NaBloPoMo #20: Are those really my keywords?

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Three weird things about me: #2

2. I'm a weird grandma. People will say to me -- because it's obvious I dote on this child -- "Oh, I'll bet you have fun spoiling that granddaughter of yours! You probably spoil her every chance you get."

Sorry to disappoint. Nope. First, I don't really know what it means to spoil a kid. She's not meat. Well, technically parts of her are meat. Let me rephrase that. She's not milk.

And second, I'm not much different with Coraline than I was with my kids. I certainly shop a lot less for her than I did for them. I have one basket of board books and cheap toys like big colorful pom poms, wooden blocks, an old telephone handset, and a farm animal See 'n Say. And there's a Little Tykes slide I bought for $5 at a garage sale and a blue plastic rocking horse I paid about the same for. That's it. I rarely buy her clothes, unless it's for a special occasion, although I've been known to go wild and spend $12 at Good Will when I'm flush. OK, and I've sprung for her Christmas and birthday dresses because that was kind of written into the contract.

Her other grandmother buys her tons of shit. They have a toy room for her at their house. And she buys lots of clothes and shoes. And she gives her suckers and Pringles and lets her watch an Elmo video. I guess that would be called spoiling, but I don't think it will make her rotten. It's just a lot of stuff, and it makes her other grandma feel good to buy that stuff for her.

Even if I wanted to, my daughter Elvira would have to have "the talk" with me if I bought Coraline more stuff. Their house is full already. And I'm fine with that. Most of the toys I see in the stores require batteries so they can make annoying, or even alarming, noises. She had one that would randomly come to life and say, "Play with me!" and "I love you." That's some creepy fucking shit right there. Besides most of them are nothing more than advertisements for Disney or Sesame Street. Fuck that.

So I don't do any of that. We've watched a video of cows mooing at least 1000 times, but no Elmo here. Stuffed Cookie Monster, of course. I'm weird, not crazy.  But no Elmo videos.

It's not that I don't enjoy being generous. I do. But I don't want my relationship with Coraline to be based on what I buy her or what new thing I've got for her every time she comes to visit. Besides I played with rocks and good black Iowa dirt when I was a kid. She should consider herself lucky.

When she's here we go to a park or for a walk to the nearby art institute to visit the big steel lion sculpture she's taken a liking to. We read lots of books or just the same one over and over and over. We cook together. She stands on a chair and helps by splashing water and soap bubbles around in the sink. And by tasting a bit of everything I chop up. We water the flowers and tomatoes. It's surprising how entertaining that is to a 2-year-old. Or we rock in the rocking chair my grandma rocked both my mom and me in, and I sing to her. We manage to stay pretty fucking busy in spite of the sparsity of my toy box and my refusal to turn on the TV.

I don't give her much sugar (and of course I don't buy Happy Meals. See #1) because I don't think it's good for her. In other words, I won't buy her love with junk food either. We eat whole, unprocessed food like grilled chicken, steak, baked sweet potatoes, homemade yogurt .... and she likes it. I ate bugs and sticks when I was a kid. I suppose in this way I am spoiling her.

So I suspect I'm a weird grandma. I'm head over heels about that child, but I'm not a spoiler. I realize that could come back to bite my ass someday if she turns into a shallow little mall rat, but if that happens, I won't want to be around her either.

Besides, I'm a selfish bitch. I'd rather spend my money on drugs, sex and rock 'n roll wine and guitars ... for myself.

And that's another thing. I can safely say most grandmas don't play in a band. Or go out to karaoke a couple times a month. And I'm still not sure how I'll explain this blog someday -- especially that photo of me dancing on a pole. But it wouldn't matter what I did. There's a white-haired, slowed-down stereotype of what a grandmother is, and I don't fit it. I might someday, but for now I'm just fine with being a weird grandma.

Three weird things about me: #1

1. I was driving home from church one Sunday when I realized I was ravenous. Hours earlier I'd run out of the house 5 minutes late as usual, and only had time to gobble down a cup of homemade yogurt before I left. My stomach felt twisted into a lonely knot, a feeling it's not used to. Poor thing never misses a meal or a snack. (Please don't ask me how my fucking diet's going. Still 25 pounds to go.)

I realized the pantry was kind of bare at home. I hadn't shopped for groceries in 2 weeks. As I considered my options, I realized it would probably be eggs again, at least until I could get to Kroger and stock up.

As I sat at a stop light waiting to turn onto the interstate ramp toward home, I was struck by a sudden revelation:  I'd just passed at least half a dozen fast food restaurants, and not once did I consider stopping and getting something to eat. Dozens .... no, thousands of people would drive through or  pick up food at those places that Sunday. They would just stop wherever they were and eat when they were hungry. Yet I didn't even consider doing that. In fact, I didn't even see those places as food options.

photo credit:
storageeffect.seagate.media.com

What the hell is wrong with me? I wondered. Why would I choose being hungry over stopping and seeing what they had to offer? Have I lost my instincts? Surely hunter/gatherers ate whatever they could find wherever they could find it, even if they had to eat bugs or dirty old roots. Fast food is our modern nuts and berries, isn't it? It's practically a paleo diet! Why didn't I just stop and get a delicious burger and fries like a normal person?"

Later that day two pieces of information crossed my Facebook newsfeed. The first one was this abstract of a study done of the ingredients in fast food burgers. Here's the relevant information. The researchers studied burgers from 8 different fast food restaurants, and discovered that "[f]ast food hamburgers are comprised of little meat (median, 12.1%). Approximately half of their weight is made up of water. Unexpected tissue types found in some hamburgers included bone, cartilage, and plant material; no brain tissue was present. Sarcocystis parasites were discovered in 2 hamburgers."

In other words, only about 12% of that fast food burger is burger. Half is water, but that leaves another 38% unaccounted for. It's that 38% that makes me suspicious.

And then my local newspaper posted a video of microscopic photos someone had taken of chicken mcnuggets.

Even though I find the video somewhat exploitative -- the music, the panning in on tiny unrecognizable spots, the repetitive shots -- what they're showing there doesn't look like food. Of course, neither does the pink goo in this video.

I can't put that shit in my mouth, and I've eaten a lot of weird foods, including everything from snails to turtles to testicles. I'm not easily grossed out, and I'm fine with eating all of the animal. Please do. But I also want to know what I'm eating; I want a choice about what I'm eating; and I want to know that what I'm eating is still food. That pink shit crosses the line.

I guess I'm just not that small-town Iowa girl who only got McDonald's in Des Moines at most once a year. Back then, a 25-cent cheeseburger, fries and an orange drink was such a delicious treat. It probably would still taste delicious, but I'm both jaded and sensitized to mystery meat, microscopic hairs and pink goo. It looks like stuff I'd expect to find in the Clone-a-Willy kit.

It's not that I only eat at home. I'm weird, but I'm not a freak. I eat out fairly regularly. When I do, I pay a little more for my food, but I eat where I know the food is real, and so are the people who own the restaurant. Sometimes I even know the owner. It's not as quick nor as easy as grabbing a burger and fries to eat on the road -- can't do that with a salad. I've tried. But I'd rather be hungry.

And given the number of burgers McDonald's alone has served, I think that makes me a weirdo.

If you were going to list the things that make you weird, what would be one of them?


Disclaimer: I don't give a shit if you eat McDonald's burgers and nuggets every day. It's really not my business. This is all about me. I will admit just writing this is making me crave a Wendy's single ... hard. If someone walked into my house with one, I'd insist on at least one bite. So if you do eat that shit, I'm not hatin'.