Last night, I made myself a small salad of leafy greens and tomatoes, dressed with olive oil (extra virgin, of course), lemon, and sea salt. No garlic. No dried mint. Nothing else. I just didn’t have the energy to squeeze the press or rub the mint. Plus, I was famished. I hadn’t eaten anything for seven hours. Seven long hours of work, shuttling two boys across town in a nasty rain storm, and jean swapping at the local Kohl’s for drummer boy.
Even the cat found no favor with me when I hurried to the kitchen, ignoring his whiny requests to be let out. (He was let out following my salad-making.)
Later that evening, violin girl, who had pleaded with me to buy her potato chips (?), had deposited herself beside me, chips in hand, berating herself about how she must eat healthier, somehow intoned in such a way that the berating actually redirected itself toward me. Never mind that on the kitchen counter lay two ripened mangoes, bought just a day prior to this epiphany.
Yes, healthy eating is good. Kaukab will have no problem lecturing you on that. The only time we had potato chips in the house was when company was expected. She’d even allow soda pop in. Big time under the circus tent, for sure. That said, I think it’s fair to note that even Kaukab had her weaker moments when it came to unhealthy food. It’s just that she had an interesting way of both enjoying and denying the act, devouring fingers-full of a great grandchild’s Happy Meal fries while denouncing the ill-effects of the evil potatoes. Students to her Master class on backpedaling, we’d sit speechless, our eyes fastened on her fingers as she grabbed at the last crispy fry crumbs.
As for spring eating, I’ll shoot for more salads, but I won’t spend precious time beating myself up over a few finger fulls of fries. Pedals are for bikes.