I get so frustrated sometimes that I could cry. I actually burst into tears in the grocery store once. It was the fourth week and the qluten free shelf still had no bread, and they had precious little anyway. It's what a person dealing with Celiac's disease has to face on a daily basis, and living in a small town with only one grocery store compounds the problem. Talking to the managers about ordering more products, or at least keeping in stock what they carry, has fallen on deaf ears.
I hate having to explain why I eat a gluten free diet, but I do when people think I'm following the latest diet fad. I tell them that eating gluetin free is a choice I didn't make because I wanted to, but because I had to, but what I don't tell them is somewhere in my psyche I am still furious with myself. I feel like my body has not only betrayed me, but is attacking me.
That's why I love to see an article about eating gluetin free that points to its many benefits to the body. I have attached the link for those who are interested in Celiac's disease, eating gluten free, or want to learn more about what they put in their bodies.
http://health.yahoo.net/rodale/MH/is-gluten-making-us-fat
Is Gluten Making Us Fat?
health.yahoo.net
Sunday, March 27, 2011
Monday, March 14, 2011
How Can You?
How can anyone take a life?
How can a man take a husband from his wife?
How can he take a father away from his children?
How can anyone snuff out a life over a car?
A car.
A pile of metal.
That could at anytime crash into nothingness.
That wears down and rusts leaving nothing but ugliness that no one wants anymore.
Is that worth a life?
How can one man shoot another in the back?
The coward's way.
In the days of the knights, he who stabbed another in the back would have been killed for the shame he brought on his family.
How can a man take the life of one who has his whole life ahead of him?
To laugh.
Cry.
Hold his newborn baby.
Dance at his daughter's wedding.
How can a man destroy tomorrow?
It is forbidden to take what is not yours.
To take goodness out of the world and replace it with your fury and blackness.
To leave them alone with no one left to love, only to grieve and ask why?
Their angst means nothing to you.
You who died for a car.
A car.
How can a man take a husband from his wife?
How can he take a father away from his children?
How can anyone snuff out a life over a car?
A car.
A pile of metal.
That could at anytime crash into nothingness.
That wears down and rusts leaving nothing but ugliness that no one wants anymore.
Is that worth a life?
How can one man shoot another in the back?
The coward's way.
In the days of the knights, he who stabbed another in the back would have been killed for the shame he brought on his family.
How can a man take the life of one who has his whole life ahead of him?
To laugh.
Cry.
Hold his newborn baby.
Dance at his daughter's wedding.
How can a man destroy tomorrow?
It is forbidden to take what is not yours.
To take goodness out of the world and replace it with your fury and blackness.
To leave them alone with no one left to love, only to grieve and ask why?
Their angst means nothing to you.
You who died for a car.
A car.
Monday, March 7, 2011
Winter Words
Today I inhaled damp loam; its scent rich with the promise of young grass. The sun spread its lemony yellow wings, and a warm breeze hummed through the trees teasing them out of their winter’s sleep. Thoughts of spring began to germinate inside of me. It was time to put away my winter words.
I admit that part of me is sad to fold away my warm wooly words. I know I won’t speak or write of winter cold for a while – blue cold that makes my nose run and my feet frigid. And I will miss it, like I will miss waking to the first frost of the season, its crunch under my feet a sound all its own. The surprise of the first snowfall will fade along with the struggle to warm an ice covered car.
I will take the cozy down comforter from my bed, and hang my wool coat with the knitted hat and matching scarf in the closet, but not before I put my mittens in the pockets. Under it I will place my fur lined boots. The soft flannels, quilted jackets, and bulky sweaters I love will be pushed to the back to the closet because it will be awhile before I need to bundle, layer,swathe, cover up, drape or otherwise pen winter words.
The family hearth will stay dark because the fire won't need to be kindled, nor will we gather around it sipping hot chocolate and mulled cider wrapped in fleece Snuggies and throws. In the kitchen, beef stew, chili, and soup disappear from the menu replaced by lighter fare.
For a mix of seasons, I put away my winters - redbud, blackberry, and dogwood too. I will write of spring and summer and bask in those halcyon words. But when the apples are heavy on the bough and I inhale the tang of burning leaves, I will dust off my winter words and begin again.
I admit that part of me is sad to fold away my warm wooly words. I know I won’t speak or write of winter cold for a while – blue cold that makes my nose run and my feet frigid. And I will miss it, like I will miss waking to the first frost of the season, its crunch under my feet a sound all its own. The surprise of the first snowfall will fade along with the struggle to warm an ice covered car.
I will take the cozy down comforter from my bed, and hang my wool coat with the knitted hat and matching scarf in the closet, but not before I put my mittens in the pockets. Under it I will place my fur lined boots. The soft flannels, quilted jackets, and bulky sweaters I love will be pushed to the back to the closet because it will be awhile before I need to bundle, layer,swathe, cover up, drape or otherwise pen winter words.
The family hearth will stay dark because the fire won't need to be kindled, nor will we gather around it sipping hot chocolate and mulled cider wrapped in fleece Snuggies and throws. In the kitchen, beef stew, chili, and soup disappear from the menu replaced by lighter fare.
For a mix of seasons, I put away my winters - redbud, blackberry, and dogwood too. I will write of spring and summer and bask in those halcyon words. But when the apples are heavy on the bough and I inhale the tang of burning leaves, I will dust off my winter words and begin again.
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
I woke up this morning with a story in my head and an hour or so before the kids wake up, so I throw back the covers and ease downstairs to my computer. I push the start button and run to put a load of clothes into the washer while it boots up. Of course, the dryer is full of yesterday’s towels.
After I fold the towels, I settle down with a cup of coffee. I open a new document and smile at the blank screen. I pose my fingers on the keyboard and glance around the room. My hands fall against the keyboard and the screen fills up with Z's. There's a dark spot on the carpet that wasn't there yesterday. I stand up so I can see it better. “Oh, God, the dog threw up again!”
Back in the laundry room, I rummage through my assortment of cleaning supplies until I finally spy the needed chemical weapons. With the spot finally gone, I return my arsenal to the laundry room, (third trip in ten minutes) add softener to the clothes, and decide to run to the bathroom and put the towels away.
I return to the computer - again. Sit and take a sip of coffee and type, Katie thought she was the luckiest girl in town until - The phone rings. I grab for it before it wakes the kids.
“Oh, hi, Mom.”
I reach for my coffee and look at the cursor blinking on the screen. I am hypnotized by its flashing on and off. The word pneumonia floats into my consciousness. “Mom, wait, who has pneumonia?”
“You remember Uncle Tom’s sister-in-law’s son who ran off to Mexico with that woman he met when he was selling used cars. Are Grandma’s babies up yet?”
With the clock ticking and my mother chattering on like a telemarketer who’s got you cornered, I look longingly at my computer. I glance out the window, and see the mailman with the morning’s mail. Too late, the dog who threw up on the rug, sees him too. She races to the front door her yaps bouncing around the stairwell making their way upstairs where the kids are sleeping.
“Mom, I have to go! The dog is going to wake the kids!”
Too late.
Now,the dog is still barking; my mother is still talking, and my three-year-old is scooting down the stairs on his bottom. I hang up the phone and we go back into the study where the computer sits inviting me to continue.
I sit before the screen with my three-year-old son on my lap. He demands to play a game on Nick, Jr.com. On cue, his five-year-old sister enters the room complaining, “Does Molly have to bark so loud?”
With one last look at, Katie thought she was the luckiest girl in town until- I close the computer window and start Nick, Jr .com. I pick up my legal pad and pen and give up my seat at the computer to my children. I move to the chair next to the computer. I write, Katie thought she was the luckiest girl in town until -
“Mommy, can we have pancakes for breakfast? Mommy, can we? MOMMY!”
“Sure, Mommy would love to make pancakes. In a minute.”
The phone rings. I pick up the phone with one hand and lean over my children so I can type wit the other hand, to be continued.
After I fold the towels, I settle down with a cup of coffee. I open a new document and smile at the blank screen. I pose my fingers on the keyboard and glance around the room. My hands fall against the keyboard and the screen fills up with Z's. There's a dark spot on the carpet that wasn't there yesterday. I stand up so I can see it better. “Oh, God, the dog threw up again!”
Back in the laundry room, I rummage through my assortment of cleaning supplies until I finally spy the needed chemical weapons. With the spot finally gone, I return my arsenal to the laundry room, (third trip in ten minutes) add softener to the clothes, and decide to run to the bathroom and put the towels away.
I return to the computer - again. Sit and take a sip of coffee and type, Katie thought she was the luckiest girl in town until - The phone rings. I grab for it before it wakes the kids.
“Oh, hi, Mom.”
I reach for my coffee and look at the cursor blinking on the screen. I am hypnotized by its flashing on and off. The word pneumonia floats into my consciousness. “Mom, wait, who has pneumonia?”
“You remember Uncle Tom’s sister-in-law’s son who ran off to Mexico with that woman he met when he was selling used cars. Are Grandma’s babies up yet?”
With the clock ticking and my mother chattering on like a telemarketer who’s got you cornered, I look longingly at my computer. I glance out the window, and see the mailman with the morning’s mail. Too late, the dog who threw up on the rug, sees him too. She races to the front door her yaps bouncing around the stairwell making their way upstairs where the kids are sleeping.
“Mom, I have to go! The dog is going to wake the kids!”
Too late.
Now,the dog is still barking; my mother is still talking, and my three-year-old is scooting down the stairs on his bottom. I hang up the phone and we go back into the study where the computer sits inviting me to continue.
I sit before the screen with my three-year-old son on my lap. He demands to play a game on Nick, Jr.com. On cue, his five-year-old sister enters the room complaining, “Does Molly have to bark so loud?”
With one last look at, Katie thought she was the luckiest girl in town until- I close the computer window and start Nick, Jr .com. I pick up my legal pad and pen and give up my seat at the computer to my children. I move to the chair next to the computer. I write, Katie thought she was the luckiest girl in town until -
“Mommy, can we have pancakes for breakfast? Mommy, can we? MOMMY!”
“Sure, Mommy would love to make pancakes. In a minute.”
The phone rings. I pick up the phone with one hand and lean over my children so I can type wit the other hand, to be continued.
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