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by C. Jeanette Tyson
When I was a girl there was such a thing as a health movement but it was
considered the providence of eccentrics and possibly witches. My grandfather
ate Grape Nuts, drank hot water with nothing but lemon, and kept a compost
pile, but then every family has its weirdoes.
It was, after all, the modern age. Of TV dinners
and putting men on the moon. People were tossing away the simple wisdoms in
favor of complicated science. And we see where that’s gotten us. Fat,
unhealthy and unclear on how to do anything about it.
Well, how do you?
During my formative years in North Carolina, I was
infatuated with an aunt who would whip up from Florida in her convertible
Mustang; she wore false eyelashes and read Cosmopolitan and I thought she
was the coolest thing walking on high heels. When she moved back to take
care of my ailing grandfather, I emulated her switch to wheat bread and took
her advice to stay away from McDonald’s, which was difficult since it was
where all the kids went because it was the only place to go. That’s how I
started. So let’s see, that’s been thirty years.
I should tell you I’m not an extreme eater, not
vegan or vegetarian or macrobiotic or any of those things that require an
off-putting amount of diligence. Peanut butter cookies are one of my
favorite things. And it wouldn’t be difficult to catch me washing down the
kids’ goldfish with a little red wine after they’ve gone to bed. But I
definitely do have a philosophy about food, and about food and life, and I
mostly practice it. Part of the philosophy is that I leave myself room to
improve, you see.
Recently the young woman who cares for my twins
while I do things like write this column asked my advice on vitamins.
"And I’ve heard something about detox tea," she said, "and
cleaning the bowels?" She looked a little green around the gills.
But she thought I certainly must know what I’m
doing. After all, there’s my fridge: the whole grain bread, fresh fruits,
the various milk alternatives, the hormone-free chicken. She’s seen the
foul-looking green stuff I drink and the mysterious stuff I squirt into it
and the handful of pills the kids sometimes help pop into my mouth.
(To digress, while I know it’s Vitamin E, I do
sometimes flash forward to a nodding therapist with a knowing, sympathetic
smile…so your mom had a little problem with pills, eh….)
Here are some things I may or may not take on any
given morning: uva ursi, dandelion, damian, motherwort, hawthorn, echinacea,
bee pollen, chrominium, CoQ10, flaxseed oil, and Superfood, which consists,
among other things, of spirulina blue-green algae, purple dulse seaweed and
beet root.
A drawer like mine can be daunting. And, too, it
could be a bunch of hokum. A younger cousin who lived with me in California
for a while got me started with herbs and other practices and it was
slow-going. There is knowledge and habit to be undone, a new language and
way of thinking to be absorbed, and there is skepticism all along the way.
When my father was diagnosed with cancer, my cousin
immediately suggested certain herbs. "I don’t think a few cups of tea
is going to save him," I remember yelling. I regret doing that, I
regret that my anguish was louder than her hope.
You have to come to believe. And you do, in time.
But first you just have to start.
I ventured over to The Herb Bar to see if they had
any advice for my sitter. Just walking into that store, I feel transformed.
Or calmed. Or at least it sure smells good. There are books to browse,
healing paths to contemplate. They have herbs in bulk, tinctures and flower
essences, and they have people who know exactly what to do with all those
things.
Jeffrey, who’s trained in acupuncture and Chinese
medicine, measured out two ounces of a liver cleansing blend for me. He
began to tell me about a lecture series he’ll soon be giving on herbs that
tone the sexual organs. At least that’s what I think he said. When he went
into an in-depth explanation of the possibilities of the extended orgasm, I
forgot to take notes.
But never fear, gentle reader, I did not waver from
finding out what it is you really want to know. Remember, how to get started
on the healthier life?
"Most people are bewildered," Jeffrey
admitted. "It’s tough for me not to overwhelm people because I know
too much. I have trouble meting it out."
He also said that while he likes to give people
options, that’s not what people usually want. Who, we of the Silver Bullet
tribe? Say it ain’t so.
So when the neophyte herbalist comes into the
store, Jeffrey gets the person to pick one issue. Then he involves her with
the fixing of that one thing. Usually that one thing leads to the next. And
to the next.
And pretty soon you have a drawer like mine and
sweat that stinks like the medicine cabinet of an old Chinese woman and
people think you’re a little weird but frankly, you feel great. Though
what you really feel good about is that you took one little step, then put
one foot after the other and then you stayed on the road and now you don’t
really have to think much about staying on the road, it’s just where you
are.
Annie Lammot is a wonderful writer who tells a story
about her brother as encouragement to other writers. The boy had been given
three months to write a report about birds and, the night before it was due,
had nothing. The boy was in tears at the enormity of the task when his
father put his arm around his shoulder and said ‘bird by bird, buddy, Just
take it bird by bird."
Good, basic instruction on just about anything:
diets, relationships, dreams.
I figured any woman who, of her own free will,
takes on the job of twins is brave. So I gave my friend a half jug of
Superfood and told her to stop eating the fast food. For now.
Maybe later we can talk about enemas.
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C. Jeanette Tyson is a freelance writer and mother of Maddy and Jackson. She
does not wait until the full moon to make tinctures because that seems,
well, a little extreme. Though it may not tomorrow. The Herb Bar is located
at 200 West Mary. Phone: 512.444.6251. Got a tip, suggestion, idea or feedback for A Little More on Your Plate?
Send it to Jeanette at: foodie@austinmama.com
