FOOD AS MEDICINE

Lyrics:  Yes, we have no bananas/ We have no bananas today/ We have string beans and onions/ cabbages and scallions/ And all kinds of fruit . . .

Five of us signed up for a nutrition course early this month.  It’s designed to quiet inflammation.  Inflammation is one of the health scourges of our day underlying many illnesses: atherosclerosis and arteriosclerosis, Irritable Bowel Syndrome, cancer, arthritis, diabetes, asthma, to name a few, and is a precursor or contributor to poor health in general.  Inflammation in itself is not bad; it is a natural part of an immune response.  Chronic inflammation is the problem.

In the last posting, I wrote about retirement home living and issues of dependency, specifically dependence on others for transportation.  Retirement home living also means you are dependent on the their restaurant, their food plan.  And their food plan, like most things, comes down to budget.  My mother always complained that the beef was too tough for her to eat and said  others felt the same way, often returning their meal to the kitchen.  She certainly wasn’t the only elder with dentures.  Because of budget constraints, the choice of cut usually meant cheaper and tougher meat selections  Still, there are ways to cook meats and render then tender (rhyming accidental).   Having served as the Community Health & Wellness nurse for nine months in an upscale retirement home, I know the problem first-hand.  Residents would complain to me about the food.  I would advise them to take it up at their resident’s meeting.  They would and then report that nothing had changed and I knew, for a fact, that nothing had.  I’m also aware that life wasn’t always easy for the residents and food was often used to vent their frustrations about life in general.

Our food choices are usually based on foods we were fed in our childhood.  In my age bracket that meant healthier foods from a nutrient rich soil, devoid of genetically modified seed crops, most pesticides, herbicides, synthetics, and antibiotics, i.e., organic.  Those same foods today are not that healthy and contribute to chronic inflammation.  I am learning a lot, a lot I’d rather wish not to know, but now that I do it forces me to be more selective about how I shop and how I eat.  If I should move into a retirement home, do I turn all that I’ve learned about healthy eating over to a chef and food budget that doesn’t observe or even know the value of foods as medicine, foods that promote health without negative side effects?

Lyrics: We have an old fashioned tomato/ A Long Island potato/ But yes we have no bananas/ We have no bananas today.  (From the 1923 show, Make It Snappy, and performed by Eddie Cantor.  Lyricists: Frank Silver and Irving Cohn.)

Queen of the Road

Lyrics:  Trailer for sale or rent/ Rooms to let, fifty cents/ No phone, no pool, no pets/ Ain’t got no cigarettes.

Just back from a favorite walk along the shores of Puget Sound.  Not much wildlife to see this time out; a lone harbor seal and a flock of squawking crows chasing an eagle.  The Seattle area has not seen real winter and there’s lots of new leafy growth on the roses.  Too early to prune.  Camellias are in bloom as are the flowering plum trees.  The holiday season already seems so long ago but the memories are fresh: of hosting a dinner party for a gathering of friends; of brunch with the “girls” from my high school days; of a special dinner out with a “dude” classmate from high school, and real mail in the mailbox.  Just as I depended on my sons to hang the outdoor lights and bring up the boxed tree from the basement, I now depend on them to take it all down again.  I don’t like being dependent.  Few do.  I consider myself quite fortunate in that I can drive wherever I need to go, day and night, whereas many of my classmates have had to let go of their wheels and depend on others for transportation.  Just as I hate to burden my sons with Christmas details, I hate the thought of being a burden on them for my transportation needs.

The elder years bring losses, more so collectively than at other periods of our lives.  The loss of car mobility is just one of them, but a biggie.  It’s a loss of independence, a loss of freedom.  It’s a quick trip down the hill to walk along the water.  The more attached we are to the subject/object lost, the more we can expect to struggle with the change.  After 55 years together, including all the ups and downs of married life, I’d grown quite attached to the Rose Man.  I really never realized how dependent I was on him until “increased necessity” required me to assume his responsibilities.

When he first suggested that we begin investigating retirement homes, I was totally resistive.  We did look at two.  The first one was a buy-in where after death 90% of the investment is returned to the heirs.  It would have been like living in a five-star resort hotel.  The cost of a one bedroom unit was twice the cost of our little brick home.  The second one was very nice and more realistic financially but so far out of town.  I’m still not ready to even decide on what to do and where to go but the thought of increased dependence in the future lurks.  A major concern is dependency on others for nearly everything vs. the interdependency in marriage.  It bothers me to depend on poorly paid employees, as kind and caring as they may be.  Retirement businesses do not pay well.

Meanwhile, the invitations arrive almost daily to attend a program, a tea, a lunch, and then tour retirement homes.  It’s good sense to know your options.

Lyrics:  About two hours of pushin’ broom/ Buys an eight by twelve four-bit room/ I’m a woman of means by no means/ Queen of the road.   (Song by Roger Miller)