Today I made what was probably my 357th batch of granola. I do not go many mornings in a row without granola, and I’ve been known to travel with it, even to foreign countries.
 |
| Dr. Jackson and his hipster beard--before hipster was a thing |
And I have you to thank, good Dr. James. You were the kind of doctor now we would refer to as “crunchy granola,” the kind who believes in the whole mind-body-spirit connection, always referencing things like “balance” and “character” and the healing powers of water. No tobacco, no meat, no alcohol. Lots of walking followed by lots of resting, but not too much. Clearing the mind means cleansing the body, all the Good Lord’s work should not ruined by those misguided human impulses.
So you say in your books: Hints on the Reproductive Organs: Their Diseases, Causes, and Cure on Hydropathic Principles, How to treat the Sick without Medicine, American Womanhood: Its Peculiarities and Necessities, and finally, Christ as a Physician.
If you were here, I would serve you a bowl of my granola and I suspect you would hate it. Too sweet, maybe. Too much cinnamon, though the nutmeg is nice. I think you will have something to say about mixing nuts with milk and why that’s such a bad combination for digestion. I tell you that tonight we will have lima beans. “Good,” you say, “Good copper.” You wonder how it is we are living longer when we are do so much so badly. Vaccines, antibiotics, better surgery and cancer treatments.
“Yes,” you say, standing in front of the open refrigerator, looking at the cheese in plastic, the leftover pizza, the turkey lunch meat and the jar of mayonnaise, “but what about the food?” You bend and lean deeper into the chill, breathing in an air you could never imagine.
No comments:
Post a Comment