I was up very early this morning, before dawn. Once I'm awake, going back to sleep is not easily done. I don't know if that's an age thing, but I never used to have any trouble falling asleep again. Now, regardless of the earliness of the hour, I'm out of bed and finding something to do. Outside, it is still dark, with a glimmering of light on the eastern horizon. I found myself remembering days of my childhood when I visited my grandfather, and he and I would go out just before dawn to pick mushrooms for breakfast.
Grampy always referred to the grey pre-dawn light as cat-light, because that's when the housecats and the barn cats would return from their overnight hunting forays, often bearing unwanted gifts of half-dead mice or shrews or mangled pieces of other small animals that had fallen prey to their deadly claws and teeth. They would lay their trophies at Grampy's feet with smug satisfaction while I averted my eyes.
When Grampy and I had picked what we considered to be enough mushrooms, we would return home and fry up the mushrooms with home-cured bacon or ham, make toast using home-made bread, slather the toast with home-made butter and feast royally on the bounty. All of this was in the days before we knew about cholesterol or the dire effects of eating animal fats. It gives me pause when I think of all the fried foods we ingested, the pastry made with lard, rich gravies poured over meat and potatoes, egg-and-bacon breakfasts almost everyday, (back then nobody put a limit on the number of eggs they ate in a week, nor would we have dreamed of making an omelette using only the whites of eggs). During the week Grampy ate a ploughman's lunch - hearty cheese sandwiches made with doorstep-sized slices of bread and butter, with pickled onions, and an apple or a pear, all washed down with a pint or two of beer. Before bed, he'd indulge in a snifter of brandy and a cigar.
Moreover, Grampy was seldom seen without a pipe in his mouth. The only time he wasn't smoking was when he was eating, attending church, or sleeping. He was a market gardener, worked outdoors year 'round, was as skinny as a lathe, in perfect health. He died in his sleep a few months shy of his 89th birthday. According to the doctor who signed the death certificate, the cause of his demise was "shortage of breath".
Nowadays, we are bombarded on all sides with dire warnings about high cholesterol and hypertension, diabetes is rampant, we're told that smoking contributes to COPD, cancer, stroke and heart disease. Our doctors and media gurus tell us to reduce our salt and sugar intake, to avoid trans-fats, and to opt for foodstuffs that contain omega-3, to eschew red meat in favour of fish and chicken, to avoid over-use of alcohol and caffeine. Women are warned of the harmful consequences of smoking and/or drinking during pregnancy, pharmacy shelves are crammed with weight-control pills and potions, and a new diet or weight loss program is touted on a regular basis. It's enough to make one's head spin.
Me, I've given up. I'm looking at the three-score-years-and-ten mark in my rearview mirror as I journey down the road of life. I don't want to outlive my grandchildren, so I've adopted what I call the St. Paul Diet - "All things in moderation and a little wine for your stomach's sake". My joints creak at times and I can always tell when it's going to rain because my arthritis acts up, but for the most part I'm in decent shape. I walk every day (when the weather is inclement, I walk up and down the stairs), I go to bed when I'm tired, I eat regularly, I avoid processed foods of any kind (you couldn't pay me to eat KD or ravioli out of a can), and I drink a lot of water (with a splash of lemon juice because I like it that way). So far it it's working.
Me, I've given up. I'm looking at the three-score-years-and-ten mark in my rearview mirror as I journey down the road of life. I don't want to outlive my grandchildren, so I've adopted what I call the St. Paul Diet - "All things in moderation and a little wine for your stomach's sake". My joints creak at times and I can always tell when it's going to rain because my arthritis acts up, but for the most part I'm in decent shape. I walk every day (when the weather is inclement, I walk up and down the stairs), I go to bed when I'm tired, I eat regularly, I avoid processed foods of any kind (you couldn't pay me to eat KD or ravioli out of a can), and I drink a lot of water (with a splash of lemon juice because I like it that way). So far it it's working.
