A Woman Named Doris

Doris was the name of one my professors at the small liberal arts college I attended back in the late 1980s.  She had divorced late in life and earned a B.A. degree at the age of 50.  She entered a graduate program at the age of 52 and was 62 when I met her in 1986.  I don't think of 62 as old now though at the time I suppose it seemed ancient. 

Doris didn't mind being called by her first name.  However, on one occasion a male colleague introduced a group of professors by saying, "This is  Dr. So-and-So and this is Dr. So-and-So."  When he got to Doris he simply introduced her as Doris Cottam instead of Dr. Cottam.  She felt slighted and accused him of neglecting to introduce her properly because she was a woman and he of course denied any wrongdoing.

Doris readily admitted to being a feminist.  She believed in equal pay for equal work.  She detested the idea that women be expected to be content being kept "barefoot and pregnant."  But, that didn't mean she didn't like men. 

"Some people say I hate men.  That's not true!  I love men!  In fact, if you know of any eligible men you'd like to introduce me to please do so," she told us in one class.

She didn't mind being called opinionated either.

"Some people say I'm opinionated.  You're darn right I am!  I've worked long and hard to cultivate these opinions.  There's nothing wrong with having an opinion!"

The first class I had with Doris was Introduction to Sociology (Sociology 101).  She had us all experiment with breaking societal norms.  A couple of my female classmates attended a church and held hands and acted very affectionate suggesting they were a gay couple.  They got a lot of looks and stares.  Today, two women or men holding hands might not be noteworthy at all.

I suppose I could break a norm now by wearing a confederate flag tee shirt and a red Donald Trump MAGA hat and see how many people verbally attack me and threaten me bodily harm. 

She held a contest one day in class.  The contest involved three males vying for the title of Sociology Queen.  No gay jokes please.  The idea was that she wanted the males to act in a stereotypical feminine way.  I was one of the contestants.

The three of us stepped outside the door before making an entrance.  I came waltzing in trying to act like a beauty queen.  When I reached the center of the room I slowly turned around so the class could get a good look at my backside and then turned to face them again with a big smile.  That got a lot of laughs.  The other two guys just walked in and didn't really play the part which disappointed Doris who was simply trying to teach us something about gender stereotypes.  So, I was Sociology Queen in the fall of 1986.  Top that.

I had other classes with Doris like Person and Society, American Minorities, and Marriage and Family.

Doris liked to use personal anecdotes to get her message across.  She readily admitted her father was a bigot.  He had a name for every ethnic group.  African Americans were the N-word.  Mexicans were spics.  Jews were kikes.  Italians were wops.  I can only imagine what he called Asians. 

Her husband had left her for some young, blond thing.  She admitted to us that she begged and pleaded with him not to go through with it.  But, he couldn't be swayed.  When they divorced she ended up being hospitalized for depression.  She couldn't stand to sleep under the covers of the bed they'd shared.  She would lay down on the bed and put a blanket or Afghan over herself and tell herself she was just napping.  Somehow that made it okay.

Eventually she picked herself up and returned to college pursuing her dream of being a teacher.

Although she was a feminist and concerned about equality and barriers women faced like the so-called glass ceiling, she was concerned about men as well.  She was concerned about the pressures that men felt to be strong and never show their emotions and to be the breadwinner.

Anthony disagreed with her and thought that's the way things should be.  A man had to be a man. 

"Well, Anthony, I'm afraid the stress you're putting on yourself is going to give you a heart attack one day," she said sadly.

If Doris were still around she might be one of the few people to acknowledge the plight of men in contemporary America.  Why has suicide in men increased dramatically?  Why are men's testosterone and sperm counts plummeting?  Why is it that considerably more women go to and graduate from college?  Women now decisively outnumber men in graduate school as well.  Why is that?  What is happening to American men?  Yes, Doris was a feminist and was concerned about the so-called patriarchy but she cared about boys and men too.

I don't recall global warming/climate change being a hot topic when I was in college although the terms were in use.  We were more concerned about the ozone layer and chlorofluorocarbons I suppose.  I don't recall anyone being concerned that the polar ice caps might melt or that life on Earth was in imminent danger. 

What was Doris concerned about?  Diapers.  That's right.  Doris was concerned about the number of disposable diapers filling up our landfills.  Diapers that take 500 years to decompose.  Doris was concerned about pollution.  I think young people today are so concerned about life on Earth ending in the near future because of climate change they don't think that much about regular old pollution anymore.  What would Doris have to say about climate change?  As hip as Doris was I think even she would have some doubts about the so-called Green New Deal.

Doris taught me the word androgyny.  She wanted us to consider the role that socialization played in shaping how we viewed gender roles.

One day around the holiday season Doris's granddaughter said, "Grandma, we have to buy a Christmas present for a boy because we're having a gift exchange at school and I got a boy's name."

Doris replied, "Why do we have to get a boy gift?  Why can't we get a gift that a boy or girl could enjoy?  Who decides what is a boy gift or a girl gift?"

The granddaughter was used to this sort of talk from her grandmother and said, "Well, Grandma, you know that and I know that but they don't know that."

They bought a boy gift.

Doris was hip to androgyny.  But, would she surprised to hear a person can choose any number of genders now?  Would she be okay with an anatomical boy being in a girls restroom because he believed he was trapped in the wrong body?

Doris was tolerant of gay people.  Would she be happy about gay marriage? Would she be cool with the acronym LGBT or even LGBTQIA?  Or, would she think things had gone a wee too far?

She was tolerant of transgender people as well.  But, would she think a student requesting to be referred to as "they" instead of he or she was going a bit too far?  What would she think of the fuss over pronouns?

What would Doris think of the #MeToo movement?  We spoke in her classes of sexual harassment and sexual assault and the objectification of women.  But, would she put wolf-whistling and cat-calling under the same umbrella as sexual assault? 

Doris told us that sometimes in old movies a female would be acting hysterical and a man would slap her to bring her to her senses.  Doris said, "By God, if a man ever slapped me he'd rue the day!"

And yet, Doris said when a man in a movie lit two cigarettes in his mouth and then gave one to his lady friend it was romantic as hell. 

One day I told Doris that my girlfriend had dumped me because her parents didn't want her marrying some "farm boy."  Doris found this interesting from a sociological point of view.  She even mentioned it in class one day saying that she'd recently spoken with a young man who had been the victim of class discrimination.

When I was talking to her that day though she wasn't being the professor.  She was simply being a friend and told me, "Well, Tharin, it's true what they say.  There's plenty of fish in the sea.  Forget about her.  You can do better."

I wonder what Doris would think of college kids demanding free tuition and other things?  Sure, she was a liberal and no doubt despised inequality.  On the other hand, she had lived through an abusive father, World War II, and a divorce.  She came from humble beginnings and worked hard all her life.  But, she also acknowledged that certain institutions and policies had helped her along the way.  Perhaps she'd tell some of these so-called snowflakes to develop some backbone and grow the hell up.  Then again, she might admire their spunk and activism.

Doris was voted Professor of the Year in 1991.  She retired a few years later.  Doris also ran for a seat in the Iowa House of Representatives.  I don't believe she won.  Too bad.  She would have enjoyed shaking things up.

Doris passed away in 2006.  She was a woman of faith.  If she's in heaven perhaps she has a glass of champagne in one hand and a cigarette in the other and is giving God an earful whether he/she/they wants it or not.

Regarding Breakfast

I ordered two eggs, toast, and sausage.  But, I was just getting started.  I also asked for two pastries and two large glasses of orange juice. 

Getting down to 98 pounds for the first time during my sophomore wrestling season wasn't easy.  I'd wrestled 98 pounds as a freshman but only weighed about 100 pounds naturally so it hadn't been a big deal making weight.  But, when my sophomore season began I weighed 110 pounds and 12 pounds was a lot to lose when I was already fairly lean to begin with.

I didn't know what the hell I was doing.  I didn't know anything about counting calories or dieting or losing weight.  I just thought I could skip a few meals and sweat the rest off.  That didn't work.  So, I didn't eat or drink much of anything that final week leading up to the weigh-in for that first competition.

Somehow I made weight.  But, I was starving.  And, I was dehydrated and dying of thirst.  Hence, the big breakfast I ordered that morning. 

My mom took me to The Grill, a local restaurant, for breakfast that morning.  I think she was a little surprised by the amount of food I ordered.  The waitress didn't bat an eye as I made my order.  I guess she was used to hungry wrestlers. 

After I got used to making weight I wasn't always so hungry.  In fact, sometimes I wasn't hungry at all.  After making weight for the South Winneshiek Tournament, we all went to a local restaurant for breakfast.  I guess cutting weight had affected my appetite because I only had a couple bites of eggs and a glass of milk.  I got some Peanut M&M'S from a vending machine on the way out.  It wasn't the healthiest breakfast.  But, I won the tournament that day so I guess it didn't hurt.

The wrestlers from Riceville were in the restaurant that morning as well.  We noticed that they all had pancakes.  Perhaps it was a team tradition.  After breakfast they all walked back to the high school instead of riding in their bus. 

This combination of pancake eating and walking generated some theorizing by my teammates.  Did the walk back aid in the digestion and assimilation of their high carbohydrate meal?  Would this high carbohydrate meal give them stamina for the long day of wrestling ahead of us? 

As I recall the Riceville wrestlers did very well that day.  They may have won the tournament that day or been runner-up.  The power of pancakes!

I ate breakfast at some other restaurants that season as well.  At one of these restaurants, one of my teammates decided he wanted a candy bar in addition to what he had already ordered.  He had an underclassman buy it for him because he was too embarrassed to do it himself after having already ordered a large breakfast.

We ate odd things at times.  Have you ever had a chocolate shake at 7:30 AM?  Well, when you're hungry and dehydrated it tastes pretty damn good.  A Pepsi in the early morning hours tastes great too when you haven't had any liquids for twenty-four hours.

                                                    * * * * 

Several years later I found myself on a psychiatric unit being treated for an eating disorder.  My weight was lower than even during my high school wrestling days.  My weight hadn't been that low since junior high.

Now, I was literally in danger of starving to death.  But, I still didn't feel much like eating.  It was difficult at first.  I hadn't eaten "normally" for a long time. 

A typical breakfast on the unit consisted of a protein like scrambled eggs or sausage, cereal, a starch like toast or a muffin, milk, and juice or fruit.  I'm sure the eggs were powdered, liquid, or boil-in-bag.  They weren't too bad.  You can't expect too much when eggs are made on a mass scale.  Sometimes we had precooked omelets that were all uniform in size and texture as though they had been stamped out by a machine in cookie-cutter fashion.

Sometimes my fellow eating disorder patients and I had to make our own breakfasts in the occupational therapy kitchen.  We were each given a laminated card specifying how many meats, grains, fruits, milks, and fats we had to consume for breakfast.  As I recall, one egg equals one meat (protein) serving as does two sausages or two strips of bacon.  We had plenty of grains (carbohydrates) to choose from.  Frozen waffles and pancakes, bread for toasting, bagels, muffins, and hot and cold cereal were in abundance. 

I almost always made scrambled eggs.  I usually had three eggs to fulfil my protein requirements.  One day I couldn't have eggs.  I don't remember if they had run out of eggs or told me I had to try something different.  So, I had six sausage links.  Don't think I can handle it?  F*ck it.  I'll show you.

I didn't care much for OT kitchen.  Danielle liked it.  She enjoyed being able to make her own French toast.  I'd rather just eat whatever is on the tray in front of me. 

By the way, the French do eat French toast.  But, they call it pain perdu (lost bread).  You can soak a piece of hard or stale bread in a mixture of milk and egg and fry it.  What would have been "lost" bread now becomes a tasty meal.


                                                     * * * *

It's interesting that I ate big breakfasts during those wrestling years and during those times I was hospitalized because as a kid I didn't care for breakfast much at all.  Consuming food in the early morning hours just never appealed to me.  I had to be awake and active for a few hours before I had any appetite.  I think my mother remembers me "gagging" on cereal as a youngster.  It didn't matter how much sugar I poured on it.  I still couldn't handle a bowl of cereal too well.

We lived in a trailer until I was 6 or 7 years old as I recall.  We had an addition built onto the trailer that housed our living room and my parents' bedroom.  One morning I told my mother I was going to finish my cereal in the living room.  There was a door at the front of the living room that opened to the outdoors.  So, I took my bowl of cereal to the living room and walked out the door with it.  I threw what was left in my bowl onto the ground a little ways from the trailer.  Then I came back inside, waited what I believed to be a reasonable amount of time, and took my empty bowl to my mother claiming I had finished my cereal.  She bought it!

I, of course, have no witnesses to back up this story.  Maybe it's just some legend I made up and repeated over the years because I found it humorous.  It must have happened though because it seems unlikely I would have such a memory if it hadn't actually occurred.  I even seem to recall the cereal being Rice Krispies.  I hated breakfast.

There were, however, exceptions to this breakfast-hating inclination.  I have always enjoyed pancakes.  Pancakes were popular in our household.  In fact, they became a Saturday morning tradition.  Sometimes my mom would make French toast or a big batch of scrambled eggs.  If we were really lucky she'd get out the waffle maker.  We had waffles a lot less frequently than pancakes but that made getting to have waffles extra special.

Sometimes my mom would make me a "pancake man."  I would lift that heavy bottle of Mrs. Butterworth's and pour syrup on him.  I might spread a little butter on him as well and then begin to slowly devour him.  Just to clarify, I was a little boy when she made me pancake men.  She didn't make me them when I as a teenager.  I swear.

I also enjoyed presweetened breakfast cereals.  Cap'n Crunch, Honey-Comb, Froot Loops, and Fruity and Cocoa Pebbles were all favorites just to name a few.

The makers of these cereals didn't even hide the fact that they were sugar coated.  They celebrated it!  For example, Frosted Flakes were originally called Sugar Frosted Flakes.  And, Corn Pops were originally called Sugar Pops. 

All that sugar?  It was a selling point:  It added energy!  Flavor!  It was baked right in so you didn't have to sprinkle it on yourself!

But, then sugar garnered an unfavorable reputation and sugar became a dirty word.  And, that was the end of that.  Sure, they didn't stop making sugar coated cereal.  They just didn't highlight the fact any longer.  For instance, Super Sugar Crisp was renamed Super Golden Crisp and then simply Golden Crisp. 

Another great thing about these cereals is they often had a prize in the box.  I could never be patient and wait for the prize.  If the prize was on the bottom of the box I would tilt the box and dig into the cereal to get at the prize.

Sugary cereals with a prize in the box.  Marketing genius!


                                                     * * * *

Brunch is a combination of breakfast and lunch eaten usually in the late morning to early afternoon.  The word brunch is a portmanteau of breakfast and lunch.

I've eaten brunch on a few occasions in my life.

Livingood's Supper Club was a restaurant located in the small town of Frankville.  I grew up on a farm near Frankville so my family ate there from time to time.  At some point Livingood's began serving brunch on Sunday.  The church my family attended was just down the street from Livingood's so brunch there was an easy option.

As I recall the brunch buffet included scrambled eggs, sausages, sweet and sour pork, hash browns, vegetarian lasagna, waffles, cinnamon rolls, and juice.  

* * * *

While in college I worked in the foodservice (i.e. the cafeteria).  The cafeteria served hot cereal every day.  Sometimes it was oatmeal.  Or, it might be Malt-O-Meal or Cream of Wheat.  Cold cereal was available any time of day as I recall.

I think some sort of eggs were served daily.

I'm not sure if I'd ever eaten a bagel before going to college.  I think having a bagel with cream cheese was a new experience for me.  My family wasn't a bagel eating family I guess. 

Toward the end of my college tenure the cafeteria added an omelet bar.  You could only pick three ingredients to add to your omelet.  Some guys went back for seconds so I think the administration made a rule limiting diners to one omelet.

The cafeteria also introduced self-service Belgian waffle makers.  Diners could ladle some batter into the maker, flip it, and wait for the timer to go off.  These Belgian waffles were often available in the evening in case none of the dinner options appealed to you.

When I was a senior I took to eating a lot of Pop Tarts.  The cafeteria had Pop Tarts available every morning and they became my principal breakfast food.  However, the cafeteria served pancakes every Wednesday morning.  So, on Wednesdays I had pancakes. 

* * * *

Back in my wrestling days I became kind of fascinated by so-called blockbuster breakfasts.  Some places served these "blockbuster breakfasts" with some variation of the following:  two eggs any style, your choice of breakfast meat (bacon, sausage, or ham), hash browns, and your choice of toast or pancakes.

Like I'm going to choose toast over pancakes.  As if!

On a television travel program I once saw the female host go to The Ritz London for breakfast.  She ordered the full English breakfast (aka the full English or fry-up).  The full English breakfast often consists of bacon, fried egg, sausage, mushrooms, baked beans, toast, grilled tomatoes, and accompanied with tea or coffee.

There's an interesting scene in Phantom Thread where the character Reynolds Woodcock makes an extensive breakfast order when he encounters a lovely waitress named Alma.

"A Welsh Rabbit with a poached egg on top - not too runny.  Bacon.  Scones.  Butter.  Cream.  Jam - not strawberry. "

After a brief pause he also orders a pot of lapsang tea and some sausages.

I'm not sure why he gives such a ridiculously long order.  Is he truly that hungry?  Is he trying to impress the waitress with the quantity of food he can ingest?  Does he simply desire to keep the waitress in his presence as long as he can by slowly giving his long order?  Yes, his breakfast order appears to be pure flirtation.

By the way, a Welsh Rabbit is a dish made with a savory sauce of melted cheese and various other ingredients and served hot after being poured over slices of toasted bread.

There's also a funny scene in Five Easy Pieces where a character played by Jack Nicholson is in a restaurant requesting a plain omelet, coffee, and a side order of wheat toast.  He's informed that they don't have side orders of toast but that he can have an English muffin or a coffee roll.  But, he wants toast. 

So, he ingeniously orders a plain omelet, coffee, and a chicken salad sandwich on wheat toast.  Just hold the butter, lettuce, and mayonnaise he says.  And, if she holds the chicken as well he can have his wheat toast and she won't be breaking any rules.  And, he almost gets away with it but the waitress gets a bit snippy with him and he retaliates by telling her that he wants her to hold the chicken between her knees.  So, she kicks him and his three companions out of the restaurant. 

                                                     * * * *

Pancakes are one of my favorite breakfast foods.  My family had pancakes almost every Saturday while I was growing up.  We would also go to a place called Walden Pond from time to time to have sourdough pancakes with real maple syrup.

If there were ever any leftover pancakes from breakfast I would eat them later in the day as a snack.  I would top a cold pancake with butter and sugar.

I think I learned how to make pancakes while in elementary school.  I think we got to make breakfast one morning.  I was in charge of pancakes but didn't know when to turn them.  My teacher told me to cook the first side until bubbles formed on top and then the cakes were ready to flip.

I ate a lot of pancakes during my wrestling career.  I ate pancakes for my breakfast before a tournament.  I sometimes ate pancakes in the late afternoon as a pre-competition meal before dual meets.

I even had buttermilk pancakes at Perkins before wrestling in the state tournament.

A year earlier I attended the state tournament as a spectator.  I went with a couple of fellow wrestlers.  One morning we went to a diner for breakfast and Chris ordered pigs in a blanket.  But, when he got his order he proceeded to take his pigs (sausages) out of their blankets (pancakes) and eat them in normal fashion which I thought was kind of funny.  Surely, he could simply have ordered pancakes and sausage, right? 

I recall Brad, Darren, and I ending up at Sheila's house a couple of times after midnight and her making us breakfast.  Yes, pancakes were on the menu.  I recall her making buckwheat pancakes.  I guess her family must have liked the taste.  I don't recall the buckwheat pancakes looking or tasting too different from regular pancakes.  We just found it humorous. 

"Hey, we're eating buckwheat pancakes!"

Yes, I've had McDonald's Hotcakes and Sausage.  Yes, I like them.  Why are they called hotcakes?  I think it's just a marketing thing.  I've never had a McGriddle Sandwich, nor have I had a Croissan'wich from their competitor Burger King.  Yes, I've had Hardee's biscuits.  I don't recall ever being in a Dunkin' Donuts or a Denny's or even a Starbucks.

I had to live in a care facility for a while a few years ago.  I got a pass one Saturday morning and two lovely ladies took me out for breakfast at a popular local diner.  Yes, I ordered pancakes.  However, on that day I was really more interested in the female sitting next to me in the booth than the pancakes.

You may think that a guy so enamored with pancakes would have surely been to the International House of Pancakes (IHOP).  But, no.  I don't recall an IHOP being nearby while growing up.  But, now I have no excuse because there's an IHOP a few miles away from where I live.

IHOP serves French toast and omelets as well as pancakes.  But, of course, I'll order pancakes.  It's the International House of Pancakes for crying out loud. 
What else could I possibly order?

Of course if the waitress is cute I may get carried away and inadvertently end up making a ridiculously long order like Reynolds Woodcock.

"I'll have buttermilk pancakes - short stack.  And French toast - original.  And crepes - sweet cream cheese.  And a Belgian waffle.  And a ham and cheese omelet.  Hash browns.  Pork sausage links.  And hot chocolate." 

Wrestling Practice

When daylight saving time ends, wrestling season begins.  I suppose it shouldn't be surprising that it's getting dark earlier considering the days have been getting shorter since the summer solstice in June.  But, that one hour seems to make a marked difference.  The final bell rings at 3:35 and as I walk to wrestling practice it already seems as if evening is upon us.  When I walk out of practice it's dark with the sun having set.  November can be a damn dreary month.  At least Thanksgiving is something joyful to look forward to.  Of course if one is a wrestler he can't really enjoy the holiday.

If a wrestler is cutting weight when Thanksgiving day arrives he has two choices.  He can limit the amount he eats or he can throw caution to the wind and chow down.  Thanksgiving wasn't so bad during my senior year.  I'd finally wised up a little and learned to count calories.  You can eat quite a bit of turkey and plain green beans without taking in too many calories.  You have to skip the pumpkin pie though.  A modest slice of pumpkin pie has a bit over 300 calories.  But, 300 calories is a lot when you have to make weight for a dual meet a week later.  My freshman year I didn't need to cut weight because I naturally weighed near the weight required by that class. 

I like our wrestling room.  It's fairly big and it's all ours.  If you're not a wrestler or wrestling alumni then stay the hell out.  I've been using this room since I had a short wrestling intramural unit in fifth grade.  Guess who presided over the wrestling intramural?  The P.E. teacher who also happened to be the head basketball coach.

Sometimes we run laps or sprints in the gymnasium.  It's usually occupied by the basketball players though.  Damn bubble bouncers.  That's what our coach calls them.  Bubble bouncers.  We call them whatever we want.  What are they going to do?  You think they're going to mess with a wrestler?  Hah!

The boys basketball coach thinks we're all crazy. 

"They don't eat.  They stink."  he says. 

I guess he finds a group of dudes who are always dieting and always sweating in layers of clothing in an 80 degree practice room a tad bizarre.

We usually use the "old" gym that's part of our two story high school that was built in 1914.  The old gym is a sunken or basement gym with concrete steps on each side leading down to the gym floor.  We sometimes run across the gym floor, up one flight of steps, across the landing at the top, and then down the other flight of steps.  Sometimes we just run sprints on the gym floor.  This old gym somehow feels like a fitting place for wrestlers to train.  It's our gladiator pit.  It's our dungeon. 

Practice usually begins with us running laps around the wrestling room to warm up.  Then we do some stretching and calisthenics.  Then we usually do some passive takedowns with a partner.  We take turns taking each other down with little resistance from our partner.  It's just to warm up.  But, then things get serious and we go hard for a minute or two on our feet.  Take your partner down and let him up and try not to get taken down.  Sometimes we wrestle a six minute match with our partner.  Sometimes we get into groups of four to wrestle.  Each guy is on his feet twice wrestling two different guys and then takes a breather before getting back into the mix again.

We practice technique like, say, pinning combinations.  We lift weights occasionally.  Sometimes we do a countdown from ten.  Ten push ups, sit ups, jumping jacks, burpees, mountain climbers, and laps around the room.  Then nine reps of each.  Then eight reps of each.  You get the idea.

Sometimes we all get in a big circle.  We go around the circle each choosing a callisthenic exercise to perform.  We go around the circle a couple of times.  I choose push ups.  Mike (Chip), a senior during my freshman year, says, "Oh, you man!"

During my freshman year I have a shampoo in my locker called Body on Tap.  "Body on Tap Shampoo.  Brewed with one third real beer!  But don't drink it!"
One night Chip wants to use some of my shampoo.  Someone says, "Now Chip, don't drink that."

Brut Cologne is in my locker as well.  Hell, yeah!  Brut Cologne.  I'll be fighting the ladies off.

Chris and Brad, two other seniors during my freshman year, have a tradition of playing Pac Man every night after practice.  There was an arcade in our little town for a year or two.  It was the eighties after all.  Chris drives a new Camaro.  But, I prefer Randy's Monte Carlo.  Randy gives me rides home sometimes as a freshman when my older sister Deb can't.

When I was a freshman my sister was a junior.  One night after wrestling practice she's still in basketball practice in the 1940s gymnasium.  The practice is almost over but the coach has a proposition.  If someone can make ten free throws the girls won't have to run "killers."  He picks my sister for some reason.  So, what happens?  She sinks all ten. 

Later I hear her say to the coach, "You chose me because you didn't think I could do it.  You should have more faith in me."

Well, that's the way I remember it anyway.

Practice became torture when I started cutting weight.  Guess what?  You can't practice very hard when you haven't eaten for a few days.  Imagine that.

During my sophomore year, we practiced with Waukon one evening toward the end of the season leading up to sectionals.  After practice we stopped at a convenience store.  Some of the guys got out to buy stuff to eat and drink.  I stayed in the car because I was over my weight and sure as hell couldn't be eating or even drinking anything.  Brad P. stayed in the car with me.  Brad was like 180 lbs. of muscle.  He wasn't watching his weight.  The guys asked him if he was coming in to get something and he said he was okay and was going to wait in the car.  Maybe he wasn't hungry or thirsty.  Maybe he didn't want to spoil his appetite for dinner.  But, I like to think that he was showing solidarity with me. 

I know you can't eat or drink anything, brother, so I'm not going to either.

Is that what he was thinking?  Probably not.  Just my corny imagination.  Nonetheless, I still like to think he was thinking of me and trying to help me stay strong and not feel so bad.

One week during my senior year I decide I am not going to be taken down by any of my teammates the entire week.  And, for those days of practice no one can take me down.  Why didn't I have that attitude all the time?

Every night after practice during my senior year I drink a diet pop.  I buy a diet soda from Casey's every night after practice.  Remember Tab Cola?  How about Diet Rite?  There was even a diet cola with a touch of lemon flavor called Pepsi Light.

Before practice one evening during my senior year our coach said a few words about an upcoming dual meet.  He asked if anyone had anything to add.  I said I had a few words to add.

"I think tomorrow night we're going to show them what a Postville wrestler is made of.  Strength!  Determination!  Dedication!  Because I know that no one on this team going to let up until the final whistle blows.  Win or lose our opponents are going to pray they never have to face a Postville wrestler again. 
Because we are going to be relentless.  We are going to pound them into the mat so fiercely and dominate them so thoroughly they will dread having to ever face a Postville wrestler again!  We will not let up until victory is ours!"

Okay, I never said any such thing.  I wish I would have.  I was kind of quiet back then. 

Wrestling practice was a lot of fun at times.  Sometimes it was torture.  I didn't know about the so-called 10,000 hour rule back then.  It may or may not be true that 10,000 hours of "deliberate" practice lead to becoming world-class in any given field but there definitely seems to be something about the power of repetition.  I could have drilled and practiced with a lot more focus. 

I go through moves in my apartment sometimes.  I'll have to get on the mat again someday.  I want to see if I still "got it."  I'm not doing a count down from ten though.  And, I haven't worn Brut in years.

Hot and Cold

When I was only two or three, my parents took me snowmobiling one afternoon at a place called Walden Pond.  No, it's not the same Walden Pond in Concord, Massachusetts, that Henry David Thoreau wrote about.  When I was a little older we would go to Walden Pond and eat sourdough pancakes with real maple syrup after the owners had tapped the trees for sap and boiled it down.  Eating pancakes in a lodge by a pond is pretty cool, huh?  But, on the day in question we were snowmobiling on the grounds of Walden.  Evidently, snowmobiles were available to rent and my parents decided to take my sister and me riding one afternoon.

I don't remember that day.  I do remember feeling my cheeks days later and wondering why I had hard spots on each one.  My parents noticed the redness and the hard spots and realized I must have been frostbitten while riding that afternoon at Walden.  Oh my God!  What have we done to our little boy? they asked themselves.  But, it was no one's fault.  My mom remembers it being a beautiful sunny day and no one being overly cold.  I never complained of being cold.  Nonetheless, riding around for a while was enough to affect my exposed cheeks.

I don't remember being in pain.  I don't even remember being too concerned about my cheeks.  I just found it interesting I think.  Why do I have hard spots on my cheeks?

I made a full recovery and the redness and hard spots went away.  I never seemed to suffer any permanent damage.  And, the experience didn't seem to affect my feelings toward winter weather.  As a youth I took part in most of the wintertime activities most kids do.  I built snowmen and snow forts.  I made snow angels.  I went sledding.

Sure, at times winter weather was bitter cold and a bit too much.  You dreaded recess on those days.  I think my friend Brad informed our teacher once that he would be staying inside and coloring during recess on a particularly brutal day.  That, of course, didn't fly.  We still had to go outside.  Sadists!

Even getting on the bus in the morning was painful.  Our house was one of the first on the bus route and the bus was still freezing cold.  Sitting down on one of those cold hard bench seats was excruciating.  Christ!  I can still see my breath!  Is this Dante's ninth circle of Hell for crying out loud?  The bus was warm by the time we reached school.  Thanks a lot!

It was the same experience getting into a cold car if we'd been, say, visiting my grandparents some winter evening.  It's not like my dad was going to let the car warm up for an hour before we left.  Even as a little kid I tried to reassure myself that it would warm up if I had a little patience.  When we got home I was half asleep and didn't want to get out of the car which was now warm.

When the weather would warm up in the springtime, it was an amazing experience.  God does exist!  It was still only about 50 degrees outside but kids were whipping off their jackets in jubilation only to be scolded by the teacher on recess duty.  "Put your damn coat on!"

I went to a sledding party at my girlfriend's house during my freshman year.  I decided not to wear a hat because hats didn't look cool and I didn't want to mess up my hair.  What a prima donna.  What an idiot.  Like anyone cared what my hair looked like.  Everyone else was bundled up sensibly.  But, not me.  Fortunately, when I soon realized what a fool I was someone loaned me an extra hat which I gladly placed upon my head.

Dieting for wrestling was always a miserable affair.  Starving is not a good time.  I'm hungry!  Dieting to the point that you have very little insulation (body fat) left and no fuel in your body is particularly painful.  I can't speak for other wrestlers, but I developed quite a case of cold intolerance.  I was sensitive to the cold weather that comes along with participating in a winter sport.

The funny thing is that we practiced in a room that was probably around 80 degrees.  Most wrestlers lose weight through sweating which is why the room is kept so hot.  It felt unbearably hot sometimes.  "Is it okay, coach, if I step outside briefly and crawl into a snowbank?"

I can remember walking around high school freezing my ass off and yet dying of thirst because I was restricting fluids to lose water weight.  Cold as hell and yet wishing I could have a big cold glass of water.  Nuts!

Later in life I would develop anorexia nervosa.  I lost a lot of weight.  I was cold all the time.  An eighty degree summer day was heaven.  Winter weather was hell.  Crank the heat! 

Here's an interesting fact.  My family always made homemade ice cream on New Year's Day.  Someone once asked me why we didn't make ice cream during the summer.  The thought that making ice cream during the summer months would have made more sense never crossed my mind.  Making ice cream on New Year's was our tradition and never seemed odd to me at all. 

I still hate cold weather.  Hell probably isn't hot.  It's probably cold.  Cold like a Northeast Iowa winter.  Every year it's the same.  Winter rolls around and I swear I am getting into my car and running away to California or Texas or Florida.  Maybe I'll even fly to Hawaii and never return to the mainland I say.  But, here I am putting on a hat and gloves and sweeping snow off of my car knowing I'll probably always be here.  At least I know how to drive on snowy roads unlike some people.

I hate cold weather.  Winter with all its accompanying snow can be beautiful at times I suppose.  I'll give you that.  But, I prefer sunny warm weather.

I love the sun.  I'm a Leo.  So, perhaps that makes sense.

The Girl Who Loved Cheese

Megan loved having mac and cheese for lunch while we were in day treatment together in the Psychiatric Partial Hospital.  She would have eaten it for breakfast if the cafeteria had served it during that time of day.  I found it interesting that an eating disorder patient loved a calorie dense food filled with carbs, fat and sodium like mac and cheese.  She loved cheese period.  I seem to recall her talking about eating a cup of parmesan cheese at a restaurant once while waiting for the pizza to arrive.

Maybe every eating disorder patient has favorite foods one might not expect.  And, if one is in treatment and has to eat anyway she might conclude it's an appropriate time to enjoy some of those foods.  It still kind of surprises me when an eating disorder patient in treatment says, "That was really good."  Or, "I love (blank)."  I think it's the rare eating disorder patient that abhors food entirely.

I don't really have any fear foods per se though there are foods I tend to avoid.  I like some foods better than others.  I have a bit of a sweet tooth.  Years ago I was basically living on chocolate chip cookies leading up to one of my hospitalizations.  Cookies aren't exactly what one would expect to be the daily fare of an eating disorder patient.  I met Wendy during that hospitalization and she'd been living on her favorite cereal and pretzels.  I heard about a female patient who had been eating so many carrots prior to coming to treatment that her hands were orange.  Too much beta-carotene!

After hearing Megan's life story, I think it's a miracle she's still alive.  She had survived an abusive relationship that she felt she had no way of leaving.  Her boyfriend was controlling and at times forced her to eat large late night meals which would eventually contribute to her eating disorder.  He would force her to eat large meals at night.  She would refrain from eating during the day to try to counteract these forced feedings.  She was routinely beaten.  She'd had a gun held to her head at times and had reached the point where she didn't care if she lived or died. 

Eventually, with some help, she found freedom.  She was depressed for a long time afterward and had trouble even getting out of bed.  But, over time she slowly found herself feeling better and stronger.  She began to work again and found supportive people.  She eventually moved to a new city and started going to college while continuing to work.  She even found a man she trusted enough to form a relationship with.

She suffered from anxiety after moving to a new city although she certainly had no plans to ever return to where she came from.  When she met with a therapist they discovered that her eating habits were a bit odd.  She tended to eat one big meal a day or not at all.  She didn't see a reason to eat unless she was really hungry.  This may have had to do with the way her family viewed eating and also with the late night feedings that were forced upon her while in an abusive relationship.

Megan had been afraid to share her story with us.  She was afraid we'd find it boring.  It was tragic and sad but it certainly wasn't boring.  I was glad to learn more about her and happy that she trusted us and confided in us.

Megan was beautiful with a big toothy brilliantly white smile.  She did experience body image issues though like many eating disorder patients.  While in the group room, she often had a sweater or jacket wrapped around her waist because she was self conscious about her stomach.  One of the therapists noticed this and convinced Megan to uncover herself occasionally. 

I mentioned that she seemed comfortable in aquatic therapy.

"That's because no one can really see my body when I'm under the water," she said.

We had aquatic therapy in a small heated pool in the rehabilitation therapies area of the hospital.  The recreational therapist would usually ask us two questions when we entered and exited the pool.  She wanted to know our level of anxiety and our level of body image discomfort on a scale of 1 to 10. 

I would often say I was at a "5" for both anxiety and body image.

But, Megan would often use numbers like 1.2 for anxiety and 4.5 for body image discomfort.  She wasn't being insolent or a smart ass.  She wasn't trying to be cute or funny.  She truly felt the need to have her numbers be as specific as possible.  The therapist didn't get upset.  She loved it.

Megan made me laugh and smile a lot. 

One day she came into the group room and said she'd met a man from the mood group who had a British accent.  She did an impression of him that had us all laughing.  Their first meeting by the coffee maker had been interesting.

"What group are you in?" asked the British guy.

"The eating disorder group," replied Megan.

"I'm in the mood group because I'm moody.  I've got all my moods," he replied.

Then he commented on the coffee situation.  "I just wanted some milk for my coffee but all they have is this non-dairy creamer and I don't like it."

She really enjoyed seeing him.  They had a few encounters after that.

"I had music therapy the other day and I got to play the xylophone," he told her excitedly one day.

They talked about groups and she mentioned that the eating disorder group had music therapy too and also aquatics.

"Aquatics?!  Where's the water?" he inquired.

For a while Megan got caught up in an mobile video game called Cooking Fever.
She would play it on her phone when we had free time.  She was operating a bakery serving cakes, milk shakes, and espresso.  I seem to recall her mentioning burning some cakes.  She mentioned needing to buy another oven or perhaps upgrade her ovens to speed up her operation.  She had some televisions to entertain her customers but she said they were old retro looking ones and she'd like to upgrade to flat screen high-definition televisions.  She didn't want to spend any real money to buy something called gems which might help her advance to another level.  I think at some point she got frustrated and started over from the beginning.  So, she was back to serving food in the fast food court.  One day she handed a customer a hot dog without a bun and got a funny reaction.   

It was fun to see how much joy she got from playing that game.
 
She also enjoyed shopping.  She loved to wander around Target.  She also mentioned a wonderful and inexpensive place called Marshalls.  Her grandparents took her to Costco sometimes.  She said she was set for toothpaste for months to come perhaps years.  She had so many paper plates she was considering donating some to charity.  She'd experienced the joys of buying in bulk. 
 
One day we walked to the other side of the hospital together to get our bone density scans.  We had to pass through a skyway from the hospital to the clinic which was very warm and sunny that day.  I had been through that skyway before on my way to have my blood drawn.
 
We both liked the light and warmth of the skyway on that level and decided we could bring in some furniture and set up house and just live there forever.  Perhaps she only mentioned it would be a nice place for a nap.  Maybe the silly notion of setting up house there was only my idea.

While waiting for our bone density we scans we talked a lot.  She mentioned her grandpa had worked his way up in his profession and had high expectations for her as well. 

We also talked about typical things like our interests and likes and dislikes.  I was sitting there having a conversation with this stunning beauty and yet felt totally at ease because she was so cool and down to earth.

One morning during a breakfast group therapy session I said, "The key to recovery is recognizing illness-based thinking.  For example, if you tell yourself you don't have time to eat lunch when you actually do and then skip lunch you are acting upon illness-based thinking."

 

I suppose I wanted to sound smart.  The therapist said there was more to recovery than that one facet.

Nonetheless, Megan thought my comment was interesting and then shared an anecdote with us.

"One day I stopped at the convenience store for some gas.  This farmer pulled in with a tractor and some kind of machinery hooked to it.  He got out of his tractor and walked into the store and came back out shortly carrying a sandwich, chips, and a drink.  I decided that if a busy farmer could find time to grab lunch I should be able to as well."

Then we tried to figure out what kind of machinery he was pulling behind his tractor.  And, I was curious what kind of tractor he was driving when she mentioned his tractor was yellow.

One day while walking to the occupational therapy kitchen, Megan wished she was at the beach.  I told her I would buy her a sandbox and deliver margaritas to her.  She liked that idea.  It was nice to make her smile.

It was actually anxiety that brought her to a therapist in the first place.  Then the therapist figured out her eating was kind of strange and Megan was formerly diagnosed.

One day Megan said, "It's amazing how eating regularly has reduced my anxiety.  My car sounds like it's probably going to die on the road anytime now and I don't even care.  I'm not concerned about it at all.  Funny what good nutrition will do for you."
 
It amazes me what experiences human beings can endure and survive.  It's remarkable that people can bounce back from traumatic events.  Not everyone rebounds and thrives but Megan seems to have recovered.  The world is surely a better place with her in it. 

I'm not sure why I didn't get her contact details before I discharged.  Perhaps I just wanted to get the hell out of treatment and never look back.  Maybe I was feeling so insecure and sure I'd fail in my recovery that I didn't want to stay in contact with anyone from treatment.  Maybe some people pass through our lives and have an impact on us even though we don't form a long lasting bond. 
 
Before I got discharged she said, "I'll miss you." 

I miss you Megan and I hope you are doing well.  I'm sure you are.

 

 

The Left-handed Goddess

The last time I worked I noticed someone had drawn a heart by my name in marker on the assignment board.  I knew who did it.  She used to draw hearts by my name all the time but hadn't for the last several weeks.  So, it was nice to see a heart by my name again.

I pointed out the heart by my name because she, the beautiful coworker I adore, was nearby at her pricing table.

"Someone loves me," I said.

She smiled.

"I wonder who put it there," I said.

"I don't know," she said, "Maybe some left-handed goddess."

"Are you left-handed?" I asked.

"Yes," she said as she smiled.

The first time we met you came running by the break room looking for a manager.  You had been working in donations and weren't sure whether you could accept a particular item so I offered to come and take a look.  After dealing with the situation we talked for a bit.  Saying I felt an instant connection with you might seem an exaggeration but I did feel there was something special about you.  Sure, you were beautiful but it was more than that.

We had some good conversations at work after that initial meeting.  I had such a crush on you.  I couldn't wait to see you again and was disappointed if we were scheduled for different shifts.  You seemed funny and intelligent.  You seemed cool but quirky.  You were edgy but sweet. 

You were a vegan who loved salsa and hummus.  And, tater tots!

You had tattoos of cats and Godzilla.

"Yeah, really hard core stuff," you joked.

One time we carried some furniture out onto the sales floor together.  After we set the furniture down you raised your hand up for a spontaneous high five.
I still love it when you want to high five.

I eventually asked you if you had any roommates.  I didn't want to ask a really obvious question like, "So, do you have a boyfriend?"  You said you lived with your cat.  And, your boyfriend.

I smiled and nodded trying to be cool and casual although perhaps you could tell how crushed I was.  I wasn't really surprised you had a boyfriend.  Beautiful women almost always do.  It was silly to think you might actually have some feelings for me anyway, right?

One of my coworkers talked to you in private and I heard he got your number and I was jealous.  Later I found out you had no interest in him at all.  It was just one of those situations where you gave a guy your number as a friend and he was hoping it was more than that.  A few other guys had an interest in you at work too.  One time you exited through the donations door after your shift to avoid a male coworker you'd heard was waiting for you outside.  You were willing to get written up for breaking the rules to avoid dealing with having to reject his proposal of going on a date.  One of our female coworkers joked that you had a fan club.

I decided to just focus on being a good friend and we continued to have good conversations.  I got over my crush on you although I, of course, still looked forward to seeing you whenever we worked together.

When you did become single I never acted upon it.  I had become used to thinking of you as a friend.  My health wasn't so good.  You deserved better anyway I figured.  And, I still wasn't really sure if you ever had more than a platonic interest in me.  After all, I'd seen you shoot a few guys down or avoid them altogether.  How could I know if you'd shoot me down too.

You ended up having a liaison with another coworker.  Or, so I heard.  I was a bit disappointed you chose some typical bad boy.  But, who am I to judge.  Did I expect you to pursue a boring polo shirt and khaki pants wearing guy like me?
Guys have flings all the time just because a girl looks a certain way, right?  So, why can't a woman.  I would never expect you to be constrained by some archaic double standard.  So, good for you for choosing the adventurous bad boy.  And, even though you had some regrets later and broke things off with him I realize you may have actually had some feelings for him. 

Eventually you were back with the original boyfriend.  Then you had a baby!  That was exciting.  I was still enamored with you anyway.  Perhaps I imagined us being together and raising this child together. 

You became single again.  You moved into a new house.  You bought a new vehicle which is funny because you used to always walk and ride your bike.

We seemed to get closer again after you returned from having a baby.

I wrote you notes.  I made you an origami cat.  You put hearts by my name on the assignment board.  Everyone at work knew I liked you.  It wasn't a secret.
One coworker joked he couldn't mess with me because you were so protective of me.  It's true.  Even if a customer hurt my feelings you were ready to throw punches.  Why do you care about me so much?

You are so cool even though different from me in many ways.  You like horror and slasher films.  You enjoy having glass or plastic skulls sitting on your pricing table.  You told me recently you have a skull in every room of your house except the bathroom.  You're an artist.  Sometimes you wear a necklace with a Frida Kahlo pendant on it because you're a huge fan of hers.  You dress cool.  You're often in dark colors and boots.  No polo shirts or khaki pants for you.  You continue to add more tattoos.  You like things I would expect like Hello Kitty.  But, you like things I wouldn't expect like Godzilla and Domo Kun. 

I suggested you might want to get the initials TS tattooed on your body.  You said perhaps on your posterior.  Is that a good thing?  Maybe the initials TS will reside on one your rear cheeks someday.

"Have you seen Pet Cemetery?" I asked recently.

"Of course!" you said.  "That's like in my top three."

"So, you've seen every horror movie?" I asked.

"I'm working on it," you said.  "That's my goal."

You said you were looking forward to October and the new horror movies that would be coming out.

You told me someone donated a blanket once with a Ouija Board design on it and our coworkers were afraid to even touch it.  You priced it, put it on the sales floor, and came back and bought it on your day off.

If you'd been a young women in the late 1970s would you have been a punk rocker?

Sometimes you stroke my ego by saying I'm an alpha male and have all kinds of women after me.  Or, you say women are lined up around the block because they know I'm working that day.  Or, you make up stories like how you came to meet me at a restaurant only to find me with two other women.

Sometimes we'd high five and our fingers would become intertwined briefly.  I've read that's a sign that a girl is into you.  But, I couldn't believe you were really into me.

You asked me once, "Tharin, how does a girl know if guy really likes her?"

I wondered if you were cryptically asking me, "Tharin, do you like me?"

I noticed you had dimples not so long ago.  I'm not sure why I never noticed them before.  Damn, girl!  Like you weren't cute enough already.

I got your number at some point.  You suggested we could grab a bite sometime or catch a movie or go to the library.  I didn't act upon it.  My health isn't so good.  I keep to myself a lot.  I blew it.  I could have spent time with this amazing women who had become my friend.

At one point I remember thinking to myself I'm not afraid she'd say "No" if I ask her out.  I'm afraid she'd say "Yes."  Then I'd have to man up and actually follow through.  Maybe I'd be a disappointing date.  I couldn't take disappointing you.

I called you once while I was in the hospital.  You were kind and supportive. 

You said, "You know I love you."

Before we hung up you again said, "I love you."

"I love you too," I said.

You probably simply meant you loved me as a dear friend.  But, that is huge.  When someone loves you in any fashion and cares deeply about you it is huge.

You continue to make me laugh.

"What would you like for Valentine's Day?" I inquired back in February.

"Not flowers.  I don't want something that's just going to wilt and die.  I'd rather have something cool like a cactus.  I don't want a Teddy Bear.  What would I do with that?  A hand-written scented note would be cool.  A lock of your hair.  One of your teeth.  A nice meal.  Some chips.  Take me to an arcade."

Damn, girl!  No flowers and a box of chocolates for you.  You are so unique.  I love that about you. 

Perhaps we will go out one day soon when I man up and take the initiative.  I will buy you a big vegan burrito and win your heart forever.  I'm not sure what you see in a boring guy like me.  But, when I saw a heart by my name on the board again recently I was on top the world.

I don't like horror movies but I'd watch them if you were next to me.. Just hold my hand or give me a hug.  You can wrap your tattooed arms around me anytime.

You recently mentioned you'd like a pair of fish tank/aquarium shoes - not with real fish of course.  You keep surprising me.

You are a goddess!  A left-handed goddess.  I love you.