Split Personality-Revised

I am blaming this photo from Cafe Johnsonia for what has transpired in my life this week.

Chup spent the week
in Regina, Canada. He'd call and say "You can't believe the snow!" Or, "I've never been so cold!" and I'd say "I can believe the snow!" Or, "I've been that cold!" Because I spent due time in Quebec freezing my insides. But let me tell you, a hot plate of poutine will get you through any inclement weather. That is my testimony to you.

I think food should be a perfectly fine way to weather life's storms. Sometimes my weight gain is justified by the fact that I survived. I got through nine (or was it ten?) months of flu-like symptoms because of El Azteca burritos and donuts. More weight was gained than needed, but did I mention I SURVIVED? After which I did a little thing called "gave birth."

(Have you read Pollan's In Defense of Food? Intriguing.)

This week it was all about bananas. I found my thoughts drifting to the sweet manna of the monkey gods. Bananas dripping with the golden lucre of caramel. Immersed in a pot of bubbling semi-sweet. Lounging against the landscape of BYU Creamery Vanilla mountains all snowy with heavy whipping cream. Pinned by boulders of graham cracker chunks. I love where this is going . . .

But I resisted.

Until last night when I called Page for our dinner appointment.

"We're having potato leek soup." She said like a waitress talking about the soup du jour.

"I was thinking about dessert, actually. That is all I want." I responded.

"Oh! Well we are also having applesauce! With cinnamon!"

How could you be so excited about applesauce with cinnamon? That--my reality--is why Page is skinnier than I am.

"I'll be up in an hour." I said as I packed The Chief in his stroller. We were off to purchase all needed ingredients. Know what? I was tired of needing a church social to justify desserts with bananas. Hot dang, we was having homemade banana splits!

After arriving at Page's house I was served a small bowl of potato leak soup, a slice of Page's wheat bread and an empty plate for my applesauce. Get this, it wasn't pre-mixed cinnamon applesauce. I was actually required to add cinnamon to my applesauce. And, the cinnamon came in the world's largest bottle of spice I've ever seen. Which, I suppose is reasonable if cinnamon is your only source of dessert.

Post-dinner there was a performance of The Beatles Let it Be as each child played his/her instrument of choice. Page and I added the vocals because my instrument is my voice (and gift to the world, subsequently). I was reminded of those profound lyrics:
Let it be,
Let it be,
Speaking words of wisdom,
Let it be.

As in, if you want a banana split, let it be.

And then, I did.

I wasn't going to post today, but then The Councilwoman called to say "How will I know that you are ok if you don't post on your blog?" And ended the conversation with, "I am hanging up now so that you can go post." And as the story goes, after the phone call I decided to instead go back to bed, only to be visited by the Ghost of Disobedience who told me about a certain hell for blogging daughters who don't post when their mothers tell them to . . .

Second paragraph first line actually read: Food is a perfectly fine way to weather life's storms.

But that is a lie, right? Food abuse is serious. Food deserves respect and not emotional-based mistreatment. I am serious and I might need a therapist.

So, I repented and revised: I think food should be a perfectly fine way to weather life's storms.

Because I wish I could eat my way out of some of the spots I get into.

And re: your e-mail (you know who) there is no double entendre involving Chup's absence and bananas. For the shame.

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