"It's None of My Business"

I had just completed my round of grocery shopping. Nothing frozen to worry about today, on this lazy, hazy hot day of summer. Time to meander. The magazine section had been moved to a new place, near  unique kitchen ware, for those interested in these 'medieval' forms of print. That's me, of course! (I subscribe to Scientific American, Discover, have for decades.)

The digital arena plays a role, today,  but not always, with me, in my outdated, last century mode of information gathering - the magazine. For me, a magazine is a 'lightweight' information folder at a glance, no need for a screen, equipment or a source of power. Too much time on digital screens can affect our personal 'screens'- our eyes - anyway. Magazines are predictable, authors are known, unlike a web site that I might re-visit often. A power failure ends exploration. The site might not be there tomorrow or ever, maybe. A magazine says it all, in a tell-all comprehensive 'seminar', in a moment's notice, without all the parking, course costs and evening appearances. It's an instant reference guide for the Momsey.

I was hypnotized by the selection, that day, when she came of out of nowhere. The young woman smiled as she walked towards me explaining why she had gone to the mens' room. (I didn't care.) My mind was on the wall of mags; hers, on defending her behaviour, as if testifying in court. And so her story began. 

 

She'd entered the male restroom because the other one was occupied. She was almost apologetic when I stopped her, mid-sentence. Her self-recrimination was unexpected. For whatever the reason, her explanation about why she had entered the men's room was absolutely none of my business, I told her again. I had enough in my life, keeping me busy without having to judge this woman on hers. I was not aware of the washrooms off to the side, one of which she had just vacated. She was guilty on all counts, according to her. "Please stop", I said. Whatever she was doing was none of my business!

As a mom of 3 'former' teen boys, two of whom are now 'newborn' dads and husbands, I'd followed a similar code of behaviour. I was a 'leave me alone' mom back then, I told her. Our teen sons' daily lives of full-time school, part-time work, time-off, financial prudence, and relationships was theirs to manage unless it became an unintentional disruption to my life, my husband's and pets'. I was prepared to interfere, make a fool of myself, if need be. (Humour is so missing in our lives.) This would be an opportunity for lawful interference. Both sides had equal rights but only mine mattered, in the final analysis. (They could move.) If a problem could not be handled by its 'owner', 'help' was on her way, expeditiously.

Practicing the art of independence and wise decision making was what life was all about for our children. That was the understanding and we all played a part. It was our legal right till it was not. Mom was just a 'blink of an eye' away, they knew. My leave me alone policy meant exactly that. Leave me alone and get on with life. Everyone had roles to play. I had enough to do, manage and plan. And so did they, I remarked to this mother of three.

The woman listened to my comical rant. Why undertake three 'careers' that paid nothing, I said? I had enough to do as a wife, mother, teacher/volunteer, pet owner. We both giggled. She understood how silly it was to explain to a complete stranger her reasons for anything. No crime had been committed. If there had, I would have acted, without hesitation. But there was none. I had enough extraneous material, floating around in my head, occupying too much space, as it was. No need to add to it with other 'none of your business' stuff, I said. She hadn't thought of it in quite that way. She had three sons, too. Staying out of the business of running their lives made all the sense in the world. It was a career without end or compensation. They needed to figure it all out, on their own, while 'common sense and caring' lived 'nearby' - at no extra cost.We slowly parted ways. Enjoying one another's company is the definition of socializing. In a grocery store, dialogue does happen. 

 

Grocery shopping today was an unexpected meeting of two busy moms going about their day, minding their own business, meeting accidentally, when one thought it was her duty to 'explain'. A comment of parent's rights and obligations made headlines, that morning, we realized our duty to our children was finished. It was now our turn. We mattered. No need to explain. Just enjoy the day. Shall we dance? Now, how do we explain that?

Where's the Glass?

Glass is slowly disappearing from the grocery store. Plastic is now reigning proudly, in its place. Many food products are now in BPA-free plastic, as though that substitute is an equitable fair trade with its predecessor, glass. No benefits are bestowed upon us with this current substitution. Even styrofoam takeout containers poses their own unique health hazards. Oh, my.

Mayonnaise and ketchup were in glass, once upon a time. Relish and pickles still are for some companies. Will that soon end, too? ... The other day as I attempted to empty a 685 ml. plastic jar of organic unsweetened applesauce, (formerly in smooth clear glass) I was appalled to see an intricate pattern stamped on the inside of this plastic jar. The bottom of this plastic container, was a raised curve, reducing the space inside where product should have been. I could not clean out the contents of this plastic container regardless of what I did. A spatula did not work. Water poured into the 'jar' helped to dislodge a bit more of the applesauce - not all - which was then poured onto the food being given to our dogs. (They eat apples daily) Some applesauce still remained because the interior intricate plastic 'wall' design made it impossible to remove the last remnants of the apple sauce. A great plastic gimmick for the company! Buying the applesauce more often helps their bottom line, not ours. Sneaky and simply intolerable!

Health must always be our #1 priority. ... Plastic and its creators simply don't care. When food is pasteurized in plastic, how do those varying high heat processes affect the 'cooked' food we then eat? Something called EA - estrogenic activity - found in the chemicals, in plastic, is impacting on us in ways, never imagined. I understand plastic's use in 'wrapping' toothpaste, ointments, and other medicinal products. For tablets, too. Delivering these 'medicinal' products in those plastic instances might be reasonable. These items are not 'food' and are being used for very short periods of time.

There are stressors of plastic called light, heat, microwave cooking, dishwasher use, that imbue inert plastic with properties that degrade it when used with food. It then follows that our health is being affected. Are we slowly becoming guinea pigs, again, in this 21st century? Are we being 'manipulated' by 'those in the know' that plastic is a safe switch? Perhaps we now need a chemistry degree or at least a very good chemistry textbook or wikipedia to elucidate us on the properties and perils of modern plastic with our food.

As I shopped for baby food, the other day, the product line seemed lost in plastic pouches and small plastic containers. Organic in plastic? How does that work? Is the world of plastics a good thing for babies, these very early humans whose building blocks - DNA, mitochondria and telomeres - are slowly beginning to assemble into the adult human he/she will become one day? An adult is fully formed. A baby is not! Our children are being exposed earlier and more often to 'plastic' in their diet. I do not recall eating anything out of plastic when I was a child.

Naivety is not my strong suit. Skepticism is. Seeing BPA-free on the bottom of plastic is not a free pass, either. Who decided what's in the best interest of my bottom line - my health? I have seen a recycled glass stamp on the bottom of some kitchen glass items, for sale, used for food. Exactly, where did the 'original' glass begin? I shudder to think. My mind runs rampant. It is all over the place. Has the increased use of plastic occurred because the difference in transportation costs between lighter weight plastic and its heavier 'cousin'- glass - too great a 'burden' to place on the consumer? What exactly is this greater burden, anyway? Plastic is a cheaper alternative, of course.

“You're not the boss of me”, a powerful message, oft repeated by children, discovering the power of words, should be our message, too, to those in the business of food. Maybe we should be saying the same thing and acting in accordance with our buying beliefs. We are an online educated society eating foods that might have been sprayed with a myriad of pesticides and are now processed in plastic jars, bottles or pouches. Food mixes, including additives, flavour enhancers, and preservatives, alongside real ingredients are present, too. 

 

Innocuous words, found on the side panel, seem to indicate that they belong there with the real food ingredients described. Once upon a time there were few lab. created flavours. Now, I have read, there are over 400. How'd that happen? Then we have plastic. The ambush never ends!

Glass preserving jars are available during the summer for the processing of Mother Nature's bounty. A trip to grocery and hardware stores or Walmart, reveals the truth. It is glass we expect for canning not plastic. Even paint and varnish are housed in metal containers. There must be a reason, I imagine. 

 

But here in food land where human health should be #1, glass is not the preferred choice for food companies. Plastic is. Why? What is the rational? When does human health matter for a company's bottom line? I guess it matters when we tell them so - at the checkout!

The Kindest One of All...

As he looked up at me, his pink nose, a constant reminder of the gentle soul he is,  reminded me just how lucky we were to have him. This 5 year old, 70 pound yellow retriever of ours had spent most of the morning rocking our world while entertaining his 4-month-old cousin with his special brand of canine exuberance. He was the kindest Lab of all. ...

My 'daughter', now a devoted mom on maternity leave, had arrived with her baby, my beautiful grandson. (I cannot bring myself to calling her my daughter-in-law. Who invented that term, anyway? Sounds like we're outcasts, set up to fail.) Anne wonders if a trip to town might be of interest to me. She is always so thoughtful, so sweet. I remarked that it might be easier for her to come here to relax, a bit of a change of pace, for her, maybe. My car was in repair, she knew. The zoo was open and baby loved to watch, laugh and learn. (An ulterior motive was underfoot.)

Yesterday, my car's front passenger tire blew, having been sliced by a 'vintage' spring mechanism underneath. An 'explosive' sound had me wondering what was happening until I saw the blown front tire. The noise was unlike any I had ever heard coming from beneath a car. How had it happened? Thank goodness, the tire had not blown apart on the road with other drivers nearby. Another 'subtle' reminder of gratitude.

Today's visit was warm and fuzzy, in stark contrast to yesterday's scary tire mishap. My newest grandson watches Mr.Wiggles as he twists, turns, and jumps onto the throw-covered sofa. As Sally, his retriever sister, barks to all, this diminutive human, newly born, begins to laugh, like nothing I have ever heard, coming from a baby. It is a guttural laugh, from deep within his tiny human body. Doggy noises are new to him. He smiles. We smile. Some say babies do not laugh or smile at this age, too young to know or understand. It's just gas. Who started that rumour? This one laughed, no mistake about it. We heard it. We saw it. So did dad, last week. The myth is officially dispelled.

Mr. Wiggles is serious about his role today. With Reggie, the rhino, in his mouth, he goes about his duty to enthrall baby, while wiggling to the absurd. Some dogs can break these 'signals' of mental health: their tails. His incessant 'banter' makes us wonder, will he stop to rest?'. But that never happens. ... He drops Reggie as he begins to anoint his happy baby human cousin with his special brand of immunity. His licking touches the head and face of this cute little bundle. Baby squints, in readiness for the next 'touch'. Baby relaxes. This is the land of make believe where animals rule and we wait for engagement. This is what Momsey calls an enriched environment. Everything interaction counts in the animal kingdom. Mr. Wiggles jumps on the sofa, interrupts mom, licks her, baby and wiggles away, again. Sally barks at all the fuss. Baby laughs again and again. Mommy holds on tight as her son writhes to be released from her gentle grip. Slow and steady here we come.

Babies learn how to treat these civilized dog and cat creatures, who inhabit our daily lives, while mom and dad are present, showing them how. Respect is the name of the game in these daily animal moments. Mr. Wiggles is such a kind retriever. But we worry about his tail. He does not, however. It is possible to sprain a tail that wags too much, I have discovered. Oh my. He just keeps on marching and wiggling like an energizer bunny. But he is a dog. He loves that baby who watches him with such intrigue. 'Winston' is so amused. He's at the circus where animals abound and entertainment happens. Our wiggler lies down now.

He is exhausted, having performed, to the extreme, for his baby. He looks up at me while asking, "Can I stop, now?” "Yes, my sweet boy.Your actions were much appreciated, but you must slow down. Do not overdo it. This little baby boy will be a baby for a long long time. There will be many more moments for Winston to learn all about you and his other animal cousins."... Animals bestow upon us courage, companionship, immunity and reasons to be. Quite the gifts, if you ask me.