I've been a vegetarian my entire life. I have a vague and wonderful memory of eating a cheeseburger with my father at JB's family restaurant. I must have been about six. I remember the smell of that establishment like it was yesterday. . Cigarettes, coffee, and grease. I don't remember what that cheeseburger tasted like. I just remember really enjoying the hell out of it. My family didn't eat a lot of meat. Our meals were not centered around the chicken or the roast in the oven. Occasionally, we had cornish game hens on a Sunday, or turkey on thanksgiving. But, it was rare enough that I can honestly say, I don't know what chicken or turkey taste like. I can't even imagine it. I have lived my entire life not eating meat. I know that sounds crazy. I consume dairy and eggs. Until recently, I consumed seafood of all kinds. I have never desired to eat a steak or a hamburger. I think the bacon smells delicious sizzling in the pan but I don't want to eat it. I don't know what my body would do with it if I did eat it. I am not an animal rights activist, in fact I am repulsed by PETA's behavior. I just don't eat meat. I don't know why really. I just never have. I can cook meat for my friends, and significant other. The smell does not make me gag. when I cook meat in my home, it is meat from reputable sources, i.e. sun-basking, margarita sipping chickens and cows. I once spent 42 dollars on a roast, just for the peace of mind that the cow who's ass I was purchasing had one hell of a good life (no antibiotics. no hormones. no warehouse). I do not preach about the evils of being a carnivore. I shovel no grief to my omnivorous friends and family. I maintain that food choices, like religion, are personal. The other day, I was at a discount grocery store. I try to shop at the health food store as much as possible, but on this particular day, the health food store was closed and my list was short. Most grocery stores have become more savvy - they are rising to the occasion and meeting the needs of their more discriminating shoppers. . .but not this one. This store caters mainly to the low income clientel, and cheap rarely equates with organic. Bacon was on my list. It was not for me, of course, yet I still felt compelled to make the most responsible choice. I wandered to the meat department. I walked slowly past the open refigerated bins. I scanned my options. I scanned ALL the meat. For the first time in my life, it had an effect on me. I read too much. I know too much about how that meat got there. I know too much about that animals life. I know too much about what else is under that plastic wrap. I stood there, a sea of cheap flesh in front of me. . . and for the first time in my life, I almost lost my dinner at the thought of it. I quickly ducked into the first available aisle and began a frantic search for the women's room. Long story-long: the experience launched my mental workings into a careful examination of the foods I eat. How often do I consume animal products of unknown origin? Where does the milk come from that goes into my beloved peanut M&M's? What about the enourmous slab of generic cheese delivered by semi-truck to my neiborhood pizza joint? Ugh! If it weren't for cheese, and coffee begging for cream, I may have become a vegan two decades ago. But, suddenly and unexplainably the prospect of mystery cheese on my fries dipped in a vat of mystery dairy ranch dressing is entirely unappetizing. A cheeseburger was so simple when I was six.
As a child, I looked forward to snow. Snow was magical. Snow meant sledding and snowball fights. Snow meant - maybe- a day home from school. We built forts and snowmen and generally reveled in the beauty of the day. Cold? never. We would have been hypothermic before going indoors on our own. Our parents would summon us and we would run blue lipped and soaking wet to the warm comfort of our homes, which we suddenly appreciated. My mother would make us hot cocoa and milk toast (milk toast is only delicious if you have just been playing in the snow. Otherwise, it is questionable). At the end of a snow day, a warm bath was never so wonderful, and sleep was never so sound. Shoveling snow was not of our concern, nor was driving in the snow. 18 inches of beautiful white snow fell on Tuesday. It would of course have to be shoveled. Even 4 wheel drive can not rival that much snow. But, there was an air of childhood magic about it. There was just soooo much snow, a person couldn't help but stop and admire the beauty of it. Evergreen boughs yielding to the weight drew pictures in the ground snow that had risen up to meet them. All the world was eerily silent and for a moment the driveway really didn't matter. I had an overwhelming urge to build a snowman. I calculated that using the driveway snow for construction material would considerably reduce the shoveling necessary. The sun had grown weary, the gentle humm of innumerable snowblowers sang in the background, and I built a snowman.
