Jazz Hands

After a couple of family funerals this week, I decided to talk about something a little more upbeat (no pun intended). I come from a musical family, with people walking around singing and playing the piano. We always had a piano in our home that my sister and I were expected to play on. She played on it, and I pretended to play on it. Let’s just say I wasn’t the most dedicated musician. My mother was a soloist, and part of the church choir. My dad had a great voice, and sang barbershop quartet style when he could. Even my reclusive brother could hum a great tune. Some of that talent just dropped off before I could use it.

I just heard that one aunt and uncle on my dad’s side were quite the “partiers”, constantly living it up with the barbershop group they belonged to. I never pictured barbershop quartet singers drinking and smoking and staying up till the wee hours of the morning, but life was apparently different in the late forties and fifties. Who’da thunk? Anyway, music was a biggie in the cultural lifestyle at the time, and I was exposed to a wide variety of styles of music. I am most attracted to the rock music of the seventies and eighties, but, that’s because it was so integral in my teenage life. I think we like what we grew up listening to; it brings back memories.

Here’s the secret I have, that I will now confess: I don’t like jazz music, and I’m am being nice when I use the words “don’t like”. I know, I just don’t know enough about it. I am sure that there is a reason the music goes all over the place with no apparent destination. I am sure that there are people who LOVE jazz, play jazz, write jazz, and just live for jazz. I just don’t get it. Blues, yes. Blues is so different. It has a definite rhythm and repetitive choruses, not to mention you just want to drink when you listen to it and cry into your beer. But when I listen to jazz, and I have given it a try in fancy jazz bars with martinis, low lights, and cheese plates, I can only take it for a maximum of twenty minutes. Something about listening to jazz starts to invade my brain and make me think I might need to talk to somebody. Jazz is like trying to babysit ten three-year-olds that are half dressed, running around the house with forks, jumping off the furniture. You just don’t know where it’s going to go, or how it’s going to get there.

This is, apparently, why some people love listening to it. The free-floaty, independent wandering lines of notes that play with each other and somehow produce a completed body of work, or something like that. For me, it is the torture of wanting desperately to find common ground with the music; to hum a tune, to maybe even know some words, or at least recognize I may have heard one of these parts before. No go man, it’s just crazy jazz. In my mind I imagine the founder of jazz was just practicing, forgot what he was playing, and just went with a stream of consciousness theme. Oh well, we aren’t meant to like everything, or even understand most things. I guess I’m just a moronic boob who can’t think that way with music. Even some new age stuff starts to bother me. If I suddenly look up at Alexa, or the radio, and say, “what the hell IS this shit?” Give me some Led Zeppelin….., hell I’ll even take Kenny Loggins over whatever this is. My brain wants to identify with where it is, and what’s going on.

If you like jazz, I admire you because apparently your brain is able to go where no man has gone before, and might not go exactly there again. Keep it up, the world needs you. I’ll be in the corner with my earbuds in. trying to hum along with “Dixie Highway” by Journey, without breaking a couple of glasses. Order the cheese tray and get a double dirty martini with the blue cheese stuffed olives. Remember that some of us just like a little structure, you rebel you.

Have a wonderful day enjoying that Dave Brubeck album. If you want to educate me on jazz, just leave a comment below. Don’t forget to “follow” for more random stuff.

Cheers, Deb

Spiritual Warrior

Join me, ladies and gentlemen, for the journey of a lifetime. Join me in the depths of despair, horror, and fear. The journey will be hard, and you will need the help of others. You will have to face the truth of life, and look deep inside yourself for the source of strength to continue….

This week I have experienced another death inside our family circle. This death was unexpected and shocking, truly horrible for those of us left behind. Death is really a weird concept. We all know we have to do it. We are born, live, and die. That’s the truth. And yet, somehow, when it happens it seems so out of place. It’s so unusual and foreign. We are shocked and horrified that it happened to someone we loved. So here is what we need to do.

Feel it, live it, immerse yourself in it. That’s why we are here: to experience life in all of it’s forms. Cry until your head feels like it’s going to burst, scream, shake your fists at the heavens. Blame God, get mad, lose your breath and all sense of time and place. This is not a normal day. Then sit on your cushion, close your eyes, let the tears stain your shirt. Open your palms to the sky and quietly let the wisdom of the universe permeate your soul. The storm will pass and you will find peace.

We are warriors – spiritual warriors. It takes much more strength to endure suffering than go through life immune to ourselves. Some days the path is clear, the sun is shining, the birds are singing, and we are holding our lovers hand. But some days, the path is dark and we can’t see. There might be a roadblock, or a wild animal in the shrubs watching us. Someone might try to run us over. It is at this moment you have to light your torch and thrust it into the sky for others to see. You have to become a spiritual warrior.

Shakespeare so eloquently stated in Hamlet’s soliloquy that to die, to sleep, “we end the heartache, and the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to.” The Thousand Natural Shocks that Flesh is Heir To. Wow. That about sums it up people. We will have a thousand cuts upon our bodies and minds. Will we remain a block of marble, or chisel ourselves into a beautiful sculpture? It’s for you to decide. He writes that we have the choice to stay and fight, or bow out. But at what price? Death is, “the undiscovered country, from whose bourn no traveler returns, puzzles the will, and makes us rather bear those ills we have, than fly to others that we know not of.” We cannot judge the decisions that others made. We cannot experience life the same way. We have no idea how bad it was inside, and what made them drop out of school, so to speak.

The death of someone close forces us to accept the terms of existence, no matter how crappy that deal seems to be sometimes. It’s the universe nudging us, saying, “Hey, remember to live each day fully, because it might be your last. Don’t get too cocky.”

There is a mantra used in Kundalini yoga called “wahe Guru”. Loosely defined, it can be translated as “wonderful teacher”. Wahe is more of an exclamation of ecstasy and wonder. It was taught to me as any event in life that is miraculous or wonderous. This can include anything great, or anything horrible. It is the impact of the event, if you get my drift. Guru, as a popular notion, is a teacher. It can also be thought of as the soul journey back to its original source. I will always think of a yoga teacher I had who said, “Guru: Gee, You Are You (G.U.R.U)” We are responsible for learning and advancing along the paths of our lives. But don’t get discouraged, we are all in the same boat. You might think you have the worst hand in the poker game, but you can’t see the cards the other guy is holding. He might be bluffing you.

So, if you are in utter darkness, accept it. You are in it. Immerse yourself in the pain. Your tears are the fuel for the fire of transformation, and you will be transformed. This will take time, so don’t rush yourself. And if one day you wake up and don’t feel sad, don’t guilt yourself into thinking you have to feel sad. It is the progression of the soul. Love and peace are the magnet we are attracted to, not persistent darkness. Our loved ones on the other side are closer than you think, and they want us to be happy. We will see them again.

If, for some reason you are stuck on the path, cannot find the light, and it isn’t getting easier after some time, then talk to someone, anyone. Call a friend, open up to the cashier at the grocery store – anything at all. Message me here if you want someone to listen. Because we all want you to succeed in your quest in becoming a spiritual warrior.

Blessings, Deb

Become a Spiritual Warrior

I am not a wino….

Some people who drink wine regularly are known as “winos” by their affectionate friends. I thought I could categorize myself as a wino, until I looked up the definition: a usually indigent alcoholic who is addicted especially to wine (Merriam Webster dictionary). So, no, I am not a wino by definition, because I am not an indigent (swear), and I also do not consider myself an alcoholic. You may take a different view of this once I tell you I drink wine every day. Yes, every day. No, I do not want to live a day on this earth without drinking one glass of wine. You may think at this point that I am , indeed, an alcoholic. But I am telling you the truth when I say, I do honestly (most days) drink only one glass, which is approximately 6-9 ounces, give or take depending on the events of the day and the willful explosion of the liquid into my glass.

I am a healthcare worker, which comes with it’s own built-in set of self imposed rules and regulations according to the knowledge we have about health and wellness. Stupid knowledge….stupid self imposed rules…. Anyway, I recently read a report that over 6 ounces of wine per day increased the chances of a woman to develop breast cancer. I have a lot of questions about this, that probably can’t be answered, like, isn’t there a cancer gene, and if I don’t have it, does it still matter? Stuff like that. But, there you go. I now try to reap the benefits of drinking red wine, while keeping it down to about (sort of, kind of) 6 ounces. That’s a tough rule after a ten hour day.

About 10 years ago, my doctor checked my lab work and some other cardiac markers to make sure I wouldn’t fall over from a heart attack due to family history. It turns out that I most likely won’t, but here’s the unexpected whopper I got when reviewing the lab work. My LDL cholesterol was almost at 80, quite a high number. LDL is the “good” kind of cholesterol they actually want you to have. He looked at me and said, “do you drink red wine?”

“Um, yes I do,” I responded expecting a verbal warning.

“Good. Keep doing that. You probably will outlive me. I really don’t need to see you again unless you have something acute going on.”

What? I actually just got the doctor’s order to DRINK WINE EVERY DAY. That, my friends, is a better feeling that hitting the lotto. My doctor ordered me to drink. I can’t ever stop, it’s an order for crying out loud. And, because I am a good girl who listens to great advice, I have continued to have a glass of red wine every day of my life, with only a few exclusions. As a matter of fact, the lack of red wine in my house can be a cause for alarm. It’s like running out of toilet paper….not a good situation for all involved. My partner, my children, my sibling, my mother, and anyone who actually knows me understands the critical problem this presents. True love from my partner is him getting in the car late at night and making that trip to the liquor store after I have had a truly rotten day, and discovered the final straw: no wine in the house. Egads!

I have gone to great lengths to avoid this catastrophe. I even became a wine consultant to reap the benefits of a discounted wine membership. But, crap happens, and we moved. My budding business met its demise. I had to go back to purchasing from the store. I am willing to try other memberships as we speak. All I am saying is that wine is a life or death situation for me. 2 out of the 3 magnets on the fridge speak about wine. I have a small plaque that says, “wine makes me happy”. You know the type. Be on the lookout for other people who have the same wine disorder as I do. This is serious stuff people. If someone visits your home, especially after a long day of travel, for the love of God, offer them a glass of wine. They might say no, but they probably will say yes, and love you to the bottom of their little thirsty hearts. Don’t run out of wine, have a bottle in the basement, or the fridge, or somewhere cool and dry to show them your love. Just do it. You have no idea the lengths they may go to to get that one. small. glass.

Cheers!

Don’t forget to follow the blog while you’re enjoying that glass of Cabernet.

Motorcycle madness

There are so many more arguments against riding a motorcycle than riding a motorcycle. Here are some: you could die, you could be paralyzed or horribly disfigured, you can be hit because cars don’t see or hear you coming. Basically, this is the stuff you hear all the time….from people who do not ride on motorcycles. I want to inform you about the other argument: why you should ride on a motorcycle, at least once, just give it a shot if you ever get the chance. These are the things that happen when you do.

Number one, you will experience life. That’s it in a nutshell, you will experience what it is like to be alive. Why is the “motorcycle life” always depicted as some outrageous activity pursued by independant, socially segregated rule breaking people, who have no consideration for anyone who is living the status quo? Because it is such a different type of experience, that after living in it constantly, they may have difficulty relating to such rules. Here’s the downlow….

While riding on a bike, you feel all of your senses at 100% peak optimization. You know those rides in Universal Studio or Disney World where you sit in a chair in front of a huge surround-sound screen, and every single movement is translated into the chair? You are bounced and shifted around, hear things coming at you from all directions, and see limitlessly? Yea, well, it’s not even close. You are sitting on an 800 pound machine (or more) that is rumbling underneath your butt, while being propulsed rapidly along city streets and country roads. This is exciting to say the least, but also you are envisioning everything from all directions. Hawks flying overhead, cloud formations, trees and animals, people and buildings. It’s like you’ve never seen this before. It amazes me how much more I notice about my surroundings while on a bike, than in a car.

There is wind, smell, variations in temperature, and the occasional shock of a large bump. I know what you’re thinking right now. Sounds dangerous, or scary. I’m still not convinced. But life is a paradox, and this is included. When I wrap my legs around the guy driving (just one guy, my boyfriend!), tap him on the sides to say “I’m ready”, and that machine starts rumbling out of the driveway, everything melts away. It is truly mechanized meditation. It’s a meditation machine. This is an example of the thought process:

“It’s a beautiful day, I feel so warm, the breeze feels great. Look at that bird…is that a hawk? Where did that building come from? I don’t remember that from last time. Is he going left here…nope, he’s going right. Oh yea, we’re probably going past that reservoir. Look at the kids swimming, I bet that’s cold. I think there’s a siren behind us. NO, it’s on the next road. That cloud looks like a feather, but it’s moving fast…..etc. etc. etc. etc….”

After clearing that stream of consciousness, the water dries up. There is no more thought. I sometimes tighten my abdominal muscles when the driver revs up really fast, or lift my butt an inch when I see the railroad tracks coming. I’m not thinking about work, the house, my kids, what I have to do later, I am simply being. THAT is what riding on a motorcycle does for me, and I love it.

I will talk him into taking me every chance I get when we have the time to do it. Last night we left the house at 8 and didn’t get back until 10. It is summer, and the light was just leaving the sky. Every cloud had a silver lining, and the blue color was turning pink. The road to the reservoir was winding and free, the boats on the water were heading for the dock…we saw 5 deer off the sides of the road and a huge water bird (don’t know the identity) flying across the road right in front of us. It was a great experience. Two years ago we met his sister and her husband in Arizona and rented big cruiser bikes. We road 1000 miles in under a week. It had to be one of the most fun vacations I ever took. We went wherever we felt, when we felt it, and had no plans or reservations at all. It was truly awesome.

So, the next time you see a motorcyclist, remember, he could be an occasional rider getting a great experience, or a chronic experiencer just trying to function in your status quo world. Give him a break, it takes all kinds. If you ever get the chance to go around the block and aren’t sure, just give in, you’ll be glad you did. I didn’t sit on a bike until I turned 46, so it’s never too late grandma. I hope you get to experience something like this in your lifetime, and if you don’t, maybe the next. Take it easy rider…..

Start small, then build

I recently spent 13 hours in the car by myself traveling from my home in Colorado back to my childhood home in the Midwest near the Mississippi River. Several hours spent in the car by yourself can lend itself to many introspections, much of which are trivial and fleeting. It takes a bit of practice, but you can eventually concentrate on some chosen topic in your mind that might need attention and try to solve a problem, or analyze a situation, job, or relationship. Time spent alone doesn’t have to be boring, it can be very productive.

Having free time is like this also. We can do absolutely nothing – including thinking, or, we can really delve into our subconscious and “figure out” stuff. Most of the time we don’t have the time, or mindfulness, to really think about stuff. Or, the stuff we really NEED to think about is brushed back into the subconscious to gather more dust. Unfortunately, not addressing the stuff in the subconscious can come back to bite us in the butt later on. Out of the blue, your boyfriend asks you what you made of that last encounter with his sister, or your best friend asks you if you finally planned out that girlfriends weekend (and you didn’t). It could be superficial stuff like that, but it could be much more.

Starting to pull things out of your brain to think about, can be a little like a “to do” list. Think of yourself as a big vase. Over time, your vase starts to fill up with water, or thoughts. The water gets to the top of the vase and starts to overflow. Suddenly, you feel “full”, or unable to digest even the smallest addition of information that comes your way. Clearing out, or emptying out the vase, is critical to being open and available to take in new information. I think of the vase as being clogged by junk. Once I can enter some kind of meditative state and clear out the junk, my life becomes more full. It’s a paradox. You can’t take in good stuff if your full of bad stuff, simply put. Meditative state comes in many forms for many people. Some find it knitting, or rock climbing, or staring at clouds. Sometimes it’s just time sitting on the front porch at night and shutting out the rest of the world. Meditation is pretty much just sitting comfortably with yourself.

As a child, I was terrified of other people. Talk about shy…..I had it bad. I hid behind my mother’s leg when the meter man, or insurance man came over. I rarely talked to other people, and never to strangers. Over the years I made it through school, acquired a few close friends, and then went on to nursing school. At this point I was forced to speak to strangers all the time. I met new patients every day, and they were sick or lonely, or both. Through my training and subsequent career, I learned to open up and now can speak to almost anyone about almost anything. I may be the nurse that speaks to you before you enter the operating room. I am your ally, and must gain your trust in a few short minutes. I have the skill to do that now, which I never thought I would.

This is an example of starting with a small thing, like stepping out from behind your mother’s pant leg, and building slowly into standing in front of a terrified person and becoming a friend. Life is a progression of lessons and hopefully, we are building a strong foundation to an elaborate “house”, which we live in as accomplished adults. That’s the basic idea, anyway. Thinking about things in our heads in order to clear our subconscious, thereby enabling ourselves to bring more goodness into our lives is essential to the building process. So, the next time you have a long car ride in front of you, and you get tired of listening to the radio and podcasts, sit back, relax, and take in the goodness of a long, slow thinking session. Talk to yourself out loud if you have to in order to figure stuff out. Cross those ideas off your subconscious list and feel the weight come off your shoulders. You don’t have to hold onto stuff forever. Take it out, cross it off, and collect new goodness….you deserve that.

Enjoy the day, and follow me for more musings,

Cheers, Deb

Riding on the machine. Happy blond woman rides in the car. Vector illustration in cartoon style

Angel at the car door

how divine…

Let me start out here by saying that all people believe in things they cannot see. Even if you are a devout atheist, you probably still believe the world is round, the universe goes on infinitely, and you probably love someone. Have you really been to outer space, or visualized a feeling like love? You have experienced it in your mind and body, and it has stimulated chemicals in your brain that make you behave differently. My point is, you can’t see love, but you can feel it. Lately, angels have made a big comeback in popular culture. There are several books and movies on angels, and talk of angels from people who report being able to see or communicate with them. I believe in angels, and this is why….

All Abrahamic religions believe in the existence of angels. Christians, Jews, Muslims, Mormons, Buddhists, and to some extent Hindus all have some idea of what their purpose is and how they look. Mostly, angels are thought to be nonhuman, enlightened beings, that somehow watch over us and respond to us, usually in times of need or spiritual depression. They may be seen as the traditional human figure with wings; a kind of beautiful genderless form, or be invisible, speak to you in dreams, or be centers of bright light. Some of the above religions also believe that we each have a “guardian angel” or more than one angel that watches over each of us specifically. I believe I have guardian spirits, but I don’t recognize them as “angels” per se. More on that in future posts.

Once, when I was about 19, I was driving my first car, a 1976 Plymouth Duster, up one of the main streets in town. We were in the midst of a giant snowstorm, and snow was piling up fast, making the street almost impossible to drive through. Cars were getting stuck left and right. Sure enough, my old Plymouth was spinning its wheels in a long line of cars trying to get up the the stoplight and get through before they also got stuck. This was long before cell phones were even thought of. I was starting to panic, and wasn’t sure what to do. Do I leave the car in the middle of the street, stranding other people behind me? I looked around frantically trying to figure out the answer, when all of a sudden I looked up and saw the face of a middle aged man in a winter hat and glasses standing outside my driver-side window. “Are you stuck?,” he asked. I told him not only stuck, but my car just died and wouldn’t start. I thought how strange it was that I hadn’t seen him actually walking towards my car, he was just there. “Okay, try it again,” he said. I turned the key, and the car started. “You should be okay now.” My car started gripping the road, and I was moving. I turned my head left to tell him thanks, but he was gone. It was like he disappeared into thin air. Confusing, but all I could do was keep driving in order to reach my destination before the car stalled again. Many years have gone by and I still don’t know where he came from. I believe he may have been an angel. Yes, I know, you don’t believe me. Here’s another more recent event…

Last year I was suffering from periods of depression related to my daughter. I was living in Seattle for a couple of years, and she had my only grandchild in Colorado, and was also pregnant with the second one. The doctor had reported it would be a boy, and we were good with that. Relations between us had been strained for awhile. The reasons are long, and involved. You can read a book that will shed light on this. The title is “34” and can be found on Amazon under my pen name, Debra Fulton. As can be found in the book, we were both under the impression the child would be a girl. This particular day, I was on vacation in Michigan with my partner and his daughter, seeing his family. My best friend had called me the day before, and I was venting to her about the internal strain I was feeling with said daughter.

I was taking a break, lying on the bed, and started to cry. I asked something or someone to please help mend the rift between us. I loved her so much, and missed them all. I missed my grandson, and wanted a good relationship more than I could express. Then, I felt an overwhelming state of calm wash over my body. I stopped crying and felt peace. In my mind’s eye, I suddenly saw the most beautiful creature. It took the shape of an angel. It looked male, with a physical body that could challenge the most exquisite sculptures of DaVinci, or Michelangelo. His hair was shoulder-length and curly blond. The wings were enormous, reaching from far above his head to far below his feet. There, in his hands he held a single pink carnation, and seemingly “gave” it to me. I was astonished and amazed. This was the most beautiful thing I had ever “seen”. What was with the flower? I googled pink carnation and found this: “pink carnations carry the greatest significance, beginning with the belief that they first appeared on earth from the Virgin Mary’s tears – making them the symbol of a mother’s undying love.”

Oh my God, a mother’s undying love. He had nailed it. I had never heard the meaning of a pink carnation before. There it was, staring me in the face from my computer screen. I was really crying now, but not with sadness. I cried with such relief and hope; I knew something good would come of all this. Not a half hour later, my phone rang – it was my daughter. She was ecstatic with news to tell me. “What is going on?” I said.

“It’s a girl! It’s a girl! The doctor was wrong, and now that I am farther along, they verified that it’s not a boy….it’s a girl! I knew it! I knew it wasn’t a boy.”

We both laughed and talked about how great the news was. Inside, we both knew the boy report seemed wrong. Now we could verify that our predictions were right all along. I felt so happy. I told her I loved her, and she told me she loved me too. It was all too perfect. Had the angel changed something? Was he telling me to hold out…the news would be coming soon? I can’t explain this chain of events. But I can tell you that I think of that day and how preposterous it was, and I know that angel was real. He was just the most beautiful thing I ever saw.

No, I haven’t seen another angel since. But, yes, I do believe I will at some time in the future when I really need help. I was listening to a youtube video from a woman named Lorna Byrne. She is described as an Irish mystic. This woman has been seeing and speaking to angelic figures since she was a child. A very interesting woman, she insists that we are just spiritual beings having a human experience. The name of her book is, “Angels in My Hair”. It’s on my reading list. If you don’t believe in such things, obviously you wouldn’t want to pick it up. I guess I’m just reporting experiences to you, like we all do with each other. You can believe or not believe, it doesn’t bother me a bit. Belief systems are so deep, and almost impossible to change, that there’s really no point in trying. I just thought you might be interested in my two examples of angel activity. Be on the lookout – you might experience one yourself.

Remember, “follow” me for more blogs about the unknown and mysterious. Have a beautiful day!

reading list

You are made of plastic and corn

Well, since it’s been about a week since I wrote to you, congratulations! We have both ingested the equivalent of about a credit card’s worth of plastic in that time period. Don’t fret, you’re getting off easy, because plastic is now floating around in all the water of earth in microscopic quantities, which means the fish probably have more than you do. “I drink bottled water, not out of the tap”, you might argue. No problem, there’s plastic in there too. As a matter of fact, a study done by the State University of New York showed microparticles in 93% of the bottled water included in the study. Let’s face it, bottled water is out of control. We are now drinking one million bottles of water per minute on earth, and you know what – we could eliminate this so easily.

91% of plastic water bottles will never be recycled. Bottles are made from “polyethylene terephthalate (Pet), which take 400 years to naturally decompose, yet is highly  recyclable (Nace, Forbes). It doesn’t take a mathematical genius to figure out that the earth is choking on plastic, not only from water bottles, but all the other plastics we use for convenience sake. Have we become that lazy that we are willing to sacrifice our mother earth and ingest plastic on a daily basis? Simple solution: a reusable water bottle with a filter that filters 99.9% of all impurities, including nasty waterborne viruses if you’re out trekking in the wilderness. I bought mine for about 35 bucks, and replace the filter twice a year which cost about 10 bucks. What are you spending on plastic water bottles? So, I guess maybe I have only eaten a half of a credit card this week.

What about the fact that we really are what we eat? What we eat is mostly corn, according to many sources, like a documentary called, “King Corn” made in 2007. It features two friends who travel to Iowa to find where their food is from. Much to their astonishment and dismay, they discover that most of our food has some type of corn derivative in it. Almost every food on the shelf of your grocery store has some type of corn in it. Most of the animals we feast on ate corn to become the slab on your plate. The beverages you drink, sweeteners, and even cheese have corn products within them. You are what you ate, ate….Corn is basically inseparable from the American diet.

So what? What if I am made of corn and plastic? Is it really going to affect my life in some way? I don’t know the answer to that until we can positively link the rise of some chronic health condition to either one. In the meantime, I will save 1,460 plastic bottles a year (assuming I drink the average of 4 bottles waters a day), and know that my little carbon filter is keeping out most of the extra plastic floating around in our water supply. I’m not trying to be a demeaning jerk if you are using tons of plastic, but really, think about it. After all, the diapers, other wrappers, and trash bags are enough to fight without adding all this other stuff just because we are lazy.

What do we do about corn? Nothing, apparently, because we can’t. Other than eating grass fed animals and not buying artificially sweetened items, there’s not a lot else we can do. People have been eating corn for a long time, and corn itself doesn’t seem to be a problem. However, high fructose corn syrup is a nightmare. It’s in everything and is probably the leading cause in the horrific rise of diabetes and obesity that we have seen in the last 40 years or so. This, by the way, correlates with the addition of high fructose corn syrup in the American diet. Be wary my friends, your food is not all it’s cracked up to be. From one plastic, corn-made person to another, be conscientious in what you consume.

Nace, Trevor. https://www.forbes.com/sites/trevornace/2017/07/26/million-plastic-bottles-minute-91-not-recycled/#5ecaa59a292c

Ferdman, Roberto, “How corn made its way into just about everything we eat.” The Washington Post, July, 2015

reusable water bottle