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canyouhearthelight · 3 years

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The Miys, Ch. 139

Day Two of the Food Festival! This one has a specific request from @baelpenrose, which was fun to play with in the Low-Stim session (always on day 2).

To everyone who has reached out to tell me how much they are enjoying getting to see Sophia actually relax and just have fun for once.... Y’all are the best! It’s been fun writing it, too.

New reader shout outs go to @corvallis, @penguin--person, @amphibiousuprising, @chip5-0, and I think @lostsoul8822. I think that’s everyone... If I missed you, please DM me, and I’ll add you to the next chapter.

On with the show!

The first day of the Festival, Conor and I ended up staying through not only Maverick’s shift but the one after, just so we could drag him to our favorite spots. Day two, however, Conor was on deck as Support Personnel as well as Maverick, and neither were assigned to me - for the first half of day two, we were in the Low Stim Mode, so I was pretty sure I could brave it on my own with everyone else’s proximity alerts and my own personal hyper-alertness preventing accidental bumps.

For me, the most exciting part was the different foods offered, and the fact that I could focus on just the food. Not having to ignore the other stimuli was a completely relaxing experience. The visual of the mural, with everything present, was still completely different in the even, indirect lighting. The dual nature of it was toned down significantly, leading to the overall feel being softer and overall more pleasant without being distracting.

Halfway through a very good pad thai, I spotted Derek and Sam sitting with Ivan and poking at something that Sam was clearly excited about and Derek was equally doubtful of. I circled around so they could see me approaching, and made a point to wave. “What do you think?” I asked, trying to sign as I spoke but hampered by the food in my hands.

“It was a good try,” Derek confessed, cheeks stuffed with something that had previously been on a plate to his left as a backup plan.

Setting my food down, I grinned mischievously. “Doing my best,” I signed, leading to laughter on all sides.

“You just told him you do him the best,” Ivan murmured, my face immediately flooding red.

“That is NOT what I meant,” I tried to explain out loud, over-enunciating while I clenched my hands in embarrassment.

To his credit, Derek signed what he seemed to understand I meant, emphasizing each sign. It was clear that I had gotten several out of order and added one that changed everything overall.

After repeating the signs and getting confirmation, I shook my head and sighed dramatically. “I tried.”

Ivan was trembling with laughter. “You. You did,” he admitted. “But that was… wow.” His head dropped on his hands as he shook silently.

“Souffle pancakes?” I offered, finger spelling the word souffle since I had no freaking clue how to actually sign it.

“Egg pancake,” Derek explained, poking the one I offered and contemplating the jiggle.

“It’s cinnamon sugar, and not gooey,” I explained.

Apparently I got that one right, because Derek immediately stabbed a piece and shoved it in his mouth. The only judgement I needed was the fact that he dragged the entire remaining pancake onto his plate.

Sam watched his roommate before contemplating his own sample. Before he could even ask, I held up a cup full of macerated berries. “And fruit topping for you, sir.”

“Are those my berries?” he asked, skeptical.

I shook my head. “Bog standard, from the consoles. Your vegetables and fruits are being used in the other shifts. We didn’t want to give anyone here unexpected tastes.”

He nodded and dumped the entire cup of fruit over his pancake, digging in happily.

Ivan batted his eyes at me until I explained. “Sam’s produce has… unexpected pairings. Tomatoes that pair with cheesecake and wines, strawberries that really go well with steak…”

“The mango that goes with beer but not fish?”

“Yeah, that one. Von soil does strange things to produce, turns out.”

“Those matcha-edamame are amazing though.”

“For ice cream, yes. For tea, less so. They’re like… cooking matcha, almost.” I laughed. They actually worked better for ice cream than matcha did, oddly - reducing the sugar content but still giving the same flavor.

“One vendor on the last day is using nothing but my produce,” Sam announced happily. “They asked my permission.”

“That’s good!” I encouraged him. “They should always ask your permission to do things like that.”

“People ask with requisition forms,” he agreed. “Mona asked in person.”

Note to self: much more patronage at Mona’s normal spot, I swore in my head. She specialized in vegetarian dishes, and honestly made some of the best fried cabbage I’d had in my life. Knowing that she was so considerate of Sam cemented her as my new favorite takeaway place.

After a little more chat, I finally waved my goodbyes to everyone and strolled slowly to the next tempting stall. I wasn’t really in any hurry, and did more people-watching than I did eating. Latkes were infinitely more interesting when I could overhear people arguing over family recipes. A small bowl of udon was delicious, but not nearly as flavorful as the discussion around hot versus cold, what to top them with, egg or no egg… the only thing anyone seemed to agree on was that the smiling vendor ‘obviously’ ground their own flour, because the flour provided by the consoles was the wrong texture.

Another mental note: don’t learn to make udon. Despite what I had previously believed, it takes a lifetime to make it right, turns out.

Wandering further down, I was delighted by the discovery of something that was very clearly Hannah’s doing: demonstrations of older food prep techniques. Simon winked at me as he carried on a demonstration of - insanely - how to hand pull toffee. I didn’t know he could do that. Muna was demonstrating the correct way to make chapatis and handing them out as fast as she was making them. Clearly, she had been making them her whole life, because at no point did I actually see her look at them, but every single one was perfect.

Laughter erupted over my shoulder, and I whipped my head around to see the source. After wading through a crowd of smiling faces, I couldn’t help but join in. There, right in front of the entire Ark, was Maverick trying to flip takoyaki as fast as the person demonstrating, and ending up with just a mess of octopus and batter on his side. Both Maverick and the person guiding him were smiling, though, and in the end, the vendor handed Maverick four perfectly-round balls and quickly devoured all of the - less shapely, so to speak - ones on my partner’s side. With an exuberant cheer and extending his arms wide to the crowd, the man exclaimed “The first takoyaki of a new student are always my favorite! Nothing tastes better!”

After bowing to his sensei, Maverick turned and spotted me, face still flushed with laughter. He offered his food to a smaller man I did not recognize, who must have been the person Maverick was Supporting, before waving to me and continuing on. Despite the urge to crush him in a hug, I forced my feet to stay in place and reminded myself that he was working.

By the time I trusted myself not to race after him, I realized someone had been trying to get my attention and had resorted to messaging me rather than shouting. “Phee, I don’t know what la-la land you are lost in, but look 100 yards to your four.”

The hell was Arthur doing here? He wasn’t scheduled to work this shift, as far as I was aware. Craning my neck over my shoulder, I turned to see… Apparently a hallucination. It had to be. There was no chance in any of the nine hells that Arthur Farro was dishing out spaghetti, much less smiling while doing it.

Almost dreamlike, I found myself drifting over to confirm that I was wrong, only to be startled when he shoved a plate with not only spaghetti but two gorgeous pieces of garlic bread under my nose. “Special plates, you can’t smell anything unless it’s on purpose.”

“You… Spaghetti?” I asked, eloquent as ever.

“Family recipe.”

“Leaning into the stereotype a bit, aren’t you?” I asked carefully before shoving as much of one thick, crusty piece of toast in my mouth as I could.

He shook his head. “Anyone who tells you their family is Italian and denies having a family recipe for anything is a damned liar.”

Skeptically, I took a bite. It was amazing. “Ah ee deh rehahee,” I tried to get out around the heap of pasta I was steadily shoving in my mouth.

“Maverick is a very bad influence on your table manners,” he observed drily, plating more portions and handing them out. “And no. Not happening.”

“You know I can cook.”

“Not the point. I also know that you will fiddle with it until it is unrecognizable, so there’s really no point in giving it to you.”

Defiantly, I took a smaller bite and chewed carefully. “Garlic, onions, obviously. Sausage and minced… Lamb? But that’s probably just for this session, knowing you it’s spicy sausage regularly. I’m not getting carrot, though, so no soffritto? Unexpected…. Is that thyme, I’m tasting?”

“Rosemary, you heathen. And you’re still wrong.”

I mumbled to myself. “What did I get wrong? It’s gotta be the lamb… maybe he does usually use the lamb? I’m certain it is lamb…”

“It is lamb, and no, I don’t usually use it. But you left several things out.”

I stared at the plate again, confused. “I didn’t think I needed to mention the tomatoes….”

“Basil… oregano….” he drawled.

“Duhhh?” I poked through the last bite on my plate, sniffing it, trying to figure out what I was missing. “Fine, you win, I’m lost.”

“Mushrooms, Sophia. There’s mushrooms. Jeezus. It was an easy one, too.” He showed me a bowl full of what looked like cooked and crumbled sausage, only for me to realize it was the tiniest diced mushrooms I had ever seen in my life.

“I am dying to know how you got them that small.”

“With a knife?” He arched an eyebrow at me as he turned to start another batch of sauce.

“Yeah, no shit, Arthur.”

“Correct, there is no shit in the spaghetti,” he confirmed cheekily as the vegetables started sizzling.

“Asshole,” I laughed, scraping the remaining sauce from my plate with the piece of bread I saved just for that purpose. Just as I was frowning at the sauce-less plate and remaining half-piece of bread, a scalding hot dollop of fresh sauce invaded my vision.

“You love me, because I won’t let you frown at your bread like that.”

Fiiiinnnne I sighed in my head as I shoved a piece of saucy, saucy bread into my cheeks and waggled my fingers to let him get back to work.

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#the miys #found family #humans are weird #science fiction #aliens #apocalypse #humans are space orcs #humans are space fae #earth is space australia #post apocalypse #post post apocalypse #original science fiction #original sci fi #original writing

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mor-beck-more-problems · 4 years

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Melon-cholia || Morgan & Remmy

They really should put a warning sign in front of that watermelon stand at the farmer’s market.

@whatsin-yourhead

After Remmy had gone over to Deirdre’s (and Morgan’s??) for the second time, the two of them had decided Remmy needed some new, fresh ingredients. And with a rather dramatic declaration, Morgan had agreed to take Remmy to the Farmer’s Market. Remmy hadn’t had the will to fight it, so here they were now, at the Farmer’s Market, perusing the stands. Remmy had only been to one other market like this, and it wasn’t in America. There were lots of cool fresh fruit stands and Remmy, of course, had to stop at all of them and examine them. They were already putting together a fun recipe in their mind that they could do with all these local squash and berries, which were the only crops really in bloom right now, especially with the current conditions. When they reached the next gourd stand, Remmy tugged on Morgan’s sleeve. “Lookit the baby spaghetti squash!” they said, running up and grabbing one, like a kid in a candy shop. This was a candy shop to them. If only they could still taste it all. “Not good for baking, but hey-- this stuff is so good. It makes really good pasta, actually. I’m not the best at doing it, but if you should definitely try it if you haven’t!”

Morgan was excited to be out of the house with Remmy, especially to somewhere that made both of them so excited. With Miriam still out there and so many near-death experiences in her wake, having a semi-indestructible friend added a certain level of ease. She strolled with her friend, a picnic basket dangling from each hand. She beamed as Remmy ran off, more excited than she’d seen them the last couple of times. She’d have thought that a normal movie night or two would have brightened their day, but there was something hanging over her friend. But maybe she just hadn’t hit the right button. “We should get some! I think squash has less iron than your regular pasta anyways. Maybe it’ll spice up pasta night.” She waved at the vendor and handed them exact change before sticking a couple into her basket. “How do you know so much about food? I could’ve sworn you were living like a college kid when you first rolled into town. Ooh, and what kind of pie were you thinking of? I sense some kind of flavor adventure on your mind.”

“Oh, um, I always really liked cooking,” Remmy explained as they picked out the best ones, setting them in Morgan’s basket. “My mom was a professional baker, she like, had her own place, I guess. I mean, I never got to see it or anything, since, you know…” they trailed off a little, before moving on quickly, “but I guess I picked up that from her. The um...cooking food thing. It’s like, my way of destressing. You just get to like, put stuff together and make something and it’s like...following recipes and stuff is easy. I think I’m better at baking than regular cooking cause of that.” They headed over to the next stand, an organically grown local fruit stand, and started picking through the berries. “Oh, um...I’m thinking some sort of wildberry or mixed berry rhubarb. They’re about the only kinds growing right now and it’s always an easy flavor to make good.” Not that they would know anymore. They were practically salivating at the idea of this pie. Maybe they’d make a second one with brains, so they could enjoy some, too. “Do you think that’d be good?”

“Oh, Rem--” Morgan said softly. “Of course, yeah. Um,” she felt weird and sheepish contributing, when Remmy knew so little about their own mother, when all this had started as a way to soothe that void. “My mom liked to say that cooking was the most accessible magic in the world. Cooking and baking was one of the times we mostly got along. Later, anyway, when I was better at it. She taught me all the good tricks, including how to make burgers the way Nora likes.” They moved on from the stand and closer towards the fruit vendors. “Rhubarb is amazing! And it’ll be out of season soon. The berries will balance it out, I think. The hardest part is always getting the rhubarb texture just right. And then we’ll maybe do the top crust in the shape of animals and bones? Or flowers and bones? I don’t know, but practicing shapes the last time I tried was really fun, and it’ll come out way less lumpy with you to make them since you’re an actual artist.” She searched the rows, trying not to get too distracted by the first bushel of blueberries. “Hey,” she said. “Is that...a watermelon stand?”

“I’ve never really cooked with anyone else,” Remmy commented off hand, picking up a bushel of raspberries that looked nice and fresh. The set it in their little basket before moving on to the blackberries. “I think it sounds good, too! I love rhubarb. Hopefully the sweetness of the berries will cut the sourness of it like strawberries do, but they’re not in season yet.” They smiled up at her. “We can definitely do little shapes. I think flowers and bones would be fun. But like-- I’m not really an artist. I’m sure yours were fine, anyway.” They put another bushel in their basket before pausing. “Watermelon? But...they’re not in season…” They wandered a bit closer. It was a whole patch of them, still on the vine, sitting in a makeshift plot with dirt. As they got closer they even noticed that these melons were larger than normal, too. “Wow, I didn’t think you could get these two grow way up here this early,” they said nonchalantly to the guy tilling the dirt beside them. He didn’t speak. Remmy looked back at Morgan. “Should we get a water--” they started, but in the next second, something was biting down on the hand they had extended towards the fruit with a loud CRUNCH! noise.

Morgan wasn’t sure what to make of the watermelon patch out of nowhere. It wasn’t the right season for them, not even close. And yet, they did look strangely ripe, so fat and green Morgan could already taste the juice in her mouth. And she’d never tried to make anything with watermelon before. They were always perfect sliced and scooped just as they were. But maybe a nice loaf, or some cookies… Morgan wandered into the patch while she thought, considering the possibilities. She was in too deep by the time she heard a wet, crunching sound next to her. Morgan turned, startled, and saw Remmy lift a bloody, handless arm from a watermelon with two perfect rows of sharp, dripping teeth. The two of them screamed. Morgan backed away, gasping with disbelief. She only made it a few feet before a vine snapped behind her ankle and she was on her back, staring at four more hungry mouths like the one that had snapped at her friend. “Remmy!” She shrieked.

Remmy was quiet for a long time, just staring at the spot where their hand was inside a watermelon’s mouth. A watermelon. Had their hand. In its mouth. A watermelon. Finally, it let go and Remmy pulled their arm back, now a stump. They looked at Morgan. They both screamed, Remmy more so about the watermelon with a mouth than their handless stump. It had already started regrowing, anyway. Stumbling back, Remmy turned to try and leap out of the patch, but Morgan called out their name and they swerved, tripping over vines and lumps of watermelon. Four of them were descending on Morgan. Remmy’s body stiffened and a sudden feeling came over them. They remembered the feeling down at the beach, punching through lobsters to keep them away from their friends. They remembered being in the ring, the crowd cheering them on excitedly. Show them what it means to be a monster, Felix had said. Make them feel it. Remmy leapt up quickly, then, senses honing. They pulled a fist back before letting it punch straight through one of the melons. The next one got a swift kick. The third got the back end of their heel, watermelon guts? Splashing everywhere. Remmy swerved on the fourth, clasped their hands-- one made only of bone-- and slammed them down on top of it, smashing it as if it’d fallen from a twenty foot roof. “Go!” they shouted, turning to Morgan, trying to lift her up, tearing at the vine. “C’mon, let’s go!”

Morgan was scrambling on her back, too frightened to use her hands for alchemy, too frightened to find the coordination to get to her feet. She felt one on her leg, snapping down and smacked it with her fist, denting the shell. She pushed herself, panting with fear all the while, and funneled energy out of her cuff to turn the fruit into a wave of water. It vanished with a splash as Remmy pulled on her. Morgan took their arm and clung on tight, kicking her feet up and running off with them, the tiny, pointy fangs, still lodged in her calf. “What was that! What was that? Did you see that? And how did you--” Morgan cried out again and pulled away. “Shit, your--your hand--shit--doesn’t that hurt? Shit, Remmy, it got you and you just--shit.”

There were sounds of screaming as Remmy yanked Morgan out and away and towards safety, practically carrying her. A man was shouting after tham, people were scattering, but Remmy could deal with that later. Right now, they just needed to get Morgan away from this. Away from the danger. Protect her. Save her. Hands-- well, hand-- covered in watermelon juice and dirt, the other slowly growing its way back, sinew and muscle wrapping around the exposed bone. Finally, Morgan’ yanked away and Remmy was thrown back into the present, rather suddenly. Their head spun a moment, and they blinked. Everything finally came back to real time. Noise came back full rush and Remmy shook their head, straightening out their vision. “I--” they looked down at their hand, “it’s fine. Doesn’t hurt.” Looked back up at Morgan, still finding it difficult to concentrate. They smelled blood, eyes dropping to her leg. “You’re hurt. We-- we have to get back to the car. You have a first aid kit in the car, right? Deirdre’s gonna be so mad I let you get hurt,” they said, words tumbling from their mouth, trying to fill the spaces between Morgan’s questions so that they wouldn’t have to answer them.

“I’m hurt? Are you--” Morgan checked herself. She was half soaked on one side and--oh. The teeth. She hadn’t been accounting for the teeth, and they were lodged, in two perfect, red streaked smiles, down her leg. Not too deep, she was sure she’d feel it worse if they were, but thin streaks of blood were already running down her skin. Morgan sighed. “You know, if this is just going to keep happening the rest of the year, maybe you can bottle me the trick to your regrowable skin. I would love to, you know, just once, not feel like the kids working at Rite-Aid are judging me when I roll in again.” She braced herself against Remmy looking very determinedly away from the sinew of their regrowing muscle. It made her stomach turn to linger on, it didn’t seem like a part of them at all, it looked wrong. “She’ll freak out and want to be my personal escort the next time I--well, at this point, do anything. But if it wasn’t for you I might be on a gurney back to Nurse Denise and not regrowing my extremities!” Morgan took a minute to reign in her breathing. She was hot, she was throbbing in her ears, “If we can just...um...sit somewhere with less teeth? That would be great…”

“It’s not magic, it’s because I’m dead,” Remmy said flatly, before shaking off the angry thought that was bubbling in their stomach. They shook their head, helped Morgan over somewhere to sit and kneeled in front of her. “Lemme see it,” they said, reaching out to start plucking the teeth that had stuck in her skin. Remmy looked around for something to help staunch the blood and clean it up, but all they had was an old napkin they’d stuffed into their pocket. They dabbed at the blood, trying not to look up at Morgan, to let her see the sudden rise of anxiety and fear creeping onto their face. “It’s...it’s not too bad. Doesn’t look too deep. Here…hold this, I’m gonna try and pull the rest of the um, teeth out.”

“I didn’t mean—” Morgan began, but Remmy looked more upset than any explanation could cover. When she was sitting on one of the benches laid out for the event she bent down to try and look at them. “I’m sorry, Remmy,” she said solemnly. “I wasn’t thinking like...like that. I’m sorry.” Remmy was very focused, however, and she didn’t know how to reach through their concentration. It didn’t help that she really did need those teeth out. Morgan took hold of the napkin and squeezed it tight in her fist as Remmy plucked away at each one. She clenched her jaw and did her best to hold still, to swallow her whimpers of pain. She was getting better at it, with all the practice her curse had been giving her, but a strangled sound still burst from her mouth as Remmy worked at one that was proving a little tricky. She flushed, embarrassed, and tried to think of something to say. “Thank you,” she said lamely.

“It’s fine,” Remmy said after a long time, prying the last tooth out of Morgan’s leg as best they could and tossing it into the grass. The screaming from down at the market had seemed to stop and Remmy cast a glance down that way to double check. Nothing to see. “I know.” They stood up, holding their hand out to her. “We should, um, get you home. So that we can like, properly take care of that. Clean it out, make sure there’s no like, debris in it.” Their hand that had gotten snacked on was now fully back, and they flexed the fingers, making sure to offer Morgan the one that hadn’t just regrown. Blanche always got sick about it, so they wanted to make sure Morgan didn’t get upset, either. It was still something they were getting used to themself, but they didn’t really have the ability to dwell on it like others. It was a part of them, now. A part of being undead. “You don’t have to thank me. I was just, you know...doing what any friend would. Should. Um...protecting you.”

Morgan took Remmy’s hand and stood-- “--Shit!” And sagged against them as her leg lit up with pain. Without the teeth, without the threat of losing her extremities as Remmy had, the rest of her body came alive, exhausted and hurting. “I’m fine,” she said quicky. “It’s not serious.I just...might need you a little after all. And there is, um, first aid in the Subaru. Starting to learn my lesson there a little there. Be prepared!” She adjusted an arm around Remmy’s shoulders, supporting herself against their weight as she limped along. “I know you did it because you’re a good friend, but I can still appreciate you, Rem. And now that we’re not in danger--are you okay?” They seemed...off, half closed. The Remmy that Morgan was most familiar with didn’t have so many barriers, certainly not ones that seemed so...firm, even cold.”You can tell me the truth, Remmy,” she said.

Remmy caught Morgan as she sagged, her entire weight nothing more to them than a sack of potatoes. They put an arm around her waist to help her walk, leading them slowly back towards the car, a little disappointed they’d lost all the fresh fruit, but ultimately relieved they’d gotten away almost scott-free. Their hand wasn’t a loss, but Morgan’s wounded leg hung heavy on Remmy’s conscience. One hesitation and this was the cost. It had been easier, this time, because they had been watermelons. They weren’t really alive. Maybe brought to life by magic. But the thought of having to do that against someone still rattled in Remmy’s chest like marbles. They knew they couldn’t keep walking this line of not acting or only sometimes acting. The Ring could help with that. It was helping with that. But that wasn’t important right now. Remmy didn’t answer until they got to the car. “I just did what any friend would do,” they said quietly, opening the car door and setting Morgan inside on the seat. “I’m fine. I was never really in any danger, you know.” Held up their hand. “My limbs grow back, remember?” They paused, looked around. “Where’s the kit?”

“No,” Morgan said quietly. “Rem, you--you matter.” What was it with the people in her life not getting that? First Deirdre, sometimes Skylar, sometimes Blanche, and now Remmy. She took the kit herself out of the glovebox and tried to get to work, clumsy with pain and frustration. She passed it to her friend, then held it back, carefully raising her gaze to meet theirs. “Stop being closed off and weird. You don’t have to tell me, I know I’m still earning back your trust, but don’t be like that. Please.”

Remmy looked at Morgan, kneeling in front of her again. They were tired of arguing with people that they didn’t. They really didn’t. They weren’t supposed to even be alive, so how could they possibly even matter? But they didn’t need to dump that on Morgan. “Okay,” they said quietly, reaching for the kit when Morgan pulled it back. Ruffled their brow. “I’m not,” they insisted, “I’m not being weird. That’s not-- it’s not about that. About you...I trust you. You don’t have to earn that back. It was never gone.”

Morgan slowly handed Remmy the first aid kit to patch her up. Their hands were a lot steadier and they knew what they were doing a little better than she did. “Fine,” she mumbled. She was quiet for a moment, letting them work in silence. What was it then? What was wrong. “You are, though,” she said. “Normally you’d be telling me things. Something with a girl, or with hunters, or Blanche or you other supernatural friends. I don’t know what it is, what’s bad enough that you can’t talk about it, but I want you to be okay. If I can do anything to help get you there, I want you to at least feel like you can tell me. Okay?”

Remmy took the kit and set to patching up Morgan’s leg. Luckily she wouldn’t need stitches, but it would be sore for a few days. They pulled open an alcohol pad and looked up at her. “This might um, sting a little?” Then dabbed at her leg with the swab, trying to be gentle as she flinched. “I’m not,” they insisted quietly again, but they knew that was a lie. “I mean...there’s just nothing to tell. My life isn’t as exciting as yours, you know? It’s just been...baking and work and making sure Blanche is okay. We um-- got a new pet. Something called a Baku? It eats nightmares, so that’s cool. Well, it’s Blanche’s pet, not mine. She named her Amy Bakiago. We call her Iago for short,” they went on, pulling out some gauze and bandages to finish patching her up. “I’m glad the sun is back. That’s neat. Do you know how it happened? Was it beach lobsters again?”

Morgan had to look away to keep from squirming. In her sudden wave of injuries and accidents, she had learned that if she just looked away, she could almost convince herself she wasn’t hurting. She was somewhere else, some other version of herself else who didn’t have to get the hang of spur of the moment first aid or swallowing every whine her body wanted to make when something pressed past its low pain threshold. She hated that Remmy was avoiding her, hated to let them off the hook when something wasn’t right, but her leg was burning, and she wanted them to be able to enjoy the rest of their day together. “Nightmares, huh?” She asked. “That’s pretty wild. Is she doing okay? I mean, I guess it’s not surprising she needs sleep after all she’s been through lately, but still.” She smirked at the name. “Who’s idea was Amy Bakiago? Did you help vote on that?” She let out a slow exhale as Remmy taped the gauze in place. “Not a clue about the sun. But the sky stopped being red on its own too, didn’t it? Maybe White Crest was just...having a weird mini season.” She turned her head up to catch the glare of sunlight against streaked clouds. “Definitely wasn’t the beach. Deirdre and I went to watch the sunrise, and for once, finally, I was able to walk away without a fresh curse in my pocket.”

“I think she’s doing better,” Remmy said, “now that she has something to like...concentrate on. She even switched her major, and she’s been reading a bunch of books on like, supernatural stuff and ancient languages. My vote was for Jake Bakuralta, but Amy Bakiago is a good name, too.” They gave a weak smile. “All patched up,” they said, tapping her lightly on the knee before standing up. “Well, guess we should just count ourselves lucky that we didn’t have to deal with anything crazy for it to come back. I still wonder what happened, though…” They looked up at the sky in tandem with Morgan, squinting a little. “Must just be the weird weather, right? I missed the sunsets.”

“Me too,” Morgan said, hugging herself. She watched the sky with Remmy, as if she might absorb the bright, crisp blue into her and keep it on tap for when she couldn’t find any light of her own. It was the kind of blue she remembered from the Disney movies of her childhood, the kind you would look for in a crayon box for a picture of happiness and never find. It was the sun, she thought, the golden stain over the thin clouds. Morgan strained her eyes staring at it. How simple, how stupid, the things that could give you hope.”I guess we still need to pick up something, if you still want to make stuff together,” she said at last.

Remmy stayed quiet while Morgan did, curious as to what she might be thinking about while she searched the sunlit sky. The clouds passed between the sun and the sky, blocking it momentarily, and Remmy’s eyes fell back to the farmer’s market. People were already milling back in, as if the watermelons hadn’t just sprung to life and tried to eat people, but the man whose stand they’d been at was suddenly not there anymore. Frowning, Remmy looked back over at Morgan. “Sure, yeah,” they said, picking up the kit and setting it back in the car, “but maybe we can just go to the grocery store?”

“This is why we’re friends, Remmy. Even when you’re being weird, you still have the best ideas.” Morgan said. She hauled her legs into the Subaru and buckled herself in and took one more look at the blue sky, the bright sun, the shadow streaked clouds in the distance. “But maybe we should get you a license one of these days, huh?” She teased, brow arched. “But I could get over it if you do all the grocery lifting for me.”

#melon-cholia #wr remmy #wr chatzy #wr remmy chatzy

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jmaria200 · 6 years

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Sweet Pain

05/28/2018

Sweet Pain

05/28/2018

The first full day of the new eating lifestyle has come and gone and I’m in such need of a piece of strawberry licorice. I not sure if I should call it a diet(actually you don’t lose weight this time around), a lifestyle, torture, etc. It’s official name is The Whole 30, another food fad that attempts to right the wrongs of the American diet. This time sugar, specifically processed sugars,(you know everything that tastes great and is addicting), preservatives, starches are the enemies and the Whole 30 commands you to get rid of them, cold turkey. Instead you are beholden to meat, nuts, fish and other proteins and fruit for thirty days.

My wife, a worse junk food junkie than me, is on the hunt for the latest ways to curb her yearnings and this was her latest find. Having long waged the secret inner war with my sweet tooth face it almost all of us do, I signed up and even after the first day I’m craving good old fashioned sugar. Lord, what would we do without it in this country? Maybe not be so fat? I’ve decided to keep this online journal of my progress and my pain over the next 30 days.

5/29/2018

I feel lethargic, my mouth is constantly watering, and my head is fuzzy, . This marks the second day of the Whole30. Food, once reliable comfort, has become a antagonist. The kitchen is a mine field where I must step carefully. It is so easy to pluck out a sensual chocolate covered marshmallow from a red colored box and bite into it. The food I can eat sits like a bag of sand in my gut. It keeps me sustained but not happy.

I’ve read some of the literature and what I’m going through is quite normal and it will get worse before it gets better. My body is converting slowly converting from sugar based fuel to fat fuel (apparently good fats) however it doesn’t know how to do that yet so I am sluggish. I think I will accompany this blog with some research on the story of Americans obsession with sugar and processed foods. Writing will help distract me.

5/30/2018

Here I am two days behind. I’ll try to catch you up. I’m going to try to focus on not what I and my wife are doing this meal plan but why we’re doing it. Why this radical life change? I found this list symptoms from a website of a fitness expert. Guess what these refer too.

Anxiety

Changes in appetite

Cravings

Flu-like symptoms

Depression

Mood changes

Dizziness

Fatigue

Headaches

Shakiness

Changes in sleep patterns

Weight loss

Stomach flu? Food poisoning? Nope. These are the symptoms of sugar detox. Yep, that’s right. This is what happens if you take sugar out of your diet and I’m not talking about cookies and ice cream and chocolate. This plan goes much deeper: bread, pasta, beans, etc. All of these types of food are broken down into sugars in your body and sugars are being linked to inflammation, bad skin, poor mood, etc.

Now America is the land of diets and eating fads as in the end we as a society have little idea of what to eat and what is good for us. If this meal plan sounds like one the many movements out there that finds its enemy: fat, gluten, carbohydrates, etc and profits off getting people worked up about it, your right and I agree. More to come on this.

6/8/18

It is now day 11 of the Whole 30 food plan and clearly my attempts to keep up with this blog on a regular basis have failed. This is a conglomerate of previously mentioned twin infants that need near constant car and the mission to find not only summer employment but full term employment. I can easily recap most of what has happened in those missed days.

First, I feel I must break away from food talk only and integrate my career story as it is the other side of the coin that is my life right now and it is in trouble. My job history has been a floundering mess. I won’t go into all the gritty details as I feel they’ve been with me for at least a quarter of my life here on earth and they can get repetitive and depressing. Let’s say I had little idea of what I wanted to do coming out of college. I tried a few different fields usually based more on “this interests me” than real research. This tactic did not work very well. The pile of temporary, part time, and “road not taken” jobs grew and grew and, at forty two, I have yet to have a steady full time job. I discovered a love of teaching in my mid thirties, specifically freshman composition at the community college level, but I have remained woefully underemployed as an adjunct for five of the six part years. This lack of opportunity is a combination of the need for excessive education and experience for even entry level positions, the ongoing deterioration of the the writing career field, and the heightening level of competition. I also believe my subdued personality does not help my chances. I now have a family that depends on me and I’ve been able to do no better than a one year contract for the small Onondaga community college in upstate New York. Since then I’ve tried to shift into high school teaching. Once again the need for degrees and certification is rigorous. I have a master’s degree, albeit not in education, and was led to believe by the recruitment people of Anne Arundel community college master’s in education program that I could potentially land temporary teaching employment while gaining my certification. The Baltimore County public school systems didn’t seem to see it this way.(go figure) I’ve also had little to no help in figuring out what to put in my application packet to make me a more attractive candidate. Since the Onondaga success, my job search has become a rather dark cycle of sending out applications and getting rejections. Being a daddy doesn’t allow me much time to network and I tend to be poor in this area. I’ve sought out help from the state career program, but it is painfully slow. I take time to write about because I think the cumulative effect has become a mixture of depression and anxiety. Depression? That word is scary what with two celebrities having recently committed suicide in thew news. I have a family history of it. I have felt worn down and isolated lately but could it be that? Not knowing for sure is more worrisome which might lead to more depression. I go to bed anxious over money, anxious that my family will be well off, and wondering how many more years I need to struggle. II worry about retirement of course. I’ve scraped and saved what I could but without a solid income it’s going to be woefully inadequate. Could it be depression? I keep searching out some signal of depression in my consciousness as if I might uncover it but people who are depressed generally aren’t good at diagnosing their own condition. It’s hard to link the physical symptoms to something mental.

So what do I do? Well, I’m working hard to stay focused, to get more organized, but I need the help of others and that help is hard to find. I need career help. I’m leary of the integrity of paid career consultants but how long can I keep floundering? I can see this summer will be tedious. It will be about slowly piecing together the knowledge to get a foot in the door in high school and probably working a part time job that is a poor fit to get there. I will need strong doses of positivity and support in my life and a real sense of direction. I’m not sure where to find that right now. I love Aurora but she is not strong at being emotionally supportive, at least not for me. I will have to do some research on where I can find the help I need. I will leave my story there for now.

Whew, one of the best functions of writing is catharsis, to get one’s thoughts out there. It’s not pretty but it’s necessary. I wrote the previous section because it captures what is happening outside of the Whole30 and being a father and is vital to how I have been feeling over the past four days both mentally and physically. At first I’d naturally thought my symptoms were linked to the change in eating habits, but last Wednesday they took a real turn for the worst. I hadn’t felt that strange in a long time-just heavy and thick headed with blurry vision and shortness of breath. Each day I’ve felt a little better thankfully. I went to the doctor today to rule out physical cause. She didn’t find anything obvious but I still have blood labs pending that the neglected to get done. The intense labor of the Whole30 hasn’t helped my mood. No single meal is a simple grab and go and the constant preparation is taxing. in fact, I must bring this blog to a close now.

6/23/18

We are a nation of sugar addicts. “Two hundred years ago, the average American ate only 2 pounds of sugar a year. In 1970, we ate 123 pounds of sugar per year. Today, the average American consumes almost 152 pounds of sugar in one year. This is equal to 3 pounds (or 6 cups) of sugar consumed in one week” (www.dhhs.nh.gov). Sugar is everywhere in our diet slipped into breads and bacon to make them more desirable so we eat more. Here’s the little secret that is not really a secret: these foods are desirable while not satisfying so we eat more and more so we buy more. Food companies figured this out a long time ago. It’s good for business and bad for people. These are one of the tenants of the Whole 30, to become aware of how we are being manipulated this way. Whats more, like many business influenced trends, these machinations only become really effective when they are normalized by culture. Just think about how many American cultural norms involve sweets and processed food of some form: cakes at birthdays, drinking alcohol at social gathering, cheap vending food at sporting events. If you want to stand out at just about any social gathering American society, try avoiding foods with sugars and processed foods. Many conversations this way leading inevitably to discussion of the Whole 30. This was one of the most surprising side effects of being on this meal plan. I and my wife had to educate the waiter of a expensive steak house in Washington D.C. on the guidelines of our meal plan. Most dining out experiences will be this way. Sorry, but we can’t eat ninety five percent of the food on the menu.

Just walking into a grocery store, I was shocked by how much was off limits: pasta, cereal, juice, etc. That was one of the great challenges of this diet. What could we eat? Obviously, there was meats and vegetables and fruits but what about diary? beans?. They don’t have added sugar, right? While diary and things like beans did not have added sugar they include sugars and other chemicals that aren’t necessarily healthy.(For more on this read the accompanying book It Starts With Food). If you’re skeptical at this point, I’m understand. I’m still a skeptic. After all, the Whole 30 is another lifestyle program, one of many products that is being marketed to the public in the age of food confusion in this country.

7/1/18

Promises, Promises...

“Systemic inflammation” seems to be the catchphrase behind the Whole 30. (There’s a lot of food science behind this that I won’t go into. Again read the book). The jist of systemic inflammation is that bad foods silently hurts your body. Over time this damage shows up as illnesses including allergies, depression, and diabetes. Eating foods that contribute to both physical and psychological well being can lead to better health. This idea seems legitimate enough but then the authors also include anecdotes by people with illnesses ranging from lyme disease to diabetes whose symptoms disappeared after being on the Whole 30. You can practically hear the credibility of the writers straining here. I had eczema before the Whole 30 and and I still have eczema after it. All in all, taking sugar out and adding more protein is beneficial to people but let’s hold off on the miracles.

While I’m on the topic of veracity, I can understand the authors of the Whole 30 exaggerating the effects of their meal plan- after all maybe one person out there with lyme disease did experience an improvement in their symptoms and, if this doesn’t happen, no one would necessarily be worse off-since their plan seems sound and is self directed for the most part. I didn’t need to constantly by products from the authors of the Whole 30. But what about those companies that, for all intensive purposes, are influential on our health, what about the stories that the food industry tell?

“the post-crash world appears to have become much more cynical about the behavior and motives of corporations.” (Beatte). Unless you’ve been “off the grid” for most of your life you’re probably all too familiar with the constant avalanche of ads that are forced upon Americans everyday so much so that, like me, you’d do anything to get away from them. Now I’ve already covered the influences of advertising in another part of this blog; however, the food industry holds a special place among advertisers as, for better or worse, they often determine what we put in our bodies in this country and this isn’t necessarily due to their popularity but a well designed combination of market control and addiction.

The master plan

The current state of the American diet is, like most institutions, a result of the interaction between corporations, the government, and the individual where each party is both influential and under the influence. However, what is key here is that the influence of the individual has eroded significantly over the years unless they happen to be wealthy enough to be influential. Government has responded more to these wealthy and corporations creating more and more of a corporate dictated agenda.

The Food Guys

If you do a little research you’ll find that thanks to constant mergers and take overs about ten mega corporations control most of the U.S. food production. Think about that, just ten! Some are well known like Pepsico, which owns Tropicana, Quaker, Lays, while others are more obscure like Unilever that owns Knorr, Good Humor, and Skippie. Regardless, you can bet you’ve eaten something made by one of of these ten companies recently. Much like health care and airline travel, a key aspect of weakly regulated capitalism is that power in the form of market control can be consolidated in the hands of a few major players and this is scary especially when it comes to our food. These companies may not necessarily set out to give people cheap, poor quality food but this arises out of an effective business model that calls for high profit and low cost and if one is successful they can dominate the market. This model may work for computers or cars but not necessarily food.

Now before I go on lambasting corporations there are some important details to cover. A good capitalist would probably argue that companies are simply responding to market demands. This is one of the classic “pass the buck” phrases business people use to recuse themselves(and it drives me crazy)but it is important to consider. Keep firmly in mind the question: “Who has helped create these market demands?”

Today, people have less free time to prepare and consume their meals. Yes, this seems to be the trend ever since the post World War II years when consumer culture took off in this country and packaged, processed food along with it. Appliances became more commonplace in the home, woman started to go to college and get jobs outside the home, and the car became more available. One of the largest changes in the household was the television. Now with the help of the tv dinner one could watch their favorite shows and eat at the same time. Over the years the cost of living has increased, wages have stagnated, and people have to work more than ever to keep up. Business stepped up and what started with the tv dinner has slowly blown up into a full industry of packaged, processed food. These foods were tasty and easy to make. How many times has these phrases been uttered in a food commercial? Consider though who has influenced many of these lifestyle changes? Who has increased the working day, kept wages generally flat, and increased costs? The general picture is that businesses have either through direct influence or through influence on government public policy and today Americans are probably more stressed and less healthy than every before.

Consider how foods are advertised in this country. Let’s take the Coca Cola corporation. Coca Cola is best known for their soda but they also control a large percentage of what we drink: Perrier water, Minute maid juice, and Nos energy drink. Coca Cola often uses images of young, hip looking people smiling and drinking their soda(Heck, what company out there doesn’t use young, hip, ethnically diverse people to sell their product? That is a generalization...let us continue). These ads remind you that drinking soda (pure sugar and other flavorings in carbonated water) can be fun and social, so much more than just soda. There is of course no mention that soda with destroy your teeth and probably cripple your health over time. An advertiser would have to be insane to let on such information about their product. But imagine if they did. If there was a disclaimer at the end of soda commercials. Would it make a difference? I’m betting not and this is where the addiction factor comes in. Look at smoking. It is well known that smoking can cause serious health problems and even death.There are commercials and prints ads constantly advertising these facts yet people continue to smoke because it is addictive. In the information age, people generally know the health threats of drinking soda over a life time yet they still do. This is where individual choice does come in(more on this later) and, as mentioned before, sugar is another addictive substance and companies rely on this.

The Coca Cola corporation doesn’t claim their product is healthy but many other companies do. Take cereals. Breakfast cereals are often so processed that there is little nutritionally value, yet companies put labels on like “part of a balanced breakfast”, “containing vitamins A, B....”, “5 whole grains”. Companies attempt to replace some of the lost nutrition in these foods but they are far from healthy. Also any nutrition is offset by the amount of sugar in these cereals. This is especially tragic when one realizes that some of the worst cereals are marketed to children with flashy cartoon characters, logos, and commercials. I admit it wouldn’t take much for me to eat a bowl of Count Chocula even now knowing how bad for me it is. That is growing up in this country. I hope different for my children, but the corporate machine is hard to escape.

The Men in Black

“Read the farm bill, and a big problem jumps right out at you: Taxpayers heavily subsidize corn and soy, two crops that facilitate the meat and processed food we’re supposed to eat less of, and do almost nothing for the fruits and vegetables we’re supposed to eat more of.” (Haspel)

Healthy food like fruits and vegetables are usually more costly to grow and transport and organic food can’t use chemical pesticides,herbicides, or genetically modified organisms. Since the 1930′s the United States government has subsidized (helped pay for) farming in this country to protect our food sources as raising food can be unpredictable. The Farm Bill began with good intentions but the money has slowly been funneled to supporting a few crops like corn and soy that are versatile and can be broken down and used in many processed and unhealthy foods. Consider that our government is supporting the production of poor quality foods? What does this mean for us? It means the commonly cited downsides of the the American diet: diabetes, obesity, heart disease, etc. all given a stamp of approval by politicians who are pledged to watch out for us. On the plus side not being subsidized is often favored by farmers as they don’t need to meet the regulations set by the government but it still means people will pay more. People do have the choice not to eat these foods, but realistically not everyone can afford these costs and, if they can’t, people become trapped eating unhealthy food cycles not to mention deepening the already aggravated class divide in America. It’s much easier to get potato chips than organic fruit. Organic apples are on average three dollars a pound(which means about two) while potato chips are three dollars a bag. You can eat a lot more chips for the same money but the chips are sad, empty calories but, as I mentioned earlier, people will buy and eat them not because they are healthy but we have slowly become wired to do so. Currently slashing or stalling social welfare programs is the trend in government. Public policy has become heavily influenced by corporate interest over public good due in large part to funding of campaigns by companies and the wealthy ergo there is little possibility right now.

Choice of the People

Our American class structure can be seen in our food. The neighborhood I currently live in, which shall remain unnamed for reasons of privacy, is considered marginal. People are more often working class and black. This neighborhood was also known as a urban food desert for some time.(One neighborhood over is a wealthy, mostly white neighborhood with a high end, albeit expensive grocery store). Food deserts are areas without a decent source of healthy foods. They exist in the poorer sections of many major U.S. cities including New Orleans, New York, and Memphis. 7-11′s and corner bodegas often don’t count. In fact, the convenience store is one of the greatest offenders concerning food choice. They have made food too convenient. Just look at the shelves of any convenience store.

A low end grocery store finally came to this neighborhood. They stack most of their products on the floor instead of on shelves, their staff is poorly trained, and, while the store does sell fresh produce and even a little organic food if you look hard, the majority of the products are standard processed foods: Drakes desserts, chips, processed meats, etc. I’ve watched people in line with carts filled with soda. I can’t be too critical as I was making poor food choices all the same, but not on this level. Why does anyone would need ten bottles of soda? The evidence is in the obese bodies and poor skin. Yet, people consume these foods. This can be for three main reasons: they are aware but apathetic, they aren’t aware, they are aware but not doing enough or following one the ineffective “diets” out there. Often the poor and working class fall in the second category.

Back to Biology

Early humans had to eat what they could kill or gather(Raising crops for a stable source of food came later). We subsisted on meats, berries, nuts, etc. These were necessary, nutritious sources of protein and fiber. Fats and sugars were rare and highly desirable as they meant easy calories especially for lean times. This is where our evolutionary biology was cemented and still functions this way, but now we are provided a plethora of cheap fats and sugars everywhere. They taste good and give us a quick boost. But these foods don’t provide sufficient nutrition so we are constantly needing to eat more and more while gaining mostly empty calories and health problems. This makes sense if you stand back and think about it. This is the “addiction” factor that aids companies in getting us to eat poor quality food. The food makes us feel good in the short term, but in the long run we crash and need more. Thus, the “addiction” factor.

Apple or Ring Ding?

While sugar, fat, and salt can be addictive and some people have financial problems, ultimately people choose what they put in their bodies and their bodies will hold them responsible. This is especially true when we are people who know or suspect what we eat is bad for us and continue to do so. I believe this is tied to an idea I’ve brought up before, our culture. America is the land of opportunity where we can all have the American dream that are really just that for most of us, a dream that we continue to cling too. This ability to better ourselves is both beautiful and tragic. America is a society whose people struggle to face it’s darker sides instead burying them in indulgences or placing blame elsewhere. This collective denial makes us extremely malleable. We are already primed to believe in our food, our politics, our society. No matter how self destructive over time vices become misconstrued as personal rights. By buying gas guzzling vehicles, shopping, indulging in poor quality foods, collecting dangerous guns we declare our freedom from the system when it’s the system that is providing these. This beautiful psychology that companies can only cheer us on and count their money. Buy more. Eat more. Excess is wonderful. Be rebellious and trendy by buying phones and drinking soda. Companies let us down, cheat us, and we still buy their products and elect officials who take their money. We grumble when the government doesn’t punish these companies but we don’t either. Despite having mentioned the short comings and influences of corporations and government, it is up to us to determine what is good for us. I believe what we’ve lost sight of the most in this country is the sense of personal advocacy and a sense of unity to stand up ourselves, the power of the customer, of the voter. Instead we fight and criticize and go along.

The experience of the Whole 30 has helped me be a healthier person, but it has really helped me take action and reconsider my perspective concerning the food I eat. I’ve tried to relay the many facets of what I’ve learned here for others who may be curious. Also I should end with there are some positive changes on horizon. Organic food is now available in more grocery stores than ever before. The fast casual restaurant offer healthier choices that have eaten into the profits of fast food companies like McDonald’s, all because educated customers have demanded it. However, changes need to come from the top down, from the government and that is where the real hard work comes in because first we need to heal the rifts in our society. Then maybe we can eat better.

7/5/18

The Results.

The end of the Whole 30 has arrived, well, it actually arrived more than a week ago so clearly I’m not a dedicated diarist. I’ve also done the “reintroduction” portion of the meal plan where by I bring back the foods I’ve given up.I’m going to discuss both the small scale and bigger picture results of this experiment.

The results:

I can taste more, For example, fruits are sweeter and meats are richer.

I have more consistent energy.

I don’t get as hungry between meals.

I don’t have the craving for added sugar that I once did but I can tell from sampling foods with added sugar that it is quite easy to go back.

Diary is hard on my stomach.

Alcohol gives me a headache even after one glass of wine

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