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June 05, 2006
The year of not living dangerously
I don't remember where she got her ideas about food. I just know that eight year old children shouldn't know what salicylates are, yet I knew about salicylates, carob, sodium benzoate, and the detrimental effects of pop tarts (they turned people gay). My mom would always find articles or hear some piece of information that convinced her that her family's heads would turn to pure, unadulterated evil if exposed to sugar, food dyes, or processed foods. I now understand that she was semi-wise; she merely went a little too far.
It started with the canning that filled the back shelves of our haunted basement. We had MILLIONS of jars of beets, green beans, and other earthy things. I only have vague memories of my mom taking all of us out to a farm, paying someone to pick the plants, and mom trying to convince her three bookworms that this was a good thing. The real disaster for her was putting all the canned goods in the basement. We children were naturally reticent to go fetch things from the basement, as my dad loved to lurk under the stairs and terrify us, plus we didn't like beets. Did I mention that my dad deliberately wired the light switch to the basement at the BASE of the stairs? Nothing more terrifying than turning off the light, sprinting towards the light, only to be grabbed at the ankles by the devil/dad. Beets = terror.
We never threw away the vegetables in the basement, even as mom switched to a new fad. The poor Bell jars just stood as abandoned shrines to another failed attempt to keep her family's bodily temples holy. At this new point, everything had to be natural, so all the raw sugar, all chocolate, all white bread, even certain fruits and vegetables were thrown out. I was the geeky, awkward kid who wasn't allowed to eat the cafeteria food, plus my lunches had things like carob and mockaroni.
My mom always denied the fact that, more than anything else in the world, I craved chocolate. My bodily temple was a den of chocolate thievery and prostitution, or so I believed from our cultish church. I love chocolate in all its forms- liquid or solid, dark or milk, flavored or plain. She would buy me carob, or this other horrible substitute I can't remember. The whole time she fought for the purity of our digestive systems, I was using my paper route cash to supply a steady stream of chocolate and weird candy. I hid them in our tree house, which was the safehouse for all things we hid from our mom. When mom went on a music-purification binge because the church said rock was sinful, I hid the record with the song "Love is like Oxygen" and the Star Wars disco soundtrack, not realizing that vinyl melted.
I had my own secret battle against healthy foods, but the battle exploded out of the tree house one evening. Mom had been getting healthier and stranger with her cooking (although straight corn syrup was her choice of sweetener), and then she made a casserole entirely made of seed. Seeds in salad had been okay, seedy bread was tolerable, but suddenly all of us were flapping around a birdfeeder meal. My dad, a man who preferred to avoid the house rather than argue with my mom, finally saw something he couldn't stomach- a meal with no beef. His children were more than happy to join the revolt, and my mom caved in. That night I think we had pizza while my mom cried near her gallon jars of seeds.
She was right, of course. Food is better for you if it is natural. I know this, even though I crave twinkies, pop tarts, and marshmallows. When I went into her basement after the funeral two years ago, I actually found an ancient jar of green beans. I think they were green beans, as the water was murky. They were in the back, next to boxes of my cards I had given to her when I was a kid, near the Christmas decorations, pottery we made one summer, and some of my old toys. Maybe she saved the green beans, just like the other items in the basement, as something she treasured about our childhood. More likely she couldn't reach those shelves, as she couldn't get down the stairs in the end. After all this time, all the memories of my mom mix together, just like the jumble of weird heirlooms of our basement. I miss her, and I sometimes even miss the green beans.
But not the beets.
Posted by G at June 5, 2006 09:08 PM
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Comments
What exactly is Carob... I know it tastes nasty and not like chocolate... people tried that one on me too, worse they tried to pretend it was chocolate... I was not buying it...
Ironic about her choice of sweetner since now we know it is the root of all evil ;-)
Nice blog - glad Sean linked you!
Posted by: TOS at June 5, 2006 09:38 PM
Hmm, my hypothesis is that your mother's cooking habits are the reason you are an otter today, and not a bear.
Posted by: Luke at June 6, 2006 01:50 AM
do you get tired of people telling you "you're SO FUNNY!" ? my favorite part was "all of us were flapping around a birdfeeder meal". i laughed so hard!
Posted by: kelli at June 6, 2006 02:03 AM
Sweet story. Which is appropriate for a story involving one's chocolate obsession...
Posted by: Foxy at June 6, 2006 11:21 AM
Forget about stalaktites, its when a three year old girl expalins the concept of soil erosion you have to worry.
My mum parent may have not have had enough money to buy me sweets on a regular basis but she was never so cruel as to buy me carob as opposed to the rel thing Then again I doubt cron bars were available in West wales in the early seventies.
Posted by: Gareth H at June 6, 2006 05:04 PM
Chocolate has been around for thousands of years. True, cane sugar did not exist in this hemisphere until after contact in the sixteenth century; however, chocolate still existed. How much more natural do you want something to be?
I feel bad for your mom and her seed casserole. I am sure she worked hard on it and probably it tasted pretty okay. Still, that would have been a hard sell to any audience under the age of 25 or older than 35.
Posted by: GayProf at June 7, 2006 01:24 AM
Pop tarts turn you gay? You and Dan feeding me those frosted cherry ones suddenly makes so much more sense :)
Posted by: Dave at June 7, 2006 08:27 AM
Strangely enough, this story brought a tear to my eye. My mother is a mad canner too. Seemingly thousands of cans of scary mushy vegetables dwell in her basement. Although my Mother is still alive, we are unfortunately estranged, this made me miss her. Thank you.
Posted by: MEK the Bear at June 9, 2006 07:23 PM