We woke to three inches of snow Wednesday. “Back to normal,” I thought. Winter is the norm in the north; other seasons are a fantasy. Not very nice snow, either. Heavy, wet stuff. So, no Thanksgiving eve potato roast. We might be northerners, but we’re not going to sit in the slush.
People who are not from the north (and many who are) lament the coming of snow, short days, constant cloud cover. I suspect they push back against winter mentally be being unprepared for it. I was not surprised when a transplanted Floridian was still mucking about with snow tires as late as Monday, but discouraged to have a Vermont native cancel an appointment yesterday due to inadequate treads and fear of venturing out on the roads.
The feature of the aborted potato roast was to have been sweet potatoes, so we have a surfeit in the kitchen, many of which will be baked for this afternoon’s dinner with the neighbors.
Middle-aged vice is mild, so I welcome a day on which I eat with abandon. Adrienne has been revising our family’s diet recently, to good effect. I’ve lost between five and ten pounds without actually trying to do so and I have problems knowing how to wear my belt. (It’s either too loose and therefore pointless, but if I cinch it to the next hole, I’ve got wads of pants bunched uncomfortably on my hips.)
The whole healthy diet thing – and by diet, I mean the universe of one’s food, rather than “restricted intake” – seems too simple and easy to be true. Using the vast information about food at our disposal, Adrienne’s merely reduced some carbohydrates here, added some vitamins there, urged me to cut out the run-of-the-mill crap I’ve been eating, point my taste buds away from sugar and toward complex tastes, it’s not a big schlep. I still eat crap – celebratory carnivals of cheating made more enjoyable by virtue of eating better all week long. Of course, crap food is not sold to us – even by ourselves – as “crap,” but as “treats.” But a treat by definition is something out of the ordinary. If we eat it twice a day, we begin to realize how it impoverishes, rather than nourishes.
Sorry, I didn’t mean to go off on that tangent, but it’s appropriate enough, because this Thanksgiving, coming at the close of yet another tough year, I’m grateful that while we’ve had to make sacrifices, we don’t miss the things we’ve lost.
There was too much that was trivial and foolish in my life and when the time came to take an inventory, I was surprised at the amount of dross. Having cut much of that away, I feel richer rather than poorer. Like the diet, I don’t feel restricted, but instead have returned to health after having wasted time and energy on unworthy pursuits.
Every season cannot be spring, every meal cannot be a feast, every era of our life will not be blest with riches. Winter, vegetables, hard times – the background of life before which our triumphs and celebrations glow are opportunities to make an examined life worth living. Happy Thanksgiving.
Things We Do Not Have
We woke to three inches of snow Wednesday. “Back to normal,” I thought. Winter is the norm in the north; other seasons are a fantasy. Not very nice snow, either. Heavy, wet stuff. So, no Thanksgiving eve potato roast. We might be northerners, but we’re not going to sit in the slush.
People who are not from the north (and many who are) lament the coming of snow, short days, constant cloud cover. I suspect they push back against winter mentally be being unprepared for it. I was not surprised when a transplanted Floridian was still mucking about with snow tires as late as Monday, but discouraged to have a Vermont native cancel an appointment yesterday due to inadequate treads and fear of venturing out on the roads.
The feature of the aborted potato roast was to have been sweet potatoes, so we have a surfeit in the kitchen, many of which will be baked for this afternoon’s dinner with the neighbors.
Middle-aged vice is mild, so I welcome a day on which I eat with abandon. Adrienne has been revising our family’s diet recently, to good effect. I’ve lost between five and ten pounds without actually trying to do so and I have problems knowing how to wear my belt. (It’s either too loose and therefore pointless, but if I cinch it to the next hole, I’ve got wads of pants bunched uncomfortably on my hips.)
The whole healthy diet thing – and by diet, I mean the universe of one’s food, rather than “restricted intake” – seems too simple and easy to be true. Using the vast information about food at our disposal, Adrienne’s merely reduced some carbohydrates here, added some vitamins there, urged me to cut out the run-of-the-mill crap I’ve been eating, point my taste buds away from sugar and toward complex tastes, it’s not a big schlep. I still eat crap – celebratory carnivals of cheating made more enjoyable by virtue of eating better all week long. Of course, crap food is not sold to us – even by ourselves – as “crap,” but as “treats.” But a treat by definition is something out of the ordinary. If we eat it twice a day, we begin to realize how it impoverishes, rather than nourishes.
Sorry, I didn’t mean to go off on that tangent, but it’s appropriate enough, because this Thanksgiving, coming at the close of yet another tough year, I’m grateful that while we’ve had to make sacrifices, we don’t miss the things we’ve lost.
There was too much that was trivial and foolish in my life and when the time came to take an inventory, I was surprised at the amount of dross. Having cut much of that away, I feel richer rather than poorer. Like the diet, I don’t feel restricted, but instead have returned to health after having wasted time and energy on unworthy pursuits.
Every season cannot be spring, every meal cannot be a feast, every era of our life will not be blest with riches. Winter, vegetables, hard times – the background of life before which our triumphs and celebrations glow are opportunities to make an examined life worth living. Happy Thanksgiving.
© Mark Floegel, 2011