Archive for July, 2010
Travel Channel stole my idea for “Man v. Food“. I came up with the idea of pitting myself against food over thirty years ago. Okay, I’ll admit I’m not a man (NEWS FLASH!) and my battle with food isn’t compelling television but nonetheless I’ve been living Adam Richman’s, the host of the show, life for over three decades.
Since the age of thirteen, I’ve wrestled food to the ground until it gives. I’ve eaten a bowl of Cream of Wheat with raisins and brown sugar as my only meal for years. I’ve counted calories, read cookbooks like they were novels, and watched those around me enjoy food while I gnawed hungrily on carrots.
Growing up in chaos, food (and ultimately my weight) was the only thing I thought I could control. I’m ignoring you tacos with sour cream and guacomole. I don’t see you carrot cake with real cream cheese frosting. You mean nothing to me sourdough bread with butter. When the chaos of puberty kicked in, hormones roared and warred, my control over food went into overdrive.
My battle isn’t unique. Many women have a hate-hate relationship with food. And it’s not surprising I’m a registered dietitian since research shows the majority of dietitians have disordered eating. We are no different than therapists who sort out their childhoods while counseling others. We are no different than dentists with bad teeth or heart surgeons who smoke.
Over the years, I’ve tried to become more Zen in my attitude and approach when it comes to food. I have tried to appreciate food for the energy and health it provides. I have tried to sit silently (that means no TV or distractions) with my small portions of Greek yogurt, cup of blueberries, sprinkle of granola and thank the universe for my sustanance. I have tried to become more French (French Women Don’t Get Fat) in my appreciation for food. Oui! Oui!
While I have come a long way, baby, from counting every single calorie and eating a bowl of porridge for the day, I will never, ever, ever appreciate the show that is “Man v. Food.” The gluttony, the decadence, the volume of food Adam Richman devours is nauseating. I’m glad I’m not the only person to feel this way. David, who has a love-love relationship with food, finds the show hard to watch as well.
I may not ever be Buddha in my food sensibilities, but I won’t be Adam Richman either.
How do you feel about food? “Man v. Food?”
Taos sunset (David S. Martin)
For the last seven years I’ve gone to the Taos Summer Writers’ Conference. From that first Taos summer in Pam Houston’s short story workshop, I’ve been called back. Quite literally I’ve been lured back. Taos has seduced me.
What is it about Taos that is so enchanting?
Is it the high desert landscape? The mountains on one side of the desert prairie the river Gorge on the other?
Rio Grande Gorge
Is it the rain storms on summer afternoons? The thunder? The lightening?
Is it the diverse people, a mixture of Pueblo Native Americans, Spanish, Mexican and White ancestry? Hippies, rich and poor? Is it the history?
Yes, it is all these things, but it’s more. Last year Natalie Golberg, who wrote Writing Down the Bones and is a Taos resident, spoke at the conference about what draws her and other artists to Taos. “It’s the light and dark.” The way the sun shines on the landscape is magical, enchanting. But make no mistake New Mexico has a dark underbelly. Val Kilmer was quoted in “Rolling Stone” and “Esquire” that his home state was “the homicide capital of the world” and “80 percent of the people in my county are drunk.” He later apologized and said these were said out of concern for his New Mexico.
I was struck by the number of billboards from Santa Fe to Taos showing photos of children who were killed in alcohol related car accidents. White crosses with plastic flowers memorialize those who have been killed in car accidents usually alcohol or drug related. Espanola, a town on the highway to Taos, has the highest per capita death rate from heroin overdose in the nation. Goldberg says it’s the push and pull, the ying and yang of this play between light and dark that speaks to her, that inspires her.
Taos Pueblo
Taos mesmerizes with her beauty and captivates with her depth, her history of pain, the light and dark. She is complicated and this makes me love her more.
Taos mountains and gorge
Sun chases shadows away
Moon shines in the dark.
Taos Moon
What place takes your breath away?
Comment of the Day:
Fleet says, “That is an easy question to answer: Glacier Point, Yosemite Nat’l Park, right there in your very own California, followed by: less than a thousand feet below the summit of the Grand Teton looking east across to the Wind River range. Never made the top of the Grand, blown off….”
Crossing into New Mexico
New Mexico is the Land of Enchantment. No duh. Whoever came up with the state motto couldn’t have spent more than five minutes on the concept.
The minute we cross from Arizona state line into New Mexico, I kid you not, the sky changes to a spectacular blue. The clouds seem whiter and fluffier, the green of the trees and shrubs truer. All this leads me to sigh deeply. This year I figured out why this annual trip to New Mexico means so much to me, I don’t feel anxious or nervous which is my usual Modus Operondai. I feel at peace. I breath deeper and remember my dreams from the night before.
Chama is breathtaking. It is in the north central part of New Mexico. It’s known for the steam engine that takes you from Chama to Colorado, soot, steam and all. Last year, Jack and David took the train and while they thought it was a great adventure for the first hour, the next three weren’t as exciting.
Jack at the Chama Station
Running from the train in Chama
Chama is a mountain town with mountain people, at least the people who live there year round are. The town triples in size in the summer with tourists and people who own summer homes there. While the locals “love” the business, there is some ribbing they do to all of us who can’t handle the winter there. The last three winters has dwindled the town to the point where businesses had to be closed because there wasn’t enough people to hire.
David and Jack on Chama Pond
Our friends, Kim and Craig and their children, Isaac and Phoebe, allowed us to stay with them at their cabin on a pond. Heaven! No television just staring out at the pond and the grassy prairie looking for deer, fox and coyotes. We did see white tailed deer. There is a quiet in Chama I’d forgotten and rarely “hear.” I sat in a rocking chair. This is a profound statement. Anyone who knows me would say, “You sat in a rocking chair and did work on the computer.” Nope, no Internet. Thank God. “You sat in a rocking chair because both of your legs were broken.” Nope. “You sat in a rocking chair and someone had tied you there and left you to the elements.” No. No. No. I sat in a rocking chair and that’s it.
Toes on Chama Pond
Georgia O’Keefe has her Ghost Ranch right down the road from Chama where she painted and where the hills and mountains are peach colored and turn red in the sunset. You don’t need to be an artist to appreciate Chama. In fact it will inspire you to do things you wouldn’t normally do like write a haiku (a bad one even) to honor Chama:
Om Chama Mama
mountains steal my breath away
peace has come at last
Write a haiku about your favorite place.
Forget what I told you. When David, Jack and I start out on our road trip I thought about taking a plane. Why? The first 300 miles of our trip to Flagstaff are through the California and Arizona deserts. After El Centro, there is blah for miles. Hot blah for that matter.
El Centro, and who's that tourist with the palm tree coming out of her head?
An hour and half in to our drive we stop in El Centro, translated as “the center.” The center of what, I ask? The center of alfalfa fields? The center of the smell of fertilizer? The center of the sun? El Centro’s claim to fame is that it’s the largest city in the United States below sea level. For us, El Centro is where we stop at McDonald’s. Thank goodness for McDonald’s bathrooms, although they’re not the cleanest in the world, they’re a known entity and they’r everywhere even in The Center. Jack is already started about what he will and will not do. “I won’t go to sleep.” “I won’t stop turning up the volume on the DVD player.” “I won’t get out and go to the bathroom.” I say, “Get your butt out of the car and get to the bathroom.” I think about the next eight hours of this and taking a plane again.
Yuma, and Jack wouldn't take a photo with me
Yuma, Arizona is our next stop. Why doesn’t California have Cracker Barrels? Yuma is the sunniest place on earth, according to the “Guinness Book of World Records,” and it also has a Cracker Barrel. I think they’re might be two. Jack loves the stuffed deers and rifles hanging on the walls. I love the Pecan Pancakes with butter and maple syrup. Weight Watchers, Smeight Watchers. Sunny has a positive connotation. Yuma is hot and there isn’t any escaping the sun.
Are you getting the sense there isn’t much to do but drive and stop to pee and eat? Well, there is taking photos from the car because why stop in Dateland even though there is the Dateland Date Gardens and Travel Center. Travel Center? That’s right. There is a RV park. They also claim dates have more potassium than bananas and are high in fiber and iron. Also, did you know that dates are “nature’s candy” and are mentioned in the bible 50 times? Even though I could use some potassium, fiber and a religious experience, we drive on but not before I take this photo.
Dateland, AZ: Medjool dates anyone?
Digging the toes, cause I ain't digging the desert.
Gila Bend has a sign that reads, “Gila Bend Welcomes You. Home of 1700 Friendly People and Five Old Cars.” Clearly outdated in terms of the number of people and cars, still the people at Gila Bend are friendly. The Texaco we always stop at, which has not only fried chicken and a whole smorgasbord of lottery tickets to buy, they also have Mexican pottery pigs and pots, just like at home in San Diego. But we’re not in Kansas anymore…
Oh, Texaco, I've never really been but I'd sure like to go...Jack took this one.
Molly and Kelly hate road trips. Even now they whine, “When are we going to be there?” These are never long road trips, Disneyland, Palm Springs, Idyllwild, etc., all destinations less than three hours away. And there’s something about the backseat, the confined quarters, makes them regress from young adults to three-year-olds. “You’re on my side.” “Don’t breathe on me. Better yet, don’t breathe.” “Why are you so obnoxious?” “Turn the radio station. I HATE this song. Stop singing it in my ear or I’m going to punch you in the face.”
I love road trips. You will say it’s because I hate planes. Perhaps, but it’s more than that. I grew up on family road trips. I have only fond memories of these trips. I remember the thrum of the wheels on the road, my dad singing James Taylor “You’ve Got a Friend” and Carole King’s “Natural Woman,” and the smell of the ocean as we drove on Highway 1. I remember our trip to Disneyland, when other families were staying at the Disneyland Hotel, we stayed at Hollywood and Vine in some “seedy” hotel. Later I would find out that this is where the prostitutes and street kids hung out. But it also was where my dad said the “real” people lived and where he felt comfortable. I remember visiting communes, a goat farm in Oregon, and picking up driftwood along the Oregon coast. There are memories, lots of them, of driving to San Francisco to visit my godfather who had a girlfriend named Sunshine or Sunflower or Sundance. My family would go down to Fisherman’s Wharf to eat clam chowder and warm French bread. Then we’d take the trolley to Ghirardelli Square to have hot fudge sundaes.
My dad, ever the Eagle Scout, drove us to go camping to places like Joshua Tree (my favorite camping spot was #9 which is my favorite number), Green Valley Falls where Julie, my friend, slid down the falls and landed in a pool of water, and Borrego Springs. There were trips to Rosarito Beach to camp on the beach as the waves lapped the shore, and I tried to sleep with a sunburn and sand in my sleeping bag.
Why do I love road trips? It’s because nothing bad ever happened on any of these trips. And I was never, ever scared the way I was at home. Yes, during these trips my dad sang songs, my mom hummed along, and my brother and sister slept while I pressed my nose to the glass and watched the world go by.
Stay tuned for posts from our trip to Taos, and see you on the open road.
