoy coffee, but now, on the third day, I plan to continue for ten days, because the results impress me and I want to see what it’s like after ten days.
Now, time to have coffee and write like crazy, at least one more time.
Zombie in the Mirror
It’s easy to notice holes in my sock. Although I put them on mindlessly, the difference in color, the sock’s small size and the focus I use to put on my socks (even if it’s a recurring practice that I can do in my sleep) help highlight the message to the brain, “Hole.” Then debate commences about whether wearing a sock with a hole in it is acceptable on that day. I usually do, unless I’m going through an airport, visiting someone’s home who require shoes be taken off at the door, or trying shoes on. Other than those times, I’ll keep wearing it unless a toe sticks through it. That physical impression disturbs me.
Most other things about my dress aren’t noticed by me. I barely notice my hair when I brush it. I’ve become more thoughtful about my shaving because I became curious about it, but clothing? Naw. Others must point out the holes in a shirt, a stain, a frayed collar, a tear in my jeans. I’m the zombie in the mirror, practicing life by rote. I like those comfort habits. Comfort clothes. Comfort food. Sandwiches for lunch. Sandwich is a big comfort food.
Unfortunately, as written here before, my body and wheat’s relationship with it is becoming abrasive. I let myself go the other day – hell, the other week – and enjoyed sandwiches, chile relleno pie, zucchini muffins, pizza, even a couple veggie cheeseburgers. On top of that were IPAs and Amber Ales, and blackberry cobbler.
Symptoms of wheat overdose arose. I was eating like a zombie, not thinking about my intake, and following zombie routines about what I ate, where I went, and what I didn’t eat. Bloating began. My waist swelled. Shorts grew tighter. I was phlegmy each morning. I developed a baby bump. Joints started aching. Sleeplessness rose. Energy, focus and concentration dipped. And finally, when the urine was a meager trickle, I recognized what I’d done.
So I vowed it all off. No wheat in any form, I told the zombie in the mirror. “Are you sure?” he asked. “Sandwiches….”
“What’s Michael’s favorite food?” a friend asked my wife.
My wife laughed. “Sandwiches.”
I couldn’t argue, as habits and history supported her. So that’s where I was, giving up sandwiches, pies, beers, for a while, wheat in any form for a while. Was not fun. Most know how it goes: try not to think of something, try not to do something, and it grows like the blob to dominate your brain. Or so it happens in my brain.
But it worked. Sleep and urine returned (not at the same time), pains faded, concentration, energy and focus returned, bloating dissipated and my waistline dropped.
It’s not fun, giving up wheat. It’s not a permanent thing, either. I’ll have beer again, and eventually other things. I can indulge in these things with wheat, in moderation.
I just need to watch out for the zombie that I can be.
Dark Water Zombie
First, let me say, this has everything to do with zombies. I wasn’t attacked by any zombie except for the phantom zombies within me. I can pinpoint it to the zombies that drive my desires to capitulate and eat foods I know I shouldn’t. These zombies are also called ‘habits’. They come out when I demonstrate a weak will.
Follow me two steps back.
The dark waters rose in me yesterday, increasing last night. I could feel them rising and battering me like a storm surge, and witnessed the tangible results in making my plans for today, as well as my reactions to my cats and wife. I didn’t want to do anything. Their neediness and complaints (which were actually requests to be petted and visit with me) exasperated, even infuriated, me.
Then, this morning, my toes were cold in bed. I suffered difficulty swallowing. Rising to feed a cat (it was six AM, after all – time to eat!), I could barely piss. The urine was a feeble dribble. Recognizing these symptoms, I cursed myself for yesterday’s diet, because this is what happens when I eat too much — or the wrong wheat, or wheat prepared in a way that disagrees with me.
I suffer from some wheat or gluten reactions. Its impact varies. I ate food I wasn’t familiar with it but I know it’s loaded with wheat. What sort and how it’s prepared seem to matter. These were baked goods. Baked goods afflict me.
It started with the growers’ market. My wife returned from shopping and having coffee with friends. She offered me the rest of her almond croissant. I accepted and ate it, to be polite, and I didn’t want to be wasteful. I blame my mother for that.
Lunch was Trader Joe’s fat free burritos. Love them but also know that their white flour tortillas cause bloating, swelling and inflammation in me. I suffer phlegm and swallowing issues. But I justified it because my computer had been returned. I was busy with it, very hungry, and the burritos were available and easy to nuke.
My wife had made a blackberry cobbler as a treat, and offered me a piece of that. I had two, to be polite. Mom always encouraged me to be polite.
Dinner, a chile relleno pie that featured a magnificent crust (complemented by a glass of pinot noir), was consumed late, after returning from the Nagasaki-Hiroshima Vigil’s closing ceremonies. I had two wedges, to be polite, followed by a another blackberry cobbler square. It was the kind thing to do.
Meanwhile, my mood was curdling like milk left out in the sun. I felt it, too, yet felt helpless in its face. To continue mixing metaphors and analogies, tides of dark water were rushing in and overwhelming me. I was stressed, irritable, short-tempered, and cranky as a sleepy three year old.
But it was only this morning, when pissing and looking back on the previous day’s eating that I saw the connection between my body, my food intake, and the dark mood. Click — hello. I’d always suspected it, but the mood change and association with food had never been so vividly demonstrated before. And — here is the zombie connection — it was mindless eating, which is pretty much what zombies do, isn’t it?
I addressed these things with morning meditation for 30 minutes, followed by health visualizations. Meanwhile I wrote about it in my head. That’s always great therapy for me. I debated about sharing it here. I write so much about me, the bloody blog may as well just be called, Me, Me, Me! But I posted it here anyway, just proving my point that this blog is all about me. But hey, look at its unimaginative name. See?
And zombies. This was also about zombies. Because, when I behave mindlessly, I become a zombie, an angry zombie with some pissing, bloating, and swelling problems, who ate some really good food.
Michael Seidel, writer 