Corn people

Photo courtesy of boopsie.daisy. Photographer's work is available for sale at Etsy.

I've been gobbling up Michael Pollan's "The Omnivore's Dilemma: A Natural History of Four Meals," but thought I'd take a break from my reading binge and share why I'm grateful for this good read.

The book begins by examining the conquest of corn and industrialization of the food chain. Pollan argues that we are walking, talking stalks of corn -- or more precisely, processed corn. How's this possible? Apparently, corn is incognito: It's in the syrup that sweetens soda and the wax that coats our apples. Corn feeds the steer, the chicken, the pig, the turkey, and even salmon.

How do scientists know we are "corn chips with legs," as one biologist put it? There's an isotope in corn that allows it to be tracked within our human tissue, much the same way scientists can determine the ancient diet of mummies using a piece of fingernail. But is the triumph of corn so terrible? Pollan believes it's to blame for America's growing waistline and our sickening environment.

A quarter century of government farm policies has encouraged the overproduction of this crop, and the industrialized food chain has made processed foods the cheapest in the supermarket. Corn-made calories can find our way into our bodies as a sugar, a starch or as a form of animal fat. "Very simply, we subsidize high-fructose corn syrup in this country, but not carrots," Pollan writes.

Growing only corn has ruined the farmer's soil, the quality of local water, the biodiversity of the Midwest, and the health of all the creatures living downstream. Cheap corn created the feedlot, where steer are fattened up before slaughter. Surviving on corn diets, many suffer from bloat and develop ulcerated livers.

Given such sobering news, I'm going to propose a game of hide and seek. Spend a little time searching for the corn in the products you eat and use. Involve your kids, keep a running tally, write down the ones that really surprise you, and, finally, share what you've discovered. Click here for a printable list of corn aliases, courtesy of Corn Allergens.

"There are some forty-five thousand items in the average American supermarket and more than a quarter of them now contain corn," Pollan writes. "This goes for the nonfood items as well -- everything from the toothpaste and cosmetics to the disposable diapers, trash gas, cleansers, charcoal briquettes, matches, and batteries, right down to the shine on the cover of the magazine that catches your eye by the checkout: corn."

The hunt is on!

A stranger in the neighborhood

Photo courtesy of meaduva.

Something streaks across the driveway. My eye catches a fleeting image of a man, a naked man, rounding the corner of my house and heading into the backyard. In the kitchen I freeze. Adrenaline races. Brain screams. Oh, God! I'm alone! The door is unlocked!

I crouch down and dart for the door, turn the lock, and skitter into the hallway where there are no windows. I grab the phone and dial.

"911. What is your emergency?"

"There's a naked man in my yard."

"What?"

"There's a naked man in my yard!"

"Do you know him?"

"No! No! He's naked!"

The dispatcher tells me police are coming. She asks me if I can still see him. I slip to a window. Peek out. He's there, in the corner, peering over the fence. He's got something red wrapped around him. He moves toward the house. I duck.

"He's coming closer to the house!"

The dispatcher keeps me on the line until I see a cop walk across my lawn and another slip around the back of the house. Minutes pass. I peer out a window and see police with a man, shirtless, wearing jeans, no shoes. There's a knock at the door.

"Is this the man you saw in your yard?"

"I think so, but he was naked."

"Well, he's wearing pants now."

"Wait! I had some clothes on the line. Let me see if they're still there."

In the backyard I can't find the jeans my sister loaned me. I am four months pregnant and have outgrown my clothes, so she was sharing her maternity pants, the kind with the elastic panel that replaces zipper and button. I tell the cop the pants are mine. He tells me to wait.

Inside, I pace. My heart quiets. I take deep breaths.

The cop returns and tells me a story. Apparently, the man and the high-school girl next door had been fooling around when the girl's father came home and discovered them in bed. The father started beating up the guy and so he fled, naked, into my yard.

"I've had plenty of calls for people running naked in public, but this is the first time it actually made sense," the officer said.

Did I want to press charges? I laugh and shake my head no. The jeans are returned, but I never wear them again.

Epilogue

Late this summer I spotted the girl in her own pair of maternity pants. She walked slowly down the street, heavy with the burden she carried. Holding her hand was a man. I didn't recognize him, but then again, he was wearing clothes.


Prompted by Sunday Scribblings' topic "stranger."

Anniversaries

Photo courtesy of *PaysImaginaire*

My youngest son and I have reached milestones.

Last November, he slipped into this world, the youngest of four, the final child, our grub. A year has brought metamorphosis: The squishy and portable baby has become an squawking, walking boy. About the same time our last larvae was born, I began blogging regularly, turning thoughts into words, sometimes poetically, sometimes awkwardly, but writing, all the same. This commitment has been a major accomplishment for I am as proud of my 69 posts as I am of my four children.

What does this second year bring for the two of us? For my son, I know it will bring an explosion of communication, and the deciphering and decoding of those first words will delight and confound us. (Curious about my own vocabulary, I entered my blog into Wordle, an online toy that created a word cloud out of my paragraphs, giving greater prominence to those words I use most frequently.) So, what does the new year hold for me? An exploration of fiction, a return to freelancing, and a continued commitment to this blog and to those who read it. Thank you for your interest, encouragement and love.

Tonight, my son and I celebrate our accomplishments by eating cake. And because we should all celebrate and eat cake more often than we do, I hope you raise a fork wherever you are on this earth and join us. Huzzah!

The perfect cup of cocoa

Photo courtesy of chatirygirl.

I have sipped my way to hot chocolate heaven and found the perfect steaming mug. During this quest I have sampled many a cup, and taken many a detour into foreign recipes that had me mixing egg into the chocolate milk, adding dollops of dulce de leche, creating instant mixes, and whirring scalding concoctions in my blender. And in the end I found it, a recipe that achieves the perfect balance of chocolate and sugar, and it's so damn easy you'll want to kiss me.

Pour some milk in a pot. Toss in a few handfuls of chocolate chips, more if you want a richer chocolate taste. Heat. When the chocolate begins to melt, whisk until your happy with the results.

While I may have found my perfect cup, I urge you to get a little cocoa crazy and try out some of the drinks I sampled in my mug madness. Recipes can be found at Rediscover Hot Chocolate. If you find one that's particularly delightful, please share it!