Thursday, January 2, 2014

The Meatball Fix

The problem with making a decision in favor of something means that one has decided against another thing. With every action, inevitably a reaction occurs in direct proportion and velocity, forming its antipode.

About six months ago, my body told me it didn't want animal flesh anymore in the form of sudden nausea when confronted with a plate of chicken, meat and fish. Then, it had an equal and opposite reaction on New Year's Eve. Every year my husband and I host what is called a "Planetary Healing Circle," a guided visualization by a group of willing participants to send positive energy to people and places on the planet in need of prayerful thoughts. After prayers, we party.

Because of my fear of entertaining uncertain numbers of people with food stuff, guests are asked to bring an offering of food; this insures the proper amount and variety of goodies. One guest brought a tray full of turkey meatballs. After leading an hour long deeply energizing, peaceful meditation, my innards piped up, "Gimme meatballs," whilst still floating in the bliss of group goodwill in the meditation room.

About twenty herb-spiced-turkey-meatballs-swimming-in-marinara sauce later, my stomach was about to burst. But an unamed subpersonality was gloating. Finally, a real hit of honest to god protein.

At about 2AM, with the guests long departed and the fairy lights dimmed down, I realized that pre-bed herbal capsules were stuck in my esophogus, the gelatin caps slowly melting and causing digestive angst. Normally, my little feet would creep downstairs for a glass of water, but this time, that voracious inner carvniore said, "More meatballs."

Washing down pills with turkey meatballs is very effective, by the way. And lest anyone think this sometime vegetarian had a bad reaction to such an influx of bird, not the case. It went down like a rootbeer ice cream float on a hot summer day.

The old aphorism, "The body knows" must be at work here. Although I don't plan to continue this turkey meatball habit, somewhere in the depths of my mortal coil the cells are boogying.

Apologies to all my turkey brethren. It's not my fault that human beings are part carnivore, with little side fangs in our mouths for ripping flesh more effectively. But I promise to control the urge to savage the animal kingdom in this new year. Scouts honor.

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