Different Foods For Different Likes

It's a funny thing When you think about foods, Some people eat different things To suit their changing moods.

Kids usually eat Just the things they've always liked, While certain teens prefer Only foods that have been spiked.

Chinese sit on the floor Eating egg rolls and cooked rice; But to the Spanish in their wide-brimmed hats, Enchiladas are quite nice, There's the cook in fancy restaurants Making fine recipes for "Turtle Stew "

And then there's my Mom at home, Concocting some famous "Leftover Brew."

There's that fat guy going to Bishops, To get Ambrosia Pie just for fun, And the other guy going to McDonalds for his Twoallbeefpattiesspecialsaucelettuse cheesepicklesonion Onasesameseedbun!

Now there was Euell Gibbons in the forest, Eating his "wild hickory nuts,"

But I heard he had an ulcer, And should have stuck with Pizza Huts!

I could go on and on About foods, drinks, sweets and such, But I think I'd better quit now, While I still have the "rhyming touch"!

Lauren Isaacson 8th Grade February of 1976

Feb. 10, 1976... I made my cla.s.s a great big valentine out of poster board. It's an owl... Whoo's wishing you a Happy Valentine's Day? Me

Youthful love is, indeed, quite intense. I bestowed my familial love upon my sister-in-law, Norm's wife, who also became the companion that my mind so desperately demanded. In her I found a depth of friendship which had always eluded me; perhaps I needed to grow to understand what I sought. Those aspects which captured my affection were mutuality, understanding and compatibility which required no stimulus to evoke, but evolved through one's inherent, natural character as demonstrated to the other. Conversation traversed the boundaries of the menial and insignificant, while activities were relished simply because of my fondness for her and, of course, my brother.

In addition to the above characteristics, Tracy and I shared common interests in sewing, drawing, and outdoor activities; we were also both thin-limbed, and although she had gained weight by the time I knew her, she remained thin. I appreciated having a person to whom I could unabashedly express my indifference toward food; even before my operation I viewed mealtime as a ha.s.sle and a must for survival; to this she could sympathize knowingly. Tracy could also relate to my lack of womanly fat deposits which naturally accompanied a thin stature, and we swapped horror stories and lamentations about the tactless and mentally (dispatched) people we had encountered who enjoyed taunting at that which our figures still lacked. We generally wrapped up such conversations by admitting that thinness was an advantage. We were not hampered in any way by excess baggage; nothing flogged violently if we ran, nor did anything cascade over the sides of a chair as we sat. We could easily see our feet, and were confident that old age would find few sagging extremities. Such were our consolations.

I relished the time I spent in Tracy's company; she helped me through the year of chemotherapy by planning activities each week for us to pursue such as running errands and shopping. I most enjoyed the invitations to stay over night at Norm and Tracy's house, for the best entertainment was conversation. I loved the casual atmosphere that permeated their house, for it seemed to whisper "the simple pleasures are the best." They lived quietly, in a modest house, feeding their equally modest income into house payments, grocery bills and gasoline for their $400 Belvedere. It was a life which yielded the serenity begotten of honesty and hard work; no phantoms of debt wailed in the late hours of the day, and sleep came easily. Goals were sighted, then realized, slowly, one by one; they spent no money that was not yet their own, but nothing appeared to be wanting in their lives. I admired their way of life and wanted to one day establish a home based on such simplicity and love.

When I stayed over night, the living room couch was my bed. It faced the kitchen and in the morning, I could survey the pre-dawn preparation of breakfast. If it was a week day, Norm would appreciatively stuff three or four blueberry m.u.f.fins down his throat and, grabbing his lunch bucket, stride out the door to his motorcycle. Weekends provided a more leisurely breakfast schedule, and everyone rose at generally the same time. Often Tracy fried pancakes as the plates were laid upon the table and the powdered milk, b.u.t.ter, and a bottle of imitation maple syrup were extracted from the refrigerator. Norm and Tracy bought the least expensive items at the grocery store, which included the subst.i.tute for milk and a cheap brand of syrup. These two aspects of the simple life were the only ones which I did not find appealing, and vowed I would always buy fresh milk and decent syrup even though my canned fruit would bear a bargain label. I guessed every way of life had its flaws.

Feb. 13, 1976... It's Friday the 13th... watch yourself today... Don't walk under a ladder; if you see a black cat, walk the other way! Only kidding! I'm over at Norm's right now. I had 1 egg and 3 bran m.u.f.fins (pig). Tracy gave me 4 spoons (wooden) for my hope chest, that Norm made at (work)... I feel real good this morning. Maybe I'll take a walk! Maybe I'll even take my camera and take some pictures.

Staying at Norm and Tracy's house always put me in a good mood, for I was with my favorite companions and most important, I was understood.

I felt so at ease in their company that, amid life's pain and uncertainty, living was still worthwhile. Living, in fact, was really great sometimes.

Feb. 14, 1976... M. and J. came over today and gave me some valentines from the cla.s.s. Then we talked awhile. We went to see (a) movie...

It was real funny...

Feb. 17, 1976... Today is Dad's birthday. I made a card out of flannel, but I didn't like it, so I threw it away. Mom dug it out when she came home (sad face). I made another card out of a box. You'd follow the arrows to each side of the box and each side had a different saying on it. I also made him some Rice Krispie Treats... never again!

He liked 'em tho'... Boy, they were like bricks!

Feb. 19, 1976... I made a jumper in 5 hours today. It's brown corduroy, bib overall style and below the knees. The suspenders don't have clasps, but I have snaps instead. I made it for the dance Friday.

I would have liked to make a hat to go with it, but didn't have enough material. I surprised Mom and Dad a lot by it. See, they both had gone to meetings, so I was home by myself from 7:30 to 9:00 p.m.

Feb. 20 1976... Today is the dance! I'm nervous! 11:56 p.m.--I'm home from the dance now. I got home around 10:45 or so. It was real fun.

I danced with 9 boys; one boy I danced with twice. One time, it was 5 (songs) straight! Boy, my legs and feet ache. After, we went to Shakey's Pizza Parlor. I had a lettuce salad for 60 cents (one boy) asked about 5 kids for a dime and when they asked what it was for, he said, "It's going for a good cause." You know what? He gave it to me!

I told 'em to take it back, but they wouldn't, and (a girl) said she'd be mad at me if I didn't. So, I'm 50 cents richer, I think the reason that I danced so much is because I've been gone.

It was obvious to me that some of the attention I had received was due to my illness, for my appearance had suffered since 7th grade and popularity had never been a concern of mine. Nevertheless, I was pleased to have been accepted by those with whom I had always maintained friendly terms. It was common knowledge that I wore a wig; I was glad that no one stared or gawked at me with unnatural interest; some even said that my short hair looked nice, to which I would reply with a word of appreciation, knowing that I could never believe the statements, despite the good intention behind them. I had explained the entire episode to M. and J. when they visited me on Valentine's Day, telling them that I wished my plight to be honestly related to those of my acquaintance, for carrying such a secret would have been like transporting a dandelion seed head on a windy day. Seeds of both truth and controversy would have flown everywhere, and deception on my behalf would only have served to germinate further curiosity.

The interaction at the dance demonstrated that I had not been completely forgotten in my absence, although it also served to amplify the unusual nature of my current way of life in my own eyes. I lived each day as it presented itself, not dwelling on dejection, pain, or my severance from the rest of the world. When I dreamed, I did not dream of the past, and was therefore a trifle shocked at the difference of my days to those of other youth. Through the months, abnormalcy became "normal" for me; and perhaps it was beneficial that I could think along those lines, for I was able to adapt to my situation without undue frustration. It is difficult to live "with" something if it is the source of continual mental torment. Aloneness did not parallel loneliness; many times I was very happy that my health allowed me to avoid social involvements, despite the fact that, after too much solitude, interaction with others became increasingly difficult.

People were very good to me during my year of chemotherapy, and I received attention which I would not have enjoyed had it not been for my health problem. As I mentioned previously, women from church would stop by to visit, occasionally bearing a plate of cookies or other food which I found appealing, or spend their time with me making crafts. My aunt who lived next door, also dropped by, or took me on small outings, as did my sister-in-law, Tracy.

March 15, 1976... I didn't get any mail today. When that happens, it almost ruins my whole day. I'm supposed to get (a long listing of expected mail)... I hope I get something tomorrow... I love getting mail... especially packages.

March 16, 1976... My back really hurts today, kinda all around the middle. No mail came today at all. RATS! Some days I just feel like sitting down and bawling when I don't get any packages or letter or anything.

My day hit a rock-bottom low when no mail arrived, but two days in a row was nearly insufferable. I wrote to relatives, two pen pals, and a girl I had met in Rochester, Mn; it seemed incredible that no one would have written and no catalog or advertis.e.m.e.nt buffered the disappointing sight of the empty mailbox. This was depression in the life of a home-bound 14 year old.

Several months later I decided to remedy the depressing situation by sending my name and photo to a publication produced by an insurance company which we received regularly. Having myself written to two girls who had appeared in the magazine, I figured I should try to put an end to my disgusting predicament since they had reported receiving as many as 20-3O letters. I described myself, my hobbies and, including a 7th grade photograph, quickly mailed the envelope.

March 19, 1976... I wanted to go to Col. with K. in the summer and told dad. He said I'd not be able to. I never get to go anywhere with her.

He told me we wouldn't go to Col. this summer if I didn't care to go with them! But I do! Man! I'm depressed! I'm going to bed without telling anyone!

Without a question of doubt, my intended action described in the final sentence had no profound effect on my parents, and if anyone lost sleep over the incident, it was me. Frustration marred my rationality and allowed the childish presence to dominate my thoughts and actions.

Whereas the above incident hurt only myself, since I enjoyed bedtime hugs anger could also be directed out from myself. One is born with a certain degree of destructiveness, for until a parent guides a child toward the compa.s.sionate mode of thought which society demands, and the child is mature enough to follow that direction, he often exerts damaging blows on inanimate objects for no reason and similarly provokes live creatures over which he wields superiority of size and strength. In grade school I would capture daddy-long-legs and proceed to amputate all of their legs until the body was but a helpless dot on the sidewalk surrounded by eight spasmodically pulsating legs. My behavior was quite unnecessary, and I finally was able to see the brutality of my deadly surgery and allowed the bugs to pa.s.s unhindered.

Similarly, my brothers used to follow ants with a magnifying gla.s.s, directing the reflective rays on their small bodies until they began to smoke, whereupon the ant would collapse in a miniscule puff of fire.

Many households with dogs and cats bear the brunt of the human inhabitants' emotions. Mistreatment is not uncommon regarding pets, and ranges from overt bodily punishment to the supposedly innocent teasing and frightening of animals.

March 23 1976... Gerb bit me yesterday for no reason at all, so today I got even. I filled the tub with three inches of water and put him on the edge of the tub. He fell in all by himself. He swam a little. I left him in there a half hour... He looked funny... real skinny ...it really scared him! I'll never do it again though.

How well I remember my reasoning and behavior on that day. My gerbil would never have known why I was treating him in such a mean fashion; gerbils are naturally active, and not desiring to be held, it bit my finger in agitation. Realizing this, yet still frustrated, I decided to put some water in the tub, measuring three inches at the deepest slant, and put my gerbil on the tub's edge, knowing full well that the chance of his sliding into the slippery interior was almost certain; thus, I could take advantage of a s.a.d.i.s.tic need without actually pushing him in the tub or hurting him. As I watched his progress to a.s.sure that he was in no danger, it was apparent that he disliked his situation entirely, for he found the highest spot immediately and remained there, propped on his hind legs, craning his head for a way up to more hospitable surroundings. After the time had elapsed, I lowered my hand into the tub and he gratefully climbed into it; I then raised him up and gently dried him on a towel. I knew that I liked the feeling I encountered as my pet jumped into my cupped hands... he sought my hands, and my offering of care, whereas the previous day, he repelled my affections. It was the childish need to possess something's love; if I made certain that the quality of his atmosphere was poor, he would seek out my rescuing presence.

No matter how insignificant my action might seem in comparison to the cruel attacks waged upon some pets, I feel ashamed that I ever needed to boost my security through such unfavorable means. Any mistreatment is unfortunate, but perhaps it is most unfortunate for that which it reveals about the human who lacks the ability to resist it.

Because I spent so much time alone, I was highly aware of my opposing desires, and the fact that I was ill augmented each in its own way.

During nausea I wanted no one to flutter nearby; vomiting was a degrading sort of function for which I needed no help (as it was essentially involuntary) and desired no spectators. At times I would not throw up until I was certain that everyone was beyond earshot.

However, in the aftermath of a vicious siege or a miserable day, I welcomed parental affection, and on occasion, sought their nurturing touch. This latter trait proved to myself that I was not yet as self-sufficient as I would have liked to be; I needed mom and dad for more than food and lodging purposes, for part of me was still very much a little child and that fact would not disappear through false rationalization on my behalf. Although the child that I saw within myself I sometimes despised, having at least fostered selfish ideas if I had not also allowed myself to act upon the childish whims, I was glad to be able to revert to that being in times of physical weakness; perhaps, however, one never outgrows the need for a rea.s.suring hug, and gentle words.

Most of my visitors were adults. This suited me just fine, however, for I felt more at ease with people who were older than myself. With a few exceptions, I generally found myself inhibited around youth, for acceptability was judged within narrow and often unreasonable bounds with which I did not care to grapple. Moreover, because I did not have a particular crowd with whom I closely a.s.sociated, preferring to roam with one individual at a time, group situations flooded me with apprehension. One such group was church school. Although I truly enjoyed the adults who attended the services each Sunday, my March 21 entry reads: "I didn't want to go to church" (I really never like to).

It was the heart-felt sentiments of a rebellious youth, perhaps, who did not wish to sit through an hour-long service, yet my foremost objection surrounded the obligatory church school and Sunday evening MYF (Methodist Youth Fellowship; I rarely attended the MYF meetings during the administration of chemotherapy, although my parents had me begin again after the treatments had ceased). I attempted to make conversation or listen to those speaking nearby, yet could never include myself to an even modest degree. As I approached a circular gathering of kids, the circle would never break or widen to allow me to "join in." For awhile I stood behind the circle of heads, smiling stupidly at their jokes and listening to the flood of chatter surrounding people I'd never known, until the bell announced it was time to file to the cla.s.sroom. Eventually, I tired of the hopeless battle and spoke with my parents' friends or else made an early debut in the empty church cla.s.sroom and waited for the clock to herald the beginning of the hour in a less humiliating fashion.

That I did not share common friends with the church youth was complicated further by the fact that my "shyness" grew when ignored.

When I found myself in an awkward situation, I lost my ability to speak quite as effectively as if my voice box had been stolen. Thus, if I spoke a word or two and was left unanswered, verbalization became increasingly more difficult until I could not speak if I wanted to do so. I recall an outing (or retreat) on which Mom insisted I go, wherein, during a meeting to plan activities, my suggestion to go on a bike excursion was virtually eye-balled off the list as if it was an incredibly ridiculous thing to have mentioned. I swallowed hard, and wished I could melt into the wood of my bench. Later in the meeting other questions were tossed about and, having considered a likely answer to one, I opened my mouth, fully intending to speak, but nothing would pa.s.s through my lips. I shut my mouth again, rather shocked, yet happy that no one had seen my strange gesture.

Sunday school was not as bad as MYF, because of the teacher's presence and the short length of cla.s.s. I felt sorry for the teachers, poor volunteers who offered their services each Sunday morning, only to receive inattentive abuse. I often wished that the minister would have cancelled church school for junior and senior high, and instead allowed them to talk the hour away, since that is what happened anyway. When an attempt at discipline was made to silence the noise, the discussion planned by the teacher would all but collapse and students, or at least, many of them, would sit despondently in their seats, with plaster-cast pouts on their faces, and refuse to answer questions unless directly asked. Then the answer was generally a curt, "I don't know" followed by steamy silence. I wished that I had the clout and the following to right these proceedings, yet a plea on my behalf would have been unheard or ignored; unless my barrier would permit me to enter into the instructor's discussion and help in that meager way, I could do nothing to reinforce the teacher's strength except, through silence, keep the bedlam at its current level. Our church, I found, shared its problem with other denominations.