Peanuts

Peanut Butter has been a staple in the lives of most kids (except those with nut allergies, whom it kills) and remains so for many adults. In the days of lunch boxes without ice packs (like my grade school days), peanut butter was a sandwich spread that never had time to get rancid or sour by the time you got to eat it. That your tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth was just one of those things. My mother used every combination: peanut butter alone, peanut butter and marshmallow fluff... nauseatingly sticky and sweet...not a meal but a dessert, peanut butter and jelly...same complaint, peanut butter and bacon... a rare treat and an edible sandwich for me, and, almost tolerable...peanut butter and sliced bananas. A thermos of milk with a cork that always smelled sour, and an apple or pear (in season) made up lunch in a metal box with a picture on it that was one of the few choices you got to make at the beginning of the school year. None of the memories I have of those lunches is particularly fond.

Later in life I learned to make and appreciate Asian peanut sauce which is lovely, especially when on the 'hot and spicy' side. A far cry from the peanut butter days of my grade school showing progress along with so many other achievements like laser surgery, space stations, cancer cures, and Sesame Street that teaches our children most of what they learn in life. It also functioned as a great tool for defending yourself and hurt your hand like heck when it collided with bullies.

Now dietitians have made an exception to the no fats or sweets rule to dieting and some are pushing this diet. Peanuts act as an anti-oxidant among many other wonderful properties. There are many recipes Internet, even those with peanuts. The Peanut Institute publishes this one for healthy peanut snacks.

Peanuts can, in fact, be added to any trail mix. For those with access to Costco, try the one that mixes peanuts with rice snacks. Doesn't all this make you feel kindly to those nice farmers who grow them? Well, some people have a bit of a problem with peanut farm subsidies. You can read what some crabby tax payers think about spending their hard earned money on keeping them rich. Spoil sports!

But all that glitters is not gold and neither are peanuts. That is why the Airlines have taken away our little package of peanuts (though my hunch is the attendants rebelled at having to serve so many people water rather than expensive alcoholic drinks.)

WHY AREN'T WE TOLD WHY?

A headline in the BBC today says Obesity fuels cancer in many women. As in many of the 'studies', there is no indication of the physiology or number of physical variables involved other than obesity. Did they just take a database and look at it for cancer, age and weight? Did they check for drinking, smoking, immune deficiencies, family history of cancer? Why am I always left feeling that articles like this are a waste of my time?

While I consider myself 'pleasing plump', not grossly obese, in medical lingo I AM obese. Responding to my imminent doom, I immediately signed up for some tips on losing weight by email. (Note: sending emails does not cause weight loss, I tried that. Using tips gained on the Internet might.) I read a profound expression with anticipation: Not surprisingly, the steps to prevent weight gain are the same as the steps to lose weight: Daily exercise, a healthy menu, a long-term commitment and constant vigilance. What a surprise! Now that sounds like a fun lifestyle, doesn't it?

At some point in life one has to make the serious choice: Is living really worth it? After all, the longer you live the more aches and pains you develop, and the more part replacements are required. If you say something reasonably funny or clever, you are looked at like some sort of senior prodigy. (Did you hear what she said and she is such an old lady!!? Isn't she cute?)

A dilemma with weight loss is the apron of hanging flesh that appears. Another is a tendency to avoid of the mirror. This can lead to embarrassing moments with unwanted things hanging off my face or person, unmatched apparel and other social unmentionables. The hanging flesh from the shoulder to the elbow looked good as Dolman sleeve on a sweater sleeve but doesn't quite make it for style on my body.

I recently read an article asking if my body was trying to tell me something. Half the time it is speaking in forked tongue or some other foreign language. Not even my doctor can translate it. I was given an anti-histamine for vertigo which made me almost comatose and unable to function. I later read on the Internet that one of the pills I was taking (perhaps because I had lost weight and needed less of it) was the culprit. I cut it in half, told my doctor who then looked it up on the Internet and said, "I never knew that side effect!"

I guess I'm stuck with that bit: Daily exercise, a healthy menu, a long-term commitment and constant vigilance. There seems no alternative other than 'out of body' experience.

BLOGS

Since I am a senior, my blogs would probably appeal most to seniors...though not always limited to that audience. However, many seniors still don't understand what a blog is and are apprehensive about it. Quite a few have told me they read the blog frequently, and it shows up on a sitemeter map that people in that area have been onto the site, yet they rarely leave comments. I think the site should be interactive. Silence does not convince me that what I write is agreed to by most readers.

It frustrates me that those who claim not to know what a blog is, make no attempt to look at one to learn. Some think looking at your blog downloads it to your computer. Others seem not to understand that the site is a URL...or even understand what a URL is or that the Internet is full of many interesting blogs, full of informationand far more informative than many other sources.

I checked blogs by category and none fit mine. There should be a category of Miscellaneous. I write random subjects that come to mind or events to which I respond. Sometimes I just share some of the things I've learned in life. I've learned that life is not lonely when one is in touch with lots of people in lots of places. A blog is one way to touch people, as is the telephone, chats, letter writing, and personal visiting.

Blogs are safe. Even if strangers disagree, (hopefully you have given no personal information) you make no plans to personally meet. All practical rules of safety and precaution should apply in everything one does.

HEAVEN SENT

The chapel was filling gradually, slowly (Greek time as we call the disregard for the clock), some stopping to light a candle and place it with others then stooping to kiss the framed icon before taking a seat. The two front rows on either side were reserved for 'memorial families'. My only living brother, his wife and I were there at 9:50 and waited for the mnimosino service to start at 10 AM, as congregates flowed in steadily. On the left stood the motley crew of choir, some in Aegean blue robes with yellow trim in the back, some in street clothes, one woman with her young son, about eight, by her side.

The priest usually spoke with his back turned away, visible through the door in the center of a wall of religious figures, a couple of them doors through which the altar boys passed. To the right were two trays of 'koliva', one in memory of my brother and the other for another family. Apparently, if you are Greek Orthodox, your soul wanders in limbo for 40 days until a priest mumbles a ritual that cleanses it of earthly sins and sends it along to Heaven. Nothing is mentioned of any other route to the hereafter, suggesting it is a sure thing you will get to Heaven if you go to church and do this.

As the priest chanted and read into the mike, a Cantor, sounding like an audio tape being played backwards, echoed him randomly. The choir dropped a 'kyrie elaison' now and then. The congregates seemed to know when to rise, cross themselves, or sit down again. Tediously, each section was given successively in Greek then English. As more candles were being lit, consuming more of the oxygen, the priest then walked around the chapel shaking the smoke from incense burner until those of us with compromised lungs were left coughing and struggling to breathe. After one hour, the smoke was so thick I believe I did stop breathing and coughed constantly for the second, unbelievably tortured hour. The choir chanted a frequent 'allelujah'.

Apparently time stands still in religion. I heard the priest say, "The Apostle Paul said today in his epistles....". I wondered why the church was still making the air unhealthy with the candles and incense, stuck in their time warp of parables and fiction. This day's reading was the parable of Lazarus from the Gospel of St. Luke, again given in two languages...the parable of the great reversal of riches in life. (Lazarus means God's help, we were told). His poverty ended with God, in Heaven. While in Greece the government has traditionally taken on the major expense of the church, in America the congregates shoulder the entire burden, making the plight of Lazarus easier with which to identify.

After 70 minutes, the liturgy repeated in both languages, the Lord's prayer said multiple times over, people knelt though there were no kneeling pads. As a child in the church I was taught that one of the distinctions between Orthodoxy and Catholicism, is that we didn't kneel. At this point I felt as pained as someone being water-boarded and would have confessed to any sins just to be out of there. This was not to be. The church was full of small children, speaking in that loud voice in which the deaf and small children do. As I wondered why the parents had them here, I saw it was communion day for them. We sat as they filed up to the priest, who held the same red napkin for all of them to breathe and drool onto, as he popped a demitasse spoonful of wine in their mouth. This was followed by the chaser, a square inch cube of bread. Any adult, wishing to receive communion, was next. We went back to the getting up, sitting down, making the sign of the cross, with an occasional kneel for variation.

As the priest now stood before the two trays of Koliva, an altar boy coughed, trying to hold the incense burner for the priest whose hands were busy blessing the koliva. The incense smoke rose to the altar boy's face so he held it away from his body. I smiled as it blew into the face of the priest, who then also began to cough.

The word 'dead' was never spoken, only 'those who have fallen asleep'. I longed for the religious equivalent of Mr. Clean, fast-acting and thorough, to cleanse one of the 'earthly sins'. It was not to be had. After two hours, the priest pronounced the two being memorialized were now without sin and sang Omonia, with the choir, or Memories, which had been sung ad nauseum at the funeral a few weeks before. The service ended with local announcement and news before the two plates were passed, one for the church and one for the ladies society. People filed forward to kiss the hand of the priest and receive a cube of bread. This must have been sinner's communion for not having fasted. I finally had enough. Two full hours of my life had been wasted. Amidst glares, I walked to the end of the pew and escaped out of the chapel muttering, "I'll be damned if I will kiss a priest's hand". Who knows, maybe I will be, but will I know why, when or where?