And Furthermore

I've just been checking the net for some healthy ideas for food. I have a long ways to go, dietarily. The food I grew up with is just disgusting, looking back on it all now. My parents weren't that healthy, although my mother's diet beat the shit out of my father's, and guess who died of cancer at 57? Oh, the fucking irony of it all.

I love my dad to bits, but the death of my mother makes no sense when he's still alive. She was reasonably healthy, compared to him. He's obese, used to drink a lot, has heart issues, diabetes, never exercises, and the list goes on and on. I'm not wanting to take after him, and he'll tell you that's the last thing he wishes for me. At his age, I think he genuinely feels it's too late to change, and it breaks my heart, because I'd really like him to be in my life longer than I suspect he will be. (Sorry, Dad, you know it's true.)

Hell, when I was 21, I used to think Green Things were Horrible. I remember the first salad I ever ate, and I was 15. When I was 21, I finally took a liking to caesar salads... with bacon, lots of dressing, and lots of croutons.

To learn that America's number one source of fat was salad dressing shocked the shit out of me. These days, I make my own. It's so simple -- a tablespoon of oil, a tablespoon of acidic content (I favour lemon juice, usually a couple tablespoons, actually), a mustard of choice, herbs if you have them, and a touch of salt. For instance, olive oil, lemon juice, cranberry mustard, a bit of tarragon, and salt. Mix, throw some halved cherry tomatoes in it for a bit, toss with veggies and leaves, and be happy. There's lots of crazy good mustards out there, and while oils and vinegars turn bad, mustards keep forever. Try black current mustard sometime, or roasted garlic, or tarragon dijon, or dillweed, or grainy, or whatever the hell your funky-ass store has around. They all add a new dimension to squeezed lemon and oil for a salad, and the dressing takes 20 seconds to make. Fuck processed!

The trouble is, I don't go for fresh food as much as I ought to. Processed is too easy. Far, far too easy. I don't do processed as much as I used to, but I still have some ways to go. (Never bought salad dressings, though!) I need to marinate my meats less (though I always make my own marinades), use less butter, eat more vegetables, and get the fuck away from dairy.

I suspect that at least half of all my recent health grief stems from the end of a very long time of not living as I should have been. While I've lost about 60 lbs in the last couple years, it's been through exercise, not through major diet changes. I love my cheese, I love butter, I love steak, I love dark chocolate, I love wine, I love beer... I mean, I'm a lover, man.

But you know what I am? I'm a fucking good cook. I can play in the kitchen and invent just about anything I want and it's usually edible, and sometimes it's awesome. I know how to make food sing, most days, and I love to cook. People seldom turn down a dinner invite, let's put it that way. So why don't I do it more, and why don't I do it more healthily?

Beats the shit out of me. But that's my goal: To use my grasp of flavours and understanding of processes to really transform my health.

You know what causes cancers a lot of the time? When cells get sick through infection and such, and they stay that way for so long that they mutate. There's evidence now that longterm infections have been causing some cancers. I suspect I've had this particular sinus infection for months and months and months. I can honestly not remember the last time I felt really, truly clear-headed. Know what else I read about sinusitis? In extreme cases, it can cause aneurysms and embolisms. More than a couple people in my family have died via brain aneurysms. I've always been sure that'd be the way I'd go, if cancer doesn't get me first.

I'm taking this shit seriously. I really don't eat horribly, not compared to the average person, I don't think. I don't eat 'well.' I used to eat like shit. I think it's just caught up to me, is all, after a long time of working in a job and environment that was wrong for me, and just being an unhappy person for a long time (but that's changed in the last year). I feel I'm at the end of all my badness, that my "good" life is around the corner, but this last hurdle needs to be overcome before I get the key to unlock that.

I've probably never been in a better place to change myself. As I've said, I've lost a lot of weight. I still have the time on my hands to cook more for myself. I have the creativity, I have the skill. And, now, I finally have the motivation. To say "I'm sick of being sick" sounds so amusing, but it's true. I've been sick in one way or another, now that I think on it, for much of the last nine months, before that, I spent four years in a row chronically injured in one way or another. It's been a long haul, to say the least. My likelihood for getting cancer is enormously high. It's dominant in my family, and if my health continues as it is -- which is to say just "off" all the time, not debilitating or anything -- I'm worried what the future holds. (It is NOT going to come to that. Fucking no how, man. I'm done with that.)

Know what? Despite all the grief, all the dissatisfaction, all the struggle, all the chaos, this life thing's pretty fucking cool most days. I don't want to be dying before my time. These 32 years have gone by faster than I thought it'd feel, and if I'm on my mother's clock, I have 25 years to go. I don't want it to be only that long. I have a lot of dreams, a lot of ambitions. I have a couple books in me, some travelling to do, and a world to experience. 25 years ain't the leasehold I had in mind, not at all.

Tomorrow morning, I clean out my fridge and my pantry. Anything that's shit, goes. I'll drop non-perishables at the food bank on my way out. The fridge will be disinfected and organized so it no longer terrifies me. Then, I'll hit up Commercial Drive and Granville Island in a quest for good, healthy food. Lots of grains, lots of protein in the form of meats and beans, lots of veggies. No dairy, no butter. Well, maybe a little butter. It's not about calories, it's about wholesomeness. My weight's ever inching downwards, despite all this, and I suspect a little extra health will be all it needs. Yeah, fuck it, butter, but I go nazi on everything else, man. Girl's got to have a LITTLE joy, you know?

Dinner will be tabouleh and chicken kebabs. Real tabouleh with mint, parsley, and lots of lemon. I think it's time I delve into my World Vegetarian book. I mean, hey, I can grill a steak on the side, all right? Ain't no fucking WAY you're takin' my dead animals away from me, sweetie-pie. You slab it, I'll grill it. But it's got to come with copious veggies (and spuds don't count, they're gone too, on most counts).

Okay, so I'm sorta dreading the life-change, you know? I'm eager to begin feeling great, but like all detox switch-ups, things are bound to get a little worse before they get better. Is cool. I's prepared now. Start the clock. I'll post the successful food forays.

But I thought I had to post something; now I'll feel accountable. You know, my weight loss began when I started a secret blog (my first; about four months before this) a couple summers back, "Beyond Fat Girl." I thought no one was reading it, and then I didn't want it associated with this blog when I began because I was really insecure and didn't want anyone to know I was Fluffy-ish. I'm over that now, but I unfortunately deleted it. I wish I hadn't, but... it is what it is.

Being accountable to the public changed things, though. It made me feel like I had to at least try. Well, slowly but surely, it worked. I just didn't get as healthy as I now feel I need to be. It's about balance, and I won't go insane, but I'm going to be passionate and devoted... anything it takes to make me feel like myself again. This great disconnect has got to end. And it will. If nothing, I'm passionately determined this time.