 I awaken to brilliant sunshine in a clear blue sky. Arriving a day early, a cool March wind blows through my open window causing the blinds to sway. Birds land on a nearby tree branch and sing of their return. I step outside where the air smells fresh. Bright green buds peek out from the wet black earth. Throughout the long COVID winter, I longed for these signs of spring, but this morning, I am not interested. My heart is in Ukraine. Restless, I run some errands. Open-toed shoes line up in a store window. They have their marching orders: scream, “summer!” I stop in a book store, my usual remedy for whatever ails me. Fresh new books with smooth pages fill the shelves. A table of intriguing titles is readied for spring break and sandy beaches. I wander the aisles, only to find my mood worsening. History, geography, biography...shouldn’t we know better by now? I feel the need to keep moving, but I can’t stop praying, begging, really. Please God. Please! Protect the people of Ukraine. I think of Abraham Lincoln who said, “I have been driven many times upon my knees by the overwhelming conviction that I had nowhere else to go. My own wisdom and that of all about me seemed insufficient for that day.” Insufficient? Yes, that is how I feel. There is a breed of monster on the loose, and their numbers are growing. These beasts do not lurk in the dark. They prefer the limelight. You will recognize the fiends by their big heads, strong arms, and fragile egos. They thirst for power, feed on revenge, and vomit lies. They manufacture grievances and spread distrust through a gospel of hate. Adulation may calm them but only for a moment. Unable to be socialized, they frequently turn on the hands that feed them. They would rather burn the house down than learn to live within in it. Will we all perish because of such a beast? In 1624, the clergyman and poet, John Donne, wrote: “No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main…any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind, and therefore never send to know for whom the bells tolls; it tolls for thee.” We hear the bell Ukraine, may God hear our prayers for you.
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 Every family has its stories. Most often, these stories are shared around tables at family reunions, weddings, and funerals. Some family stories are thrillers, some romances, others pure horror. Occasionally, a family story finds its way into a text book as a case study or is dissected in a therapist’s office. Whatever the genre, over time, a large, expanding volume emerges. The book of shared lives contains long and short chapters, forgotten facts, and colorful characters. There are attempts at editing and occasional re-writes, but fact-checking is difficult. Some keepers of the story die, others disappear, some change. Emotions color memory, and memory fades. Even among eye witnesses, vision is not 20/20. Lenses are shaped by events recent and distant--relationships that are new, loves that are old, needs never met, and hurts that won’t heal. Our family tome contains its fair share of romance, adventure, loss, disappointment, and eccentric relatives. It also contains a fairy tale. There are no magic beans, no swords pulled from stones, no princesses brought to life by kisses, but upon fact-checking, we all agree, there is a benevolent giant, an unlikely prince, and a magical, once-upon-a-time kingdom. As is true of all good fairy tales, this story is not just for children. It is a morality tale of perseverance in the face of trials, and the ultimate triumph of love and community. Once upon a time there was a Benevolent Giant. Five of the family’s children called him Dad. The rest of us called him Uncle. He was also known as Brother and Beloved Son. A steady presence in all of our lives, the Benevolent Giant was a fine example of kindness and human decency. He was unobtrusive but ever present. His watchful eyes saw everything but never judged. His was the voice on the phone in our darkest hours, quietly setting rescue into motion. A touch from his thumb kept our world on its axis. A humble man whose stated goal in life was to get to heaven, our Benevolent Giant was a college football star drafted by the NFL. He was also drafted by Uncle Sam. Instead of dodging tackles, this Benevolent Giant dodged bullets in the European Theatre during World War II. When the war ended, he returned to the small village from whence he came, grew a family, and built a business and a life that took us all in. After the births of three daughters, the Benevolent Giant and his wife had a son. They named the baby George. The birth was complicated, and developmental delays soon became apparent. It was a time when families were encouraged to place children with special developmental needs into institutions. Despite such advice, the Benevolent Giant could do no such thing, and he forged a path for George that would become a model for modern mainstreaming. The Benevolent Giant taught George to crawl, to walk, and even to drive a car. Together, the Giant and George mastered every level of Boy Scouts and became lifelong members of the Boy Scout community. George grew into a gainfully employed man and an active and involved citizen of the kingdom. Now a senior citizen, George remains an enthusiastic member of many service organizations and a helping hand at all community parades and events. George is the man about town, and the doors of local churches, restaurants and businesses open wide for him. The journey was not without struggles. George was not always accepted at school or by others new to him. George faced these many challenges not with a drawn sword, but with openness, innocence, and perseverance, secure in an armor forged from love. In more recent years, George lived through the deaths of both of his beloved parents, and the devoted older sister with whom he lived following those deaths. He adjusted to living alone in a house that was once overflowing. At the peak of the COVID epidemic, George was struck by pick-up truck while helping to set up for a local parade. In good spirits, he weathered the fear, the pain, the hospitalization, and the surgeries, the physical therapy, and a long recovery. George continues to rise to every occasion. He is incapable of acting with ill intentions, and he is never a victim. George does not harbor hurt. He neither expects nor looks for the worst in others. George befriends everyone he meets. The princely magic in George is an unshakeable belief that life will work out in his favor. And it does. This is no ordinary mental attitude of optimism. It is no coincidence. It is a sacred a gift from the Benevolent Giant, a loving mother, four devoted siblings, and a generous community. This gentle army of fairy godparents flutters about, tapping their wands, turning pumpkins into coaches that take George everywhere. When George’s sister, housemate, and counselor died suddenly five years ago, we all wondered and worried, what would be next for George? Would he be forced to leave the family home and his familiar life? As his siblings wrestled with decisions about the future, a member of the community stood up at his sister’s funeral to say, “Don’t worry about George. He belongs to us, too. We will look after him.” And they have. Somehow the child with special needs filled a special need in all of us. Like all good fairy tales, George’s life reflects our deepest desires for what can be. His story is a tribute to the love and devotion of parents, siblings, and an entire community that made him their son. I close this chapter in our family story with words from another book that I love: They drew a circle to keep him out, heretic, rebel, a thing to flout, but love and I had the wit to win: We drew a circle that took him in! --adapted from the poem, Outwitted, by Edwin Markham in the book Reclaiming Lost Youth by Larry Brendtro, Martin Brokenleg and Steven Van Bockern  The food pyramid is ancient history, and food in its natural form is becoming an artifact, too. We are changing shape and raising the bar. Individually packaged slender rectangles that fit in a purse, a gym bag, or a pocket are now the shape of food. Once a to-go meal for astronauts, condensed chewy food has replaced traditional farm table fixings. From the cereal aisle to the pharmacy aisle, a growing number of bars crowd the grocery store shelves. There are bars for strength, recovery, weight loss, and calorie supplementation. There are breakfast bars, cereal bars, meal bars, snack bars, and energy bars. Each type of bar comes in a multitude of varieties: gluten free, vegan, low carb, high protein, and keto. No longer is the consumer limited to the basic flavors of chocolate and vanilla. Add to the flavor menu peanut butter, birthday cake, maple donut, orange soda, coconut, and mint chocolate chip to name a few. I admit it; I have tried quite a few bars, but I don’t think I will live long enough to try them all. Though we are people on the run, I can’t eat fast enough to keep up with the speedy supply of emerging types and flavors. The new magic ingredient in this food is protein. It doesn’t matter how much sugar, sodium, or cholesterol the food contains. Somehow, the protein nullifies the ill effects of the other not-so-healthy ingredients. Because this new food originated with the astronauts as space food sticks in the 1960s and was later promoted as power bars by the athletic industry in the 1980s, we assume this culinary innovation must be the brainchild of science, and therefore, it must be good for us. And who doesn’t want to be an astronaut or an elite athlete? We love convenience foods, and if we can make good health simple and convenient, so much the better. Leave it to the powerful food industry to deliver on our other childhood dreams. Large, individually wrapped cookies are marketed as the next innovation in health food. My inner child squeals with delight. She has always known that a row of Oreos paired with a glass of milk was the real breakfast of champions. Boxes of protein cookies now sit next to the bars on the store shelves. They also appear at fast food restaurants. In a plexi-glass case displaying large soft sugar and chocolate chip cookies, there is a rack designated for the oatmeal bars. They show up on the breakfast menu. I try one. My brain says “cookie,” but the menu says “breakfast.” Life can get better with age. Last week I discovered that the food industry isn’t stopping with the cookie. The ultimate dream of every child who ever hated long family dinners, hard broccoli, and slimy fish is now being realized. Boxes filled with small, individually wrapped squares called “healthy candy” fill the end-caps of the health/pharmacy aisles. I pinch myself, “Am I dreaming?” Move over Russell Stover and Whitman; there is a new kid on the block. I will miss the guessing game of choosing a flavor, and the tiny, ruffled paper cups, but some compromises must be made. After all, this candy is serious; it is a meal not an after dinner holiday treat. Though my soft, sweet, innocent inner child is exuberant, the hard shelled outer adult is prone to doubt and worry. What can be next when all of your food dreams are realized? Could food go digital? Will the byte replace the bite? Will food be reimagined or just imaginary? Even my inner child would find that hard to swallow. |
AuthorLilli-ann Buffin Archives
August 2024
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